The two hundred foot lane that our driveway touches has no yellow line. Perhaps delineation seemed like overkill on a cul-de-sac with six houses. The three block road that it peels off of, the one that we technically live on doesn't either. Ninety eight per cent of the time this is fine. In fact most of the residents can remember when the pavement resembled an elongated camel's hump, arching in the middle and making it impossible to keep from scraping your bumper.

 

The other day I nearly collided with another car at the top, where Alden Road grows up and connects to a bona fide two lane thoroughfare. We were both squarely in the center of the road, because history has embedded that practice in our bones. My initial reaction was to criticize the other driver for not keeping to the right, when I realized that I hadn't either. I never do, because to navigate the dicey merge at a steep incline from a complete stop, into traffic at a brisk clip means you are risking your life. Add the occasional pedestrian, morning commuters, or a bit of ice and we are talking high stakes. 

 

Boundaries help keep us on our own side of things. But I notice that I am better at noticing the trespasses of other people than my own. 

 

"You interrupted!" As if I don't.

 

"You are giving me advice!" Because I never have. 

 

"Why are you frowning at me?" Look in the mirror. 

 

I am interested that in the concise request Jesus invited us to repeat on a regular basis, namely the Prayer, this comes up. Perhaps our propensity to cross the line comes as no surprise. And considering the brevity of the message, God seems eager to keep us from danger.