A Visit to the DMV
Last week I had the opportunity to visit the Department of Motor Vehicles. It was every bit as frustrating as I remember. Whenever I mention going to the DMV, the person I’m speaking to inevitably lets out a groan and says, “Oh, I’m so sorry.” There must be a law somewhere saying that a visit to this place must be infuriating.
The last time I went there was several years ago. I remember standing in the information line forever so I could ask a question. Then the person at the information desk gave me a number and told me to sit. I sat for about 10 hours before my number was called. I was naive enough to think that the person at window number 4 would be able to answer my question, but they assigned me another number and told me to be seated.
Of course, there were forms to fill out. Multiple forms, asking me questions I didn’t know the answers to. The kind of questions you could answer multiple ways. I answered as best I could, waited some more, and began to feel that pain right behind my eyes that feels like a jackhammer inside your skull.
Finally, I was called to window number 6, relieved that this ordeal was almost over. But alas, I did not bring the right identification with me. My drivers license, passport, birth certificate, social security card and college I.D. from 40 years ago were not good enough. They needed to see my first-grade report card, baptismal certificate, and marriage license as well. (Okay, that might be an exaggeration. But it was something equally ridiculous)
So, I was glad to hear that things are different at the DMV now. Now, because of the wonders of technology, you can make an appointment online, scan a QR code when you enter the building, and be seated without having to deal with the non-information desk lady.
Unfortunately, they still need proof that you are who you say you are. And the first-grade report card will no longer suffice. Now, you have to bring your college transcripts, 1987 tax returns, and a picture of yourself with “this is me” written on the back. I’m pretty sure that if you can’t find the right documentation you have to go back and get yourself born again.
Can you imagine what it would be like if the entrance to heaven was like the DMV? You arrive at the pearly gates and get assigned a number. Then you wait 300 years to be interviewed by St. Peter who says, “Well, I see your name in the book of life, but how do I know it’s really you? Do you have a driver’s license?”
Fortunately, Jesus will be there when we arrive. He will recognize us, and call us by name, and show us to the mansion he’s prepared for us. And those who don’t know him? They’ll have to spend eternity in the DMV.
