It was Good Friday and we were traveling to visit our Georgia family. We stopped at Popeye's for a holy experience...OK, it's a chicken sandwich but anything that competes with God's chicken (aka Chick Fil A) is holy in my book. We were a little southwest of Augusta headed to where you catch the Fall Line Freeway to Macon. Hubby was in the passenger seat with his Surf and Turf box (chicken and shrimp) and I was driving. We were stopped at a red light when I heard this loud voice over to my left. There he was, this street preacher with a portable sound system set up at the corner of a busy 4-lane intersection. He was dressed in a suit with a bright blue shirt and a shock of white hair standing up on his head. There was a simple wooden cross standing beside him, white drape flapping in the draft of passing cars. I rolled down the window and the smell of exhaust mingled with the the crispy chicken. He held a well-worn Bible in his hand but he preached by heart. And in those moments, the Gospel reverberated clear and loud amidst the traffic. My Savior died on a cross so that I might live. I want to be ready to meet him when he comes in the clouds. The light changed and a new congregation pulled into view. I waved my arm out the window as we drove off and whispered, amen, brother. Amen. Just another good Good Friday at the Cross Roads. Selah.