I came to a rather shocking conclusion today.
First, let me confess . . . I don’t like driving. Never really have. Oh, I do drive and while it was later in my life (around 20) than many, I have a license and a good driving record, but I’d rather be the front seat passenger and trust someone else to drive. I admit, I don’t always know where “places” are. When I am the passenger, I nearly always put all my trust in the one at the wheel. Okay, occasionally I’ve had some doubts, but largely my trust in completely in the human steering the car and I’m enjoying the ride.
I love the window down tossing my hair around, I love hearing the birds sing, seeing the blue sky, discovering that cow out there in the farm we passed, the egret at the side of the highway, the flowers planted in the middle of the road which separate east bound and west bound . . . my mind goes to a story idea, composes a poem, or maybe I just sip my iced coffee and chill.
It came to me earlier that when God says “here, let me drive” I do sometimes hand Him the keys and slide over to the passenger side, but hesitantly. I ask questions like “where are we going” and “do we have enough gas” and “but where’s the map” and “gosh, why aren’t we there yet” and the list goes on.
Why is it that when my friends drive me I fear little even though they can’t protect me from the jerk in the car behind me tailgating, are imperfect like me, may not be totally focused in the way they need to be, might get undone by a speed bump, and yet . . . I relax and surrender.
With God at the spiritual steering wheel, for that’s what I realized . . . why is it that I waiver, I question, I hesitate, I tremble, I ask “are we there yet” and I neglect to enjoy the beauty along my spiritual path?
I really don’t like driving. I think it’s time to hand Him the keys.