where waves grow sweet

It started with the head-on collision my family had when I was four. What was incredibly fortunate, especially since no one wore seatbelts back then and my mom was holding both an infant and a toddler, was that the injuries weren’t worse than my dad’s broken leg, a deep gash on my brother’s forehead and a bump on my own that remains to this day. A lengthy hiatus from car accidents followed…. until I learned to drive.

The very first week I got my license, I totaled my brother’s car (sorry, Christian!) and a year later, did the same to my own (which, for the record, wasn’t technically my fault). What followed was a string of fender-benders over many years, too many to remember really, as the cars in front of me halted too quickly for me to react. It’s hard to say if this was because I drove too fast, was perpetually late (and lost!) or drove crappy cars with inferior brakes, but whatever the cause, the result was a fair bit of damage and a whole lot of inconvenience.

The last accident I had was when I was pregnant with Chase, who is about to turn 13, so thankfully it’s been a good long while. The likely reason for this shift is that I now have a good car, drive like a grandma and ride my brakes like an over-eager jockey. The moment I see brake lights, whether they are one car length ahead – or twenty – I make sure I am nowhere near them. Not by a mile. I am not giving my car a chance in the world to slam into another.

My husband, John, is a very focused, conscientious driver who usually leaves plenty of time for travel, knows where he is going and gets there in a very reasonable fashion. His brakes are solid and his driving record is nearly flawless. One would think that I would feel extremely secure in the hands of such a capable driver and would rest easy when he is at the wheel. While that should certainly be the case, the reality is that I step into his car with baggage. Fear, to be precise. Of the brake lights ahead, flashing their evil grins at me, taunting me with their immediacy as John’s foot remains solidly on the gas without a trace of slowing down. My whole body tenses as I slam my foot on an imaginary brake and thrust my hand to the ceiling to brace myself for the inevitable crash; the crumpling metal and violent jolt I know so well; the silence that follows. But it never comes. 

There was a time when I found his driving to be insensitive, unkind even. I thought that love would dictate that he alter his driving style to alleviate my fear. But the problem was never his driving. He is a good driver. He stops in plenty of time. He loves me well. The problem was that I was projecting my past experiences on him and misinterpreting reality. 

I can’t say I’m now a super chill passenger who never overreacts, but I’ve gotten better (besides, who doesn’t close their eyes on the freeway like a little kid on a big roller coaster?). More importantly, I can see and acknowledge in those moments that fear is at the wheel of my heart, that it is never a good driver and that it can’t help but create a distorted lens through which current experiences and relationships are filtered. This is not the end of the story, because I am anticipating complete freedom from this fear, but it is a good start!

This whole train of thought got me wondering about how this idea translates to our relationship with God. I think it’s pretty likely that when we hop into his car, we bring baggage from past experiences. And it’s equally likely that this creates a significant distortion in the way that we perceive his heart and actions, making it easy for us to judge him as callous or unkind and, ultimately, as an unsafe driver at the wheel of our lives. If indeed the problem was never his lack of love or concern, but our own hurt and fear, then the kindest thing he could do is not to accommodate this growing pile of useless baggage, but to expose it as such so that we can stop lugging it around. And so we can rest easy when he is at the wheel because there is no safer place to be and no where better to go than the beautiful places he wants to take us.

_{Photo credit: jer_088}