Sometimes you need a spring snowstorm to have an epiphany. I appreciate when something simple and mundane in your day-to-day surroundings--brings understanding and illumination to something going on in the much murkier depths of your spiritual life. Like little tangible gifts to help me understand and explain where I find myself in a specific season.
Carl & I were driving home from my sister’s house on the other side of the city after a long work-night preparing for a family event. Since it was my family’s event, I offered to drive home and let Carl rest. (I owed him!)
There should have been nothing out-of-the ordinary about the drive home. It was April. We had made it past the winter days and nights of frosted windows, blowing drifts, icy rain and had come out on the other side. But no one told the sky that! And blasts of bizarre Styrofoam precipitation started shooting down on us -- a rarity for Indiana in April. It began to blanket the road as if a stage crew up in the rafters was creating a scene over some small-stage actors.
This desperate attempt of winter to keep its hold, shook my driving confidence. My hands gripped the wheel and my foot eased off the gas. I started driving like a 80-old-woman. (No offense, 80-year-old women!)
Carl noticed my snail-paced driving and offered to drive. But that only bothered me more --I shouldn’t have needed him. I can drive. I know this road.
The problem however, was that I couldn’t find the lines. And I needed those lines. So I tried to rely on the cars in front of me. They were farther up the road, they must know the way. I’ll just follow them. But they were all also slamming on their brakes and shifting this way and that. The cars behind me offered no assistance but only caused me to want to slow down even more (now I was driving like an 90-year-old woman!!). These caboose-cars came zooming past me and burst right into and through the slower herd of cars collecting in front of me. Reckless. Risky.
At least I wasn’t being reckless or risky. Better to be cautious. Or should I just quit. Get off the exit and wait.
But getting off at the next exit would be admitting my weakness. Stopping would be a waste of time. Besides, this isn’t the plan! Knowing that this stretch of white road probably grew black again just a few miles down the road, didn’t bring me confidence either. I was in the here-and-now.
This my friends, mirrors what is happening in my spiritual life right now. I’m half-way down the road. I’ve been through some seasons I was just learning how to drive, where it’s harder and there are obstacles to getting where you need to be. But now, I’ve crossed over into mid-life. I thought I knew: knew who I am supposed to be; knew what I’m supposed to do; knew who I am striving to become; knew my purpose; Then . . . . . . bizarre and unexpectant, rare and blinding stuff comes straight out of the blue and covers the well-marked lines of my lane. Looking at folks who have gone before me and who are coming up behind me doesn’t seem to be helping right now. While we are all on the same road, everyone is going their own speed and own direction and it only causes me more confusion. My vision is still working, my motivation is there, my experience, knowledge, gifts, skills and strengths are ready. A direction and a destination still exists. I still want to accomplish something on my own. Frustratingly, it is not enough.
Just like my thoughts on the real road that April night, spiritually I also want to keep moving forward to the best of my ability. Even if it at a dinosaur pace, I want to reach my destination. And if I can’t see the lines clearly, I will have to try and discern the road the best I can.
But God, where are the lines? I don’t know which lane to stay in? I don’t want to quit. I don’t want to crash. Could you blow your mighty breath and clear away this annoying late-spring snow. You don’t have to paint new lines. You don’t even have to teach me to drive. You don’t have to send someone else to drive for me. You don’t have to drive for me. Just uncover the lines for me!
So I turn to Scripture. There are many parts of Scripture that speak of roads, journeys, paths, but this one is really spoke to my current prayer.
Isaiah 42:16 says: I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not forsake them.
I hear God speaking to me through this verse: Don’t ask for lines and lanes. I have so much more planned for you. New locations, fresh paths, adventure. And do you think I lead my sheep in such such impersonal ways? I offer a real presence living inside of you that whispers and grabs hold and gently nudges and guards. You have available to you divine discernment that is far beyond the sharpest sight and the best experience. And your guide has the power to create light and shape earth.
Alright Lord, I will stop asking for lines and looking for lanes. Instead, may I come to expect unfamiliar path (and even work on welcoming them without complaint). May I stop relying on my own sight. May I learn to keep my hand in your hand and become accustomed to setting each footstep in the ray of light shining from your holy presence which goes before me. This is where I choose to place my trust. And Lord, may this prayer not be just for this moment, but may it become my daily routine.
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