It snowed here last night.
It wasn’t much – maybe two inches total. But it was enough to make me glad I was not out trying to drive through the fast-falling flakes.
On other occasions, I have not been quite as lucky. My extensive catalog of life experience includes multiple instances of trying to navigate one-and-a-half tons of gas-powered sheet metal through horrific weather conditions…
… often in the dark,
… often at highway speeds.
I think particularly of one nighttime drive along the Pennsylvania Turnpike in a torrential rainstorm. It was my first time ever on this stretch of road, so add “road unfamiliarity” to the mix of nervous-making conditions.
Then there was that time in college when I was driving north on Interstate 5 in Washington State. It was at night (of course!) and there were blizzard conditions all around. You should know that in Washington, they are kind enough to add little raised bumps to the lane-dividing stripes on the highway to give you an audible signal to help you know when you are crossing from one lane to the next.
So blinded was I by the snow, that I navigated by listening for the rhythmic “thrum thrum thrum” of the little bumps beneath the tires on the right side of my car, which caused me to correct toward the left a little… until I heard the same sound on the left side.
In both cases, it was at least two hours of sheer, white-knuckled terror until I finally arrived safely at my destination.
In neither situation did I consider pulling to the side of the road and waiting for the storm to pass. I just kept plugging carefully, nervously ahead, one anxious tenth-of-a-mile at a time. I am not sure why, but I somehow trusted that I would ultimately get through the mess and come out safely on the other side.
It occurs to me that sometimes we have to do the same thing in life.
Sometimes in life we hit turbulence. Sometimes we face conditions that have turned unspeakably hostile. Sometimes pandemics threaten us. Sometimes the diagnosis is bad. Sometimes all of our options seem to have vanished like smoke.
And just like me on the highway, life does not give us the option of pulling off to the side of the road and waiting for the storm to pass. We have to keep trucking, putting one foot in front of the other, wiping the snow/rain/tears from our eyes and trusting.
I suppose when I was behind the wheel of the car, I trusted my (*cough, cough*) pretty amazing driving skills to get me through.
In many of life’s storms, we start out doing the same thing… right up to the point where we can’t anymore.
That is the moment when we are faced with two distinct choices: either sink deeply into despair or call upon the words of Isaiah 43:2. That is where we hear God say, “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.” (Isaiah 43:2, NRSV).
I note here that God did not say IF you pass through waters, or IF you walk through fire. He said WHEN.
All of us hope that 2021 will be a huge improvement over this year. For many of us, it likely will be. For others, it might be even worse.
But no matter what kind of storm you end up driving through next year, I hope you will keep driving, supremely confident that if God is with you the rivers will not overwhelm you and the flames will not consume you.
Abundant blessings;
Dear Mom;
(In yesterday’s installment, I recounted one of my most abysmal performances as a pastoral counselor. Troy, a congregant, had come to see me with an incredible mountain of problems including job loss, cancer, his wife’s infidelity, and parenting challenges, all raining down on him at once.
Russellings of the Spirit 