When I was 15 Dad took me in to get my driver's permit. I passed, and as I walked out to the car I jokingly said, "Hey can I drive home?" Dad threw me the keys and climbed into the passenger side. Please note: I had never driven a car before. Also: we had a stick shift. But adventure is my middle name so I gamely jumped in, started it up, put it in reverse, and stalled. Let's just say that it was a long drive home. I made quite a few drivers very unhappy. I ended up in a ditch and Dad took over and drove me home. I mentioned in a previous post that I've been reading 'Practicing His Presence' by Brother Lawrence (a rewrite of the original). It is a beautiful soul-seeking book of encouragement written by a French "Lay Brother" among barefooted devotees. He claims you can be interactively in the presence of God at all times. Another man, Frank Laubach a missionary, has a chunk of his writings compiled here as well and he claims the same thing. "See how many minutes of the hour you can remember...Christ at least once each minute; that is to say bring Him to mind at least one second out of every sixty." This is harder than it sounds. I've struggled with lots of thoughts like, "Why couldn't I have been a monk and gotten this down before I had four children!" "I could think about God all the time if I lived by myself," etc. Then I read, "Faith alone, not a method, and certainly not fear, was able to satisfy me in coming to Him. That was my beginning. The next ten years were very hard, and I suffered a great deal." Excuse me, did he say ten years...and he didn't have any children! A couple weeks ago in school I told the kids that they needed to write a thank you letter for grammar. I told them to write to anyone they wanted to thank. A while later I found the following letter on my desk.
Dear God, Thank you for being with me all the time. I really like that. Thanks again. Love, Grant
So I'm on this road, and I don't know how to drive, but my heart is still up for adventure and Father is in the front seat with me, all the time.
Note: I'm still thinking a parking lot would have been wise.
It's like going from a trot to a gallop. You bump along through the first years of marriage, trying to manage this beast that's got a mind of it's own. You're going somewhere, it's just rather rough riding. Then something clicks. You lean forward, merge into the horse, the jolting jolts into a glide. All the world falls away and you're flying.