“Lord, Help me to be a safe driver for my children.”
That’s a weird prayer.
Definitely one I’ve never prayed before, but last night as I was driving through my little town with two precious angels in the back seat, I suddenly found myself praying those words.
That’s weird, I thought. I’m an excellent driver with an excellent driving record. I’m not known for being reckless, I don’t text/drink and drive. I don’t get distracted or turn around and discipline my children (even if they need it) while driving.
When I drive, I just drive. Carefully.
For an all-around good driver, it seemed like a strangely random prayer.
Not 60 Seconds Later while driving on a slightly larger road I saw headlights coming out of the darkness, straight at us. For a moment I was utterly bewildered. At last, my brain accepted that a car was being driven on the wrong side of the median strip – he was driving southbound in a northbound lane. MY lane.
With plenty of room to spare I pulled over to the shoulder and laid on the horn (s/he should know s/he’s doing something utterly wrong) and kept driving.
There was no screeching of tires, or close calls, but it was a very dark strip of road and a potentially dangerous situation.
That little, random prayer suddenly made sense. Do I think my little prayer saved us? No. Not at all. It just seemed to be God’s way of reminding me that,
He sees where I’m heading. He knows everything that is coming at me – and He’s like, I got this.
“Surely the arm of the Lord is not too short to save,
nor his ear too dull to hear.” Is. 59:1
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Fact: If people learned how to drive there would be a lot less traffic.
Oh my. Cars. Are. (gulp) Merging.
What? There is a…shoe on the side of the road? Whatever should we do?
The road appears to curve ahead! Woe. Is. Me. Woe.
This is the moment where I pretty much lose all my love for humanity.
What did it? Traffic and the bad drivers that create it.
These traffic nightmares usually happen during long drives on the highway when I really just want to get there. You know – there. Wherever there may be. Home, usually. To make matters worse, my regular radio station tends to be out of range in these remote places and so in between slowing down to a full stop for no reason other than there appears to be a large bird sitting in a tree next to the highway, I must lean over to continually push the seek button on my ancient car’s radio. The love may be gone, but I still harbor a teensy bit of hope that I might find something pleasing to listen to as the precious moments of my life drain away.
It’s usually in these moments where I have lost all my love for humanity that I’ll catch myself singing along to every word of Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” even though I haven’t heard it since at least the 1990’s. Madonna, of course, reminds me of walking around my house at 11 years old belting out the words to “Like a Virgin” at the top of my lungs and not having a clue what it meant.
Eventually, my nineteen year old brother got annoyed and told my mom what I was singing. I don’t remember what mom did but for some reason the memory of little Rebecca belting out “like a virgin, touched for the very first time” while strolling around the familial homestead, is suddenly hysterical, and just like that, my love for humanity is restored.
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