He was my navigator telling me to drive two miles down a dirt road in the dark.
It was kind of like driving on ice in that I didn't exactly have complete control of the car. And it was kind of like terrifying in that we were smack dab in the middle of nowhere. Did I mention it was nighttime and we were alone? Well, except for the truck following us, driven by the murderer.
For two miles, the conversation essentially went:
Katie: We're gonna die.
David: No, we're not.
Katie: We're gonna get murdered.
David: We're not gonna get murdered.
Yet still I kept driving.
I trust David, and I trusted he wasn't really leading me down a dangerous path.
If I trusted David, how could I be so fearful?
Well, I was in a very scary situation: I was driving down a dirt road with my brights on but not in complete control of the car, in the middle of nowhere to a house where I've never been, at night, with a guy who is older, bigger, and wiser than I am, and we were being followed. Maybe not the smartest decision of my life.
In ASL, the words for FEAR and TRUST are opposites. You can't sign them both at the same time (I tried). Fear and trust cannot co-exist.
Yet still they did in my car.
Still they do in my life.
I'm in a scary situation. After four long years I graduated with a degree that lacks a defined job at the end. I'm working as a freelance writer and not making enough to pay for food.
But if I say I trust the Lord, how can I be so fearful?
I am not the driver and not the navigator in this life. I'm just a passenger letting the Lord take this car wherever He desires.
But that doesn't mean I'm doing it quietly. I'm crying, I'm protesting, I'm convinced I'm gonna die. I have dug my heels into the ground, literally shouted naughty words at the Lord, and nearly punched someone in frustration.
That isn't trust. That's protesting. That's complaining.
God and I have this conversation regularly:
Katie: This is scary.
God: Just trust Me.
Katie: I want to but I can't. I'm scared.
God: I love you perfectly. Please, just trust Me.
No matter how hard I try, I cannot merge fear and trust. Something's got to give.
On Saturday, I surrendered to trust David, let go of the fear, and kept driving.
The dirt road did eventually end. Surprise: we didn't get murdered! The truck following us was driven by Cody who, turns out, is not a murderer. (Well, if he is, he's a very bad one since he didn't seize a perfect opportunity).
The road forked and BOOM there was a house with lights on, the door open, and the host and hostess inviting us in.
Daily surrender to trust the Lord doesn't mean this bumpy path of unemployment is going to end. God doesn't promise a smooth journey. He does promise that He'll journey with us.
So far, He has.
Life ain't great. But still every morning the sun rises (proof enough of God's faithfulness), I'm still breathing and, eventually, I can pull myself from the five layers of blankets. Some days come with more self-confidence than others but each day a new chance to proclaim His faithfulness even in the desert.
I protested with David but kept going. I'm protesting the Lord but still stepping forwards in obedience.
What's scary about obedience is the lack of control and the lack of knowing where you're going.
The house David, Cody, and I arrived at was home to a family who welcomed us with open arms, fed us a delicious dinner, and let us raid their game room.
|This is less than half of their game collection.|
If we continue in obedience, God promises that some day we will arrive Home to His open arms.
Luckily, we don't have to wait until then. In every step we can cling to His perfect love. In obedience and even in failure, He's RIGHT THERE.
That is hope enough to keep on truckin'.
Putting one foot in front of the other and taking each day one step at a time,