Last night I was calling in my sleep. The dream I was thrashing through involved John and I co driving our two door Toyota named Frodo. He was in the front seat, with Ben next to him, and I was in the back with the twins. Somehow I had the key and ignition and he had the pedals and steering wheel. Coordinating is already a test of timing in a manual, but with a committee in charge it is even sloppier. John kept taking his eyes off the road, and my voice yelped like a scared chicken running from a fox, a sound I might add which is permanently stamped on my memory.
John heard me and shook me awake. I calmed down as he wrapped his arms around me and I snuggled back into the quilts. But when I fell asleep we were still on the road. We were taking Ben to an appointment but John's route was so belabored we arrived home barely in time to go fetch him.
When our firstborn was four he had a red plastic steering wheel and loved to sit in the front seat next to me and pretend to be in control.
"Go left," he would dictate, a microsecond before I turned the wheel. It was fun to humor him even if we did go a longer way. It gave him a feeling of power. I could have taken it as a heads up that he would be the most motivated of all our kids to both get his license and own a car. (16 and 18 years respectively)
I am in the back seat of my own marriage. I think I have the keys and itinerary, but God frequently reminds me otherwise. I squawk when I think He is taking me too slowly, too quickly or in the wrong direction. In spite of the dream John is not the head navigator either, but God knows I could not have handled a dream with Him in it.
He lets me sustain the illusion that I am driving most of the time, even though it usually results in a longer ride.
