When our first born was young he loved to sit shotgun beside me and help navigate. Four year olds were not tethered to booster seats in the eighties, and shoulder straps weren't yet standard in most cars. We lived in a rural town in Florida, and rarely traveled on any road with a speed limit above forty. Lukas had a red plastic console in his lap, with a steering wheel and knobs, so he felt like he was driving too. He even had a yellow plastic key.
It made him happy to give directions about when and where to turn, and for the most part I resisted acting before he spoke. Occasionally he would forget to point me onto our street and I would prompt him.
"Straight or turn?"
We made a good team. Chara sat behind us, with a clutter of ponies on the seat beside her, and Micah was nestled in his carseat.
These days Lukas drives exponentially more than I do, and even without a GPS his ability to find his way outpaces my modest routines. He gets where he needs to go.
When I imagine God in the driver's seat of my life, He is a confident pilot. He knows the destination, in fact He invented it. There is often the illusion in place that I am the one whose expansive knowledge is just the ticket for getting me through life's travails. Yet God is not so foolhardy as all that. Handing over the keys to my spiritual road trip would not just make an arrival unlikely. It would render it impossible.
Plus letting me feel as if I am by His side is more fun than if He were the chauffeur.
