Just Close Your Eyes, Girl...

I have a vision problem. Fortunately, it's perceptual, not physiological, though at times it has handicapped me as if it were a physical defect. My problem? I see things that could but don't happen. I'm poised to catch the toddler in the next shopping cart, hanging over the side, about to fall – but he doesn't. I internally jump when I see a wine glass, inches away from the elbow of an animated dinner guest, see the trajectory of where the red wine will land on the carpet – and glass and wine remain on the table to be safely finished. I see the dad with a small child on his shoulders, heading out a door, and I shudder, waiting for the scream as small head smacks doorway – and they both go on their way, laughing.

This vision problem causes me the most trouble when I am in the car. I see exactly where a car approaching the intersection will end up if the driver doesn't stop at that stop sign. I know exactly where my bumper is going to get clipped when the weaving car in the left lane cuts in front of me too soon. When I'm behind the wheel of the car, driving defensively (“in control”, my husband would say), I can minimize my bodily reaction to the looming disaster that never happens. It's when I find myself in the passenger seat that I get into trouble...

For years this problem of mine had been a point of conflict between me and my husband, as well as a source of amusement to my children in the back seat. Though I had learned to control my mouth, and could sit in silence while potential havoc lurked outside the car, I had never been able to silence my body. I just had to physically react in some way. My most frequent action was to apply what my children would call the “ceiling brake”. I'd put my hand suddenly, but unconsciously, on the ceiling of the car when the brake lights of the traffic ahead of us appeared. Husband - “Stop that!” Me - “I can't! I'm not doing it on purpose!” Over time, I lowered the “ceiling brake” until it became the “side handle brake”. Still, my husband was not happy. “Don't you trust my driving?” he would say. I said I did. “Well, you don't act like it...”

I got to thinking about trusting the driver. My husband is an excellent driver. In all the years I have known him, he's never been in an accident. (I don't count the slow motion side swipe by another car in a blinding snowstorm.) He's appropriately cautious, in my opinion, and has a good sense of what the other drivers are likely to do. My mind and heart know I can trust him behind the wheel. Now, if I could only convince my body of this. How do I stop the uncontrollable reflex to grab something and hang on? I realized that on a long trip, if I sat in the back seat, I never grabbed for the ceiling brake. Why? Because there, I usually wasn't paying attention to what was going on outside the car. I wasn't seeing what could, but probably wouldn't, happen. How could I recreate this obliviousness in the front seat? I thought, “Just close your eyes, girl!”

The next time I was in the front passenger seat, I applied my new technique. Approaching a four-way stop with cars coming in three directions, I closed my eyes and reminded myself that I trusted the driver. I didn't even flinch. I opened my eyes as I felt us move past the intersection. The next time on the interstate, when the brake lights of the cars ahead suddenly all turned red, I closed my eyes. No impact, of course...and no flinch from me. And no “Stop that!” from the driver. I could just sit back and enjoy the ride. Closing my eyes was so effective that I wondered why I had not thought of it sooner.

It got me thinking about my spiritual flinching, my searching for some invisible “ceiling brake” in my relationship with God. Similar to the way I trust my husband behind the wheel of our car, I know my heart trusts God behind the wheel of my life. But I also know I flinch unconsciously as I travel with Him next to me. How is God going to work in some particular situation, to circumvent some potential collision? When I flinch, I don't hear God say “Stop that!” but I do have a sense of Him asking “Don't you trust My driving?” Yes, I trust His driving skills, but my eyes see all that could go wrong, all the possible road hazards. My reflex reaction - anxiety and fretting. So I decide to choose not to “see” the things that could go wrong, to not focus my sight on the things that I can't control and are already in the hands of a very capable God. I remind myself “Just close your eyes, girl” and sit back and enjoy the ride. I remind myself that I trust the Driver...

Beware of refusing to go to the funeral of your own independence.

                          - From My Utmost for His Highest by Oswald Chambers, December 9