I was following my dad.
We left on Friday morning to make the six hour drive home. My parents had come up to make the trip back with me so that bathroom stops and whatnot would be made easier. I know the way, but I was following my dad.
The day was beautiful - bright and sunny…and hot. But the newly repaired air conditioning in my van was working great. We could just enjoy the sights scrolling by outside the windows as we cruised along. I saw row after row of ripening corn standing still in the breezeless heat. I saw innumerable Southern Baptist churches, some brick, some white board. All of them with steeples proudly pointing towards heaven. I saw a very happy big black dog racing excitedly from side to side in the bed of a big burgundy truck. I saw another dog with a wish for both his death and mine as he darted from the side of the road and under my tires. Praise God we both were unscathed. I saw all these things, and more, but I couldn’t take time to truly gaze upon them - or to stop and savor them… I was following my dad.
And I thought as I drove about the rather obvious analogy. I’m following my earthly father, who is leading me to a home where I am known, and welcomed, and loved. I know he knows the way. I know he is wise in the ways of the road. I know he has my best interests at heart. I can trust him. And I can’t get too distracted if I want to stay in view of his tail lights. I thought about writing a blog post about it… and composition kept me occupied as the miles ticked by.
Five of the six hours had passed. And the trip was going remarkably well. My children were content, for the most part. Bathroom and food stops went as well and as quickly as could be expected. It was a great trip, though the traffic was fairly heavy. Somewhere in Columbia, things got bogged down. The cars were slowing, and both lanes were packed. I moved to the right, while my dad stayed in the left. The right ended up moving faster, and for the first time all day I was in the lead. I grinned playfully as I passed my parents, pretending to laugh a big loony laugh. As the blockage cleared away, I enjoyed being out in front for awhile and cruised on in pole position. I could see my dad back behind me. I wasn’t worried, this section of the road was familiar turf to me and we weren’t all that far from home.
As a few miles went by, the sky began to darken. The clouds above were a charcoal grey, and I could feel the storm’s nearness. I love a good storm. But then the clouds transitioned from charcoal to pitch, and I grew more anxious. But what was there to do but keep driving? Then a little voice came whispering, “You aren’t following your dad.” I felt strangely chastened, and I dropped my speed dramatically. My dad took the obvious hint and passed me quickly. Within moments the heavens opened upon us and the deluge began. Sheets and sheets of rain. I had my wipers on as high as they could go and I could still barely see my dad’s lights. This is not the kind of driving condition which I am used to, nor which I enjoy. I was on the verge of panic, breathing fast and shallow, with tears filling my eyes. But I had to keep driving. My dad had always taught me not to stop in this kind of weather. Slow down to 45 or so, and keep going - that’s what he always said. And that’s what he was doing in front of me. I locked my eyes on those red lights and followed my dad, chanting scriptures aloud and praying desperately. I prayed for our safety. I prayed for my mom and dad. I praised God for His faithfulness and that He is my tower, my rock and my shelter. I prayed for the tears to clear from my eyes that I might better see the road. I prayed for peace. (Strangely enough, I didn’t really think to ask for the storm to stop. I tend to assume that God wants the storm there or it wouldn’t be there in the first place.) And I thanked God over and over that my earthly father was leading me, while He - my heavenly Father - was with me.
When we arrived safely home, my mom told me she had been praying for me the whole time. (I kinda figured) In the midst of it, she had said something to my dad about her fear for me and the children and he said, “She’ll be fine as long as she follows my lights.” I cried all over again at that. I’m safe here now and having a good time with my family. I can’t say that tragedy would have happened if I had not let my dad back into the lead. But I know that I could not have driven through that storm alone.
What would have been just a prosy little devotional analogy for my blog about following our Father took on life-preserving proportions. All of sudden, for me, it wasn’t just an analogy anymore. Following my dad got me safely home.