March 8

2 Corinthians 3:16-  But the moment one turns to the Lord with an open heart, the veil is lifted and they see.

My son recently sent me this text, “I’ve just finished the poor financial decision of driving to no destination . . . And the environment of an empty mind and having nowhere to be for any reason is incredibly fruitful.” The “poor financial decision” part references my telling him to park his car and stop spending money on gasoline. My apple did not fall far from his tree though, because, while I stand by that financial advice, I also love to drive and meditate. I find that my heart and soul open up when I am driving alone with miles of road ahead of me. 

 Long road trips are my favorite way to travel. I have crossed this country by car nine times, all but three as a solo driver. Each of those trips afforded me the time and isolation to explore new and/or difficult ideas and feelings, that I have come to recognize as God working in me.              

On one such solo car trip, I took off from Michigan just a couple of weeks after graduating from Nursing School. I was on my way to California for one last hoorah before beginning my first real nursing job in Vermont.  Somewhere in Nebraska, wracked with fear of adulthood and grieving the loss of my college life, I considered abandoning all my plans, heading south to Mexico and starting over with a new identity.  Those were the days before the ubiquitous cell phone- no one could have contacted me to tell me I was being foolish.  I actually toyed with that idea for a couple of days and for over a thousand miles. Eventually, responsibility won out over adventure and fear, and I kept in touch with my family using my trusty calling card, making it back from California in time to start my new job, and knowing that taking that job was a choice I had made, not just an expected task of adulthood.

Nearly a decade later, I traveled from Alaska to my parents’ home in Ontario, Canada, listening to CBC radio all the way. The East Timorese Crisis was in full swing and the CBC provided in-depth coverage (in the US, it was barely a blip on our news outlets). I became obsessed with the brutal details of that particular conflict, and I began to consider the unfathomable number of conflicts going on in the world, and wondered if I might leave my job in Juneau and volunteer internationally in crisis zones.  Only as I drew closer to Ontario and my family’s home, did I stop thinking about anonymous suffering and concentrate on the particular suffering that was ahead of me. I was traveling home to care for my mum as she was dying from lung cancer. East Timor had provided a distraction for me as I headed toward the inevitability of watching my still-too-young mum struggle in pain and wither away to her death.

Six months later, and motherless, I drove back to Alaska. Along the way I imagined my mum in the passenger seat next to me and told her all the stories that I didn’t have time to tell her before she slowly slipped away from this world and our family. Each night I sobbed and soaked the pillow in a different roadside motel. The pain and suffering of the world at large was long forgotten.  Those days afforded me a unique opportunity to begin the long process of grieving and healing without the distraction of well meaning friends and the responsibilities of my regular life. All I had to do was drive and cry.

Four years later, I was once again on the road. I was returning from a fantastic vacation with all of my brothers and their families. We had a ridiculously good time, yet, on the way home to Alaska, I found myself angry and bitter about not having a child of my own. On one of the long days behind the wheel, my heart cracked. Although I had been unchurched for years, I found myself screaming my throat raw at God. I yelled. I cursed. And He whispered back. He told me to adopt and have faith. All would be well.  The rest of that trip my heart was filled with joy and anticipation, and two years later I met my son in an orphanage in Russia.

This past summer, that son transferred to a college in Michigan and he actually allowed me to accompany him on the long drive from Alaska.  Surprisingly, for a teen young man and his menopausal mother, neither of us cried, or screamed or was bitter. Our hearts did not crack, nor did I hear God whispering, but He was there. God was there as my son and I ate junk food, drove too fast, laughed, argued and basically fumbled our way across a few thousand miles.  Being alone, together, in that car gave space for the Holy Spirit to encircle us and deepen our connection.  That time with my son was a gift that I will forever treasure.

Gasoline prices are high and internal combustion engine emissions are choking our planet- making going on a road trip an economically, and environmentally, poor decision.  Yet, it turns out that I sometimes need the time and isolation of a long drive to give God extra space to enter into my heart and soul and do His work. My kid seems to be discovering that, as well.  I am not certain that my son yet recognizes that as God working on him, but I know it is. That is priceless.