Change is hard. When entering a new phase of life, facing a rite of passage, or anticipating a great shift in circumstances, our minds reassure us that millions have walked this well-worn road before us; our emotions, however, scream that we are blazing lonely, terrifying, uncharted paths through a bleak and perilous wilderness.
Try telling a pregnant woman not to feel anxious about her upcoming delivery because countless women and babies have survived the process. Try telling a businessman not to fear an IRS audit because others have endured the ordeal and come out unscathed on the other side.
And try telling a mother whose son has just turned 15 not to worry when she hops in the car with her baby at the wheel.
I dare you.
It’s a memory for me now, I’m happy to report. We all survived and my oldest son, Ryan, has become a good driver. But we have another son in the wings, awaiting his turn, and the memory of that first trip to driver’s licenseland is still fresh and scary.
It’s not that Ryan was a bad driver as the new and proud possessor of a learner’s permit. It’s just that I’ve been driving for a very long time now, and when you’ve done something for so long, you forget how hard it was to learn at the beginning. Real hard, evidently.
My husband, old titanium nerves, believed we should give Ryan every opportunity to sharpen his driving skills. Sounds good on paper. But I’ll never forget the first time Ryan drove our whole family to church on a Wednesday night…
Words of caution and warning ricocheted violently against the walls of my brain (remember the neurotic goldfish in “The Cat in the Hat” – “I do not like this, not one little bit”?), but I remained quiet.
Our younger son, Andy, and I huddled in the back seat and prepared for the journey. As we rambled out of the driveway, I prayed. Andy was singing a Christmas carol. Since it was April, I asked him why. He replied with great solemnity, “Because I may not live to see another Christmas.”
The propensity to dispense dark humor during times of crisis is evidently hereditary.
Ryan was most sensitive to the slightest gasp or whisper coming from the back seat, so Andy and I did our best to remain composed. As we pulled out onto the REAL road with REAL traffic on it, I glanced down at my lap and saw the Bible study workbook I was taking to church – it was titled, “Heaven—Your Real Home.” I didn’t consider that a good omen.
As we proceeded down the road, Andy’s eyes were the size of golf balls. I suddenly remembered where I’d seen that look before – on the face of a terrified friend seated next to me as we s-l-o-w-l-y made our way up the first huge hill of a roller coaster in Panama City Beach, Fla. It was 30 years ago, but some things just stick with you. I was reliving the whole scene now.
Aside from dealing with a frustrated, harried truck driver who was following us much too closely and was apparently completely unaccustomed to drivers who actually obey the speed limit, our trip to church was, mercifully, quite uneventful. We all survived and Ryan got to put another notch in his new-driver belt.
Ryan is a good driver now. But you know what? I still worry about him. It’s what Moms do.
I’m not sure I want my sons out there risking life and limb in the crazy world we live in. But then, I really didn’t want them to be four years old and leaving me for a few hours to go to preschool … or six and venturing off to school all day … or 12 and traveling all over kingdom come with their basketball teams. I’m sure when they’re 18 and headed for college, it will rip my heart out. And don’t even talk to me about surviving their wedding days.
These rites of passage – they are killers. Maybe it helps some to see others who have survived. Or maybe not. Not when it’s your child. Not when you’re in the back seat praying that your guardian angels have eaten their heavenly Wheaties.
When it comes down to it, peace of mind can’t be drawn from anyone else’s account. It must come from personal trust in an omniscient, omnipotent, loving God.
I’ve placed my children in God’s hands over and over and over again since the day we knew they were coming into this world. No matter how neurotic this Mom may get, I still have an abiding trust that my Heavenly Father is in control and nothing is too difficult for Him.
Not even a kid with a learner’s permit.