Along For The Ride

Along for the Ride

My dog Burley likes road trips. His crate fits perfectly in the back of my car, and he’s always ready to hop in. He never begs to see an itinerary or questions my route. He doesn’t ask if we’re there yet or whine for a rest stop or water or a toy. He gets settled in his crate, I get behind the wheel, and off we go. I’m in charge of the driving, and my sweet, four-legged boy is along for the ride.

I usually put something interesting in the crate to occupy his attention—a rawhide or a beat-up toy—but before long Burley’s lying down, his eyes drooping closed and his breathing even and slow. He’s not afraid to sleep while I navigate; he trusts me to get us to our destination.

You see where this is going, right?

My dog’s faith puts mine to shame. In contrast to Burley, I wonder often what the driver (let’s call him God) is up to, questioning the destination, the route, or both. I feel the need for frequent updates to reassure me that we are, in fact, making good progress. And in no way do I relish being loaded in for travel facing backward, with no visibility and no control over the trip.

God means to get me from point A to point B and to mature me in the process. I find it difficult to give myself to traveling blind—to say yes to the journey and say nothing more. I struggle to relax, and I fear that if I close my eyes we may veer hopelessly off track.

Even writing these words, I feel ashamed. I’ve followed God long enough that I should have more confidence in his way-finding skills. I should relish the trip and be relieved to not be minding the map. I should feel free to sigh and sleep—to snore, even—knowing he is getting us where we need to be. After all, he is the navigator. And I’m just along for the ride.

Jesus responded, “Why are you afraid? You have so little faith!” Then he got up and rebuked the wind and waves, and suddenly there was a great calm.

Matthew 8:26