Checking the Map

 August 23, 2022

God’s question to Adam has been on my mind today. “Where are you?” isn’t as easy to answer as you might think. Where am I in my walk with God? Yesterday I mentioned that if we don’t know where we are, we won’t know how to get where we’re going. 

I pulled out of the driveway of Linda’s parents’ house about seven in the evening, bound for Chicago and seminary. Behind the U-Haul was our ‘66 Falcon. It was the Jimmy Carter years, when OPEC put the squeeze on us. There were lines at the gas stations, and even the interstates had a 55 mph speed limit. It probably wouldn’t have made any difference if it had been 75 mph; those U-Haul vans had governors on the carburetors, and 55 was all I was going to do unless I were coasting down a hill. Interstate 90 through Ohio and Indiana doesn’t have many hills. There always seems to be major highway construction around Cleveland. Even today, they are always working on the bypasses or some other project, but in 1975, Cleveland owned the highway from hell. But I made it through.

I was about two hours beyond Cleveland when I saw it. The sign joylessly proclaimed, “Welcome to Pennsylvania!” When you don’t know where you are, it’s hard to get where you’re going!

I know I am secure in Christ. St. Paul reminds me of this every time I read his letter to the Ephesians. I know I am towards the end of my earthly sojourn; the finish line gets closer every day; If my life were a 440, I’m somewhere beyond 300. I’m more settled than I used to be; I’ve learned to let go of things I cannot control, and to rest in the grace of my Heavenly Father, to believe in his forgiveness and trust in his goodness. I have little to lose, and nothing to prove. I’m making progress, but still get frustrated at my dullness in prayer and hesitation in my witness. If not throwing wrenches across the garage anymore is any indication, I think I’m more patient than I used to be. 

Better than excessive self-examination, if I really want to know where I am, I can ask Linda or my kids. And a couple friends. But like my long-ago fiasco at the Pennsylvania border, one of the best ways of discovering where we are is also the hardest. It is jarring to be stopped in our tracks by a big sign that says, “You’re going the wrong way,” but it often takes a catastrophe or a wake up call to get our attention. And once in awhile, we see those signs that tell us we’re on the right road. They are spiritual pats on the back, the affirmations of the Holy Spirit that reassure us and remind us that we are loved in spite of the wrong turns we’ve made along the way.