:: in.a.mirror.dimly ::

I used to drive eleven hours from my dad’s house in New Jersey to my college, Taylor University, in Indiana. Eleven hours that I usually drove by myself.

I was kind of nuts. It was all about minimizing stops for gas and the bathroom, while keeping my speed as high as legally possible. I was a blathering mess by the time I arrived, but if I could shave off a few minutes, it was all totally worth it. Really, my friends didn’t know what to do with me after I arrived at Taylor.

While driving I’d also get a Caesar salad and a frosty from Wendy’s. If I was really living it up, I’d snag some chicken nuggets. Don’t ask how I ate my salad.

I’m luck to be alive.

I remember driving across Pennsylvania and despairing. It’s such a long, monotonous state—though not monotonous like Kansas, the bane of cross-country road trips. But on the PA turnpike I was like, “Oh golly, another long hill of a mountain. I’ll bet they’re mining THAT one for coal too.” I would always despair over how long I still had to go in that state which really shouldn’t be allowed to be so wide.

When I’m facing my own issues with disobedience and sin, I’m reminded of my Pennsylvania road trips.

Some days I’m so dang discouraged about how far I still need to go in my Christian faith. In the letter First Corinthians, Paul calls the Corinthians immature, needing to hear about Christ crucified all over again because they suck at obeying God and loving one another.

I don’t know about you, but that all sort of sounds familiar. Am I really just an immature Christian who can’t get the cross and basic obedience down? It’s humbling.

Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that Christians pass through seasons. Sometimes we have struggles and other times we have our mountain peaks. However, the path to maturity surely must run through deepening our intimacy with the Father.

The good news is that God isn’t waiting at our destination, checking his watch, wishing we’d step on it and knock off the chicken nugget pit stop. He’s there in the car with us, wondering why we’re barreling forward at such high speeds instead of pulling over to have a chat with him. That’s where he wants us to start.

I dig a little deeper into the Bible and worry a little more about my prayer life, pressing my foot to the floor as I accelerate myself into a holy fervor. And yet, while God wants me to be obedient, he wants me to obey because my love for him is what drives me.

It’s true that we have very far to go in our quest for holy living and Christian maturity as part of God’s family, but we won’t zoom ahead by trying harder. That is the hardest lesson to learn.