In recent years, I have been blessed to be part of a women’s Life Connection Group at my church. This is a gathering of gals who meet every week to study and discuss the Bible and to fellowship. We laugh together, share our troubles and triumphs, and commit to pray and keep confidences when necessary. One Sunday, while I was absent, the group apparently discussed how challenging it can be to live out our faith in daily life. That particular week, the topic of traffic came up. If you have followed my blog, you may have sensed that traffic is a particular frustration for me. When I returned to class, the subject came up again, and I learned they had challenged each other to work on self-control behind the wheel. I laughed sarcastically and replied, “I wasn’t here, and I did not support that endeavor.” Most chuckled, and we all agreed that this week we would try to do better on the road. After all, misery loves company, right? A little accountability is good for us all, correct?
I half-jokingly suggested that perhaps we could start a program called “Driving for Jesus.” We closed in prayer and headed off to our respective lives, promising to check in on this new goal at next week’s meeting. On the way home, I told my husband about the traffic commitment. He laughed and said, “Good luck with that. I’ll pray for you.” Long-term marriage brings many benefits, but at that moment I didn’t appreciate the fact that he knew me as well as he did. Obviously, my inner struggle with traffic wasn’t as internalized as I had thought. My daughter, Erin, teases me when she rides with me that I suffer from road rage. I remind her that I have never stopped and gotten out of my car. She laughs and says, “Not yet, you haven’t.”
Now, before you jump to judgment: I don’t yell out the window, and I haven’t given any obscene hand signals. But I certainly have used driver sign language, raising my hands in the universal “What in the world are you doing?” fashion. Inside my vehicle, names like clown, crazy driver, and rude dog have been mentioned. In my outside voice, inside my enclosed car, I have asked folks where they learned to drive and whether they had a license to operate that vehicle, all while firmly instructing them to get off the phone, quit texting, or stop putting on their lip gloss. On my report card of Christian living, I probably have a C- or D+ in driving. By nature, I am mostly rational. I have played the role of mediator in work conflicts and peacemaker among friends and family, but the driving thing gets me every time. It is a thorn in my flesh, as they say.
If my group did decide to launch a Driving for Jesus campaign, I couldn’t lead it. I would need to be the first to enroll and stay after class.
So now, with this new challenge from my group, I began to weakly pray, “Lord, help me do better.” I slowly became convicted that it wasn’t good for me to get so hot under the collar in the car. I recognized that my inner drive was actually an outer drive that was not under the Spirit’s control. Though no other driver could hear or probably even sense my frustration, the Holy Spirit could. Surrendering to a more Christlike attitude behind the wheel seemed like a fifty-cent item in the economy of life. It isn’t unimportant, but surely it is less important. Then a friend who shared my struggle had an accident that was not their fault. Already worked up, they got out of the vehicle at the scene and were unkind and short-tempered. The other driver was an older person who was in an unfamiliar area and had missed a turn while trying to get to a medical appointment. By the time the facts came out, the impression had already been left that my friend wasn’t a great testimony for Christ when the opportunity presented itself. I saw myself clearly in that situation. I could hear myself offering the defense, “But I didn’t yell.” As believers, we often use a sliding scale: “At least I didn’t curse,” or whatever it may be. But it doesn’t take sharp words to inflict harm. Harm can be conveyed in an instant through my countenance and body language. It was through this discovery that I knew my inner driver needed an overhaul.
God understands frustration and anger. But He has directed me to be angry and manage it, not let it manage me. Maybe you believe it’s “just traffic,” but I know in my heart that these “smaller” annoyances and joy robbers are exercises in patience and endurance for bigger challenges.
So I realized I needed a plan of attack. I play calming instrumental music. I have a Bible app that reads a daily thought to me. I try to talk out loud to myself with encouraging words. I have even tried telling frustrating drivers, “Love you, man. See you later,” under my breath. I have tried to be thankful for delays, recognizing that I might be on a better schedule according to God’s timing than my own. I also conjure up the cartoon image of George Jetson in his futuristic car, rising up and flying over traffic. Even God has a sense of humor. I also pray and ask the Spirit to help me be more self-controlled. I thank Him for what control I do have, knowing it is a gift from Him. It is definitely a growth process. On days when I have been less successful, I ask for forgiveness and say, “Tomorrow is another day, perhaps another chance to do better.” I learned a song from my children when they were young. It went like this:
“Have patience, have patience, don’t be in such a hurry. When you get impatient, you only start to worry. Remember, remember, that God is patient too, and think of all the times that others had to wait on you.”
The last thing: I remind myself that somewhere out there is a person with a license plate that reads “NAY-BOR.” On a bad traffic day, they’ll be in front of me, and it will dawn on me that even drivers are neighbors, and God was serious about that command. Scripture says it is the little foxes that ruin the vineyards (Song of Solomon 2:15). Today there is a fox in the vineyard of the five o’clock worker, but he is not running. He is driving a car.
Lord, I know You want me to deal with these irritations that can distract me and train my character toward bad habits and short fuses. Thank You for this group You have given me to challenge me, joyfully and painfully at times. You have called me to travel this highway called life. Help me with the traffic, Jesus.
Come back to the vineyard, where next time the five o’clock worker exchanges her clock for a metronome.
