I woke up this morning and had plenty of time to get ready, which of course translates to “you’ll never make it on time.” I never understood growing up why it took my mom and older sister an hour or more to get ready, while I took less than 30 minutes. In the last few months, I have developed this horrible, negative trait as I get closer to womanhood: My room was clean when I woke up, and now it looks like it was struck by the Hurricane Irene of clothing.
The extra time I had wasted away as I ran around trying to find a shirt to match my mood, and that I would decide looked good on me, today. Forget about if it looked horrible yesterday, today it looks awesome. Then I had to rummage through my necklaces and of course, the one you want to wear that goes perfectly is tangled with all the others you hate. Again, you didn’t like it two days ago, but today it’s perfect and without it your outfit is a bust.
Then it’s on to jeans. Granted, I am a queen of jeans. I live in them. I breathe in them [well, I hope we all do]. I sometimes even sleep in them. If I could have worn jeans to my Sr. Homecoming over a dress I would have done it in a heartbeat. In order to find the perfect pair you have to decide on colour: dark blue, blue-blue, light blue, black, or fading into some strange unknown colour? Dark blue. Ripped or non? Non. Flared or skinny? Well, after eating Chipotle Monday, what do I fit into? Flared. Shoes? TOMS today, they go well with the flare.
Notice I haven’t even mentioned hair or makeup yet? [Yup, I've reached almost full womanhood status.]
I’m supposed to leave my house by 8:40 A.M. to get to the YWAM Vegas base on time. It was 8:48. I quickly grabbed my backpack, purse, water bottle, coffee, and lunch. Grab the keys and shove them in the back pocket, kiss mom goodbye and VROOOOOOM! Into the awesome, sexy ‘Stang we go!
Notice something else I may want to bring to work but am forgetting? Well, about 8:59 A.M., a little more than halfway there, it dawned on me...
Where is my laptop?
On my floor underneath a pile of important papers I will need for work today but didn’t realize because it was covered by clothes I decided I didn’t want to wear today. Yup. That’s the perfect place for it.
9:27 A.M. I pull into my driveway frantically running into my house. I’m now 27 minutes late, and have another 20 minutes to get to work. Lovely...
You better believe I was ready to put the pedal to the metal and book it. As I pulled out of the gate of my community, the Holy Spirit gently warned me with his still, small whisper: You’re late as is, don’t risk getting into more trouble by driving like a maniac to make up for lost time.
While I agreed that I should be careful, I said a prayer thinking maybe the angels of speed will watch out for me. God had other plans in mind. I got onto the nearest entrance for the freeway and am stopped by the red/green/one-car-at-a-time-light. As I pull up in line, I didn’t know if I was supposed to laugh or honk or cry. To my left I saw a blue Highlander with a Christian fish.
It was my pastor.
He got the green first so he was in front of me.
I decided laughter was the best idea, and soon found several minutes later I couldn't stop laughing.
The Holy Spirit is indeed my best friend, and my protector, but Irony is His partner in crime. God knew I wanted to speed and drive crazily, but he also knew that I wouldn't if it meant risking having my pastor see me. My car is kind of hard to miss with its selective gunmetal, rain-stained paint job, decals of the Mustang on both doors, and of course, the conviction machine that often reminds me to drive safe-r: a sticker that reads “JESUS FREAK” on my back window. I was about as hard to miss as a deer wearing a bright red light on their nose with Christmas lights strung about their horns. I tried to ease my way into the left lane without being seen, but it was inevitable. He saw me. I know it.
As I drove to work, leaving my pastor’s car well behind lost in the sea of traffic, I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. Here I was trying to act “holy” for a few moments simply because I knew my pastor was [possibly] watching. How many times have I tried to do this with God? How many times have I tried to act “holy” when I became conscious that He was watching me? How many times have I tried to sneak past his eye thinking, “Maybe He won’t notice.”
Wake up, Lauren, it’s God. He sees all, hears all, and knows all. But he also forgives all.
God doesn't drive cars because He has the bird's eye view of traffic-and he sees every injustice, including those we do unto others and Him, as well as those done to us. I encourage you, if you want to take the sneaky road to the left lane, don't do it. Wait for God's timing and His justice will prevail. Or if you have taken the left lane, take heart. He loves you and forgives you no matter what you've done because you are His child.
"They encourage each other in evil plans, they talk about hiding their snares; they say, "Who will see them?" They plot injustice and say, "We have devised a perfect plan!" Surely the mind and heart of man are cunning... He will turn their own tongues against them and bring them to ruin... Let the righteous rejoice in the Lord and take refuge in Him; let all the upright in heart praise Him." Psalm 64: 5-6, 8,10
Be Blessed!
Saint
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