I’m feeling the feels- all sorts of them.
I’m praying for discernment: which ones to embrace and which ones to cast down- to let float by on the river of my emotions, without picking them up to observe.
My truck is getting towed – taken for scraps – this morning. Any minute the guy will arrive and I’m choking back tears. My heart feels heavy.
It’s not the truck. It’s what it represents: the memories.
My childhood, my innocence, my naivety, my vanity, my pride, my stupidity, my wandering, my foolishness, my mistakes.
Through it all, this truck carried me- quite literally.
I learnt to drive on the thing! I passed my drivers test in it’s elevated seat and for fifteen years, I’ve turned that wheel through the changing seasons: physically, emotionally and spiritually.
I’ve worshiped at it’s wheel singing praises at the top of my lungs and poured my heart out in song, when nothing but lyrics made sense.
I’ve driven hours to no where, just to be alone and think – to be still, without a reason to get going. I could simply sit- with God and myself: the humble beginnings of my love affair with silence, contemplation prayer and meditation.
For years, this was one of my favourite places to drive to, as captured by Wakefield.
I met Jesus in that truck listening to 106.5, finally brave enough to ask the hard questions I’d never uttered out loud. My truck became a safe place to wrestle and challenge. I felt free to be me, without judgement or expectation.
It’s seen fifteen years of trips to the interior: summers in Penticton, Christmas’ at Apex- family traditions that continue still.
I was sixteen going on seventeen. Now I’m twenty nine, going on thirty.
But it’s time to bit her farewell.
I find it no coincidence she’d kick the bucket now- that my truck would no longer be able to serve me and my family’s needs.
Like so many things I’m leaving behind – the emotional baggage and identity of my past – I see too, my physical world is changing.
I am no longer a girl, but a women. I feel it in my bones. I know it with my breath.
I think of Sodom and Gomorrah- how Lot’s wife looked back as she escaped her burning city. And suddenly, she turned to a pillar of salt. She was given opportunity- to a better life- but instead she held on. While physically she was fleeing, in her heart she couldn’t let go. And I think God knew that.
Because an inability to let go, is an inability to trust God. I learnt this the hard way.
Yet I sense her struggle in myself- the urge to look back, despite knowing what’s ahead is good.
God is calling me to let go of my truck and all it represents – my past and it’s story lines; it’s fears and insecurities; the girl I was then- and not look back. He’s calling me to trust Him and look forward – to the hope of what’s ahead.
Because rest assured, NEW is on the horizon.
I missed my truck being towed away, by minutes….
I had planned to go downstairs and see it off- to take a picture to commemorate. I didn’t make it though and I know it was God’s doing- his mercy and hedge, protecting me from looking back; forcing me to look forward. And for that I’m grateful. My Father is good and He knows what’s best.