Over fifty years have passed, maybe fifty-five.
I'm riding in the backseat of The Rambler, and my sister is beside me; sleeping.
In front of us, the truck and camper are moving across the lanes of the freeway to reach the exit ramp to the far right, as we head into downtown Denver.
We're going to the museum and we're going to have a picnic lunch together before we go inside.
We brought watermelon. We have ham and cheese for sandwiches. I can almost taste it already.
Mom and Dad say it will be a long tour at the museum.
Lots of walking.
I don't know, I've never been to a museum before. At least I don't remember it if I did.
I'm peering out the passenger window to my left. Then, I notice in the front seat, Grandma leaning over to begin a conversation with Grandpa, her eyes trailing the path of the truck/camper in front of us, the turn signal blinking its intention.
"You know, he turned out to be a real good driver Halsey."
"Yup."
"Wasn't too sure when he was younger; bein' so far away from us in college and all. But, he does real well doesn't he!?"
"Yup."
Her voice was quieted. It was meant to be a private conversation and I could tell that. So, I just kept looking out the window like I didn't hear anything. I could also tell that it wasn't just about my Dad's driving ability. Something about what Grandma said, or how she said it spoke to not just his skill on the freeway. It was more about how he had matured; who he had become as an adult. Grandma and Grandpa were proud of who their son, my Dad, had become. I remember that I was proud too, I guess because they were, and they had known him a lot longer than I had.
Today, a young man in a truck swerved out of a parking lot in front of me. For a block or so, his driving was erratic. The truck swung into the left lane for a bit, edging back to the right lane just as a car sped around the corner coming towards him. I almost said something out loud in frustration and concern.
Was he texting, reaching for his wallet or distracted by something else?
Was this a momentary issue or an example of how he always drove?
It was then that the memory of that short conversation between Grandma and Grandpa spilled into my mind.
We start out on bicycles with "training wheels".
It's a momentous occasion when the training wheels come off.
A parent holds the seat and walks or jogs beside us until at some point they let go. Usually we fall down, or hop off this wheeled contraption a time or two before we ride on without their support. The first trial runs on the bicycle are wobbly and unsure, but quickly they become more sure and stable. In no time we are "poppin' wheelies" or riding with one hand on the handlebars and then no hands. As the parent, it seems like a sprint from the day we are taking off the training wheels to where we are putting car keys into the hand of that child who it seems was only five years old yesterday. Letting go of the seat is now just letting go....period.
That child drives off in a car or truck of some kind and we watch them depart onto the highway of life. We rode with them at first, and then maybe followed behind them in another vehicle, until at some point we arrive at an intersection where they go one way and we go another.
And there we are, like my grandparents, admiring their abilities to handle the car, handle the road....handle what comes in life. Or, our whole body winces with concern, because they are swerving this way or that and don't seem able to process the traffic that is coming at them and the decisions they have to make in response. What can we do about such things? What does God the Father do with us? As he watches us stumble, struggle and fail; holding autonomy between our teeth like a bone in a dog's mouth.
The bible text that parallels something like this is usually found in Proverbs. It starts with, "Train up a child..." However, that's not what has been speaking to me. It's more the prodigal story, which I wrestle through a lot today.
It's a family story.
It features hope and joy, but also, broken relationship and confusion...(I know it's not supposed to be an actual family that Jesus is speaking about here. But I think that he hits pretty close to home with some of his listeners the day he shares the story. The traditions involved in its telling are spot on with their culture. )
So...What was it like in the house the day the youngest son left home?
Short answer...I think it sucked.
No one was really happy.
Anger, grief, resentment and anxiety filled every room in the house, and it followed him when the front door slammed shut behind him.
In some ways, I have played the part of the youngest son before.
But today I am so much understanding the heart of the one who watches that boy disappear into the horizon.
The lesson for me as a Dad, as a Grandpa, as a husband, brother and pastor, in all of this
is about control.
I think that I have lots of it...or at least lot's of influence,
right up until I know that I don't.
Then I discover that what I have left is...to trust and pray.
I don't forget...I trust and pray.
The keys are in their hands...I trust and pray.
The intersection seems to only have one good option available;
only one route that will bring someone to the desired destination and I wanna shout,
"How can you not see this!" Instead...I trust and pray.
The news I heard this morning is painful...I trust and pray.
The grass has grown tall between us...I trust and pray.
The world has become too big...I trust and pray.
AND I keep an eye toward the end of the road that leads home.
While the entry door light shines into the bleak night,
My heart stays ready to party on that day I see the silhouette of someone I've been rooting for
at the end of the road.
Still, remembering, I let go of the bicycle seat a long, long time ago,
and it was the right thing to do
no matter how wobbly that decision feels today.
