Steering Wheel

It was very dark, the kind of Pennsylvania dark with patches of fog, no streetlights, and no moon that night. My husband sat behind the wheel of my car, chauffering us home after a very long day at an amusement park. The last couple of rides we went on I was near tears from fear and exhaustion, and our quick bite at a local restaurant resulted in a salad drenched in too-strong dressing, which I picked the walnuts and chicken out of and left the soggy lettuce for a mere 9.99, and then felt my stomach upset on the ride back from the spicy dressing.
Needless to say I was a bit on-edge
My husband, wonderful man that he is, likes to drive slightly faster than me, and he also tends to brake more last-minute than myself. So as we're driving along curvy country roads in PA, I have my foot on an invisible brake on the passenger side of the car, trying to keep my dinner down, and I'm gripping the hand-rail on my door like my life depended on it. I just keep saying over and over again "Keep us safe, keep us safe," whether it be from a deer, a guardrail, or another dangerous driver on the road. I even closed my eyes for a moment, then snapped them back open because it made me even more nervous if I couldn't see where I was going.

This is the story of my life. I have kind of a bad day, and then when I sit in the passenger seat of my car, which I have promised to do because lets face it, God's always going to be the better driver for my life, I freak out. I try to fight the wheel back (God gently lets me have it until I willingly give it up again). I try to brake and turn when I'm not even the one driving. I grip the door like my life depends on it, when really, my life depends on me taking these curves with grace and flexibility. I can't even close my eyes to relax and enjoy the ride, I have to constantly have them wide open to make sure that I am in control, when really I should just acknowledge that I'm not, I gave up control of my life to Him. Sometimes I remember that, but often I forget.

When I'm riding a roller coaster, I have a set of motions I have to go through to beat the fear and get onto the ride. I have to be riding with someone who will let me hold their hand. I have to be strapped/buckled in as tightly as possible, even if it hinders respiration. As soon as the coastar starts scaling the first hill, I close my eyes. I keep them closed as we go up, up, up. At the top, as everyone pauses for breath, I screw my eyes shut as the camera snaps the photo and grip my faithful friend's hand in a death grip. As we fall down that first hill, I scream in terror.

And then I get over it. After the first, and inevitably biggest and most dramatic, drop, I'm fine. I put my hands up. I laugh a little. I yell. When I get off, I feel invigorated, ready to go again if the lines were shorter.

This is not the story of my life. But maybe it should be. I have to close my eyes, forcing myself to trust that no matter how high we go and how fast I fall, all will be as it should be and I will not be irreparebly hurt. The wind may rip at my hair, I may scream in fear, but all will be well, as Julia of Norwich would say.