Every night, when I'm driving back from campus in the dark, and I come to that last left-hand turn, I think, "What if I pulled out right now, and a car came out of nowhere? What if I was hit, and I died, just another college student taken out on the road, coming home from a late school night? What if I got hit and died in this turn?"
And I sigh, and I look both ways, twice, and I take the turn, and I think about how my family would be sad, how terribly inconvenient it would be, dying, but I also wouldn't have to do any more papers or file taxes or deal with anything unpleasant ever again, and, I could go home.
Of course, I always make the turn without getting it, not even close. Because it's Wakefield, and no one's on the road at this time of night, and the turn isn't really that blind, and I'm actually quite careful when I drive. So I never get hit. Because the sovereignty of God prevails over my driving.
And over my life, I suppose.
Every time I take that turn, and survive, and roll into the Bankston's driveway feeling tired but still decidedly in one piece, I think, "It's not my time. It's not over. I am still here, to what end?" It's a radiatingly reassuring and frightening prospect, that there is still more to be done. On the one hand, this means I haven't really done much for God yet. On the other hand, I must still be useful, or have the potential to be useful, because if I wasn't, He would have off'd me, right? It's kind of irreverent to think about it that way, but, I think you get what I mean.
I love these night drives home from campus, where I unpack all the failures and stumblings and amusements and heartening moments. And I am thankful for a daily opportunity to reflect and wonder, what do You ask of me, God?