The Lord makes firm the steps
of the one who delights in him;
though she may stumble, she will not fall,
for the Lord upholds her with his hand.

Psalm 37:23-24

Let’s go.

I’m in the passenger seat, my head hanging out the window, my hair blowing in the winds of your grace. It feels like we’re driving in circles, but we’re really rounding mountains – and we’re going higher. We’re going up together.

And Jesus, you’re driving.

There are moments when I’m grateful that it is you in the driver’s seat and not I – the moments my eyes see narrow roads and wide risks, the moments wrought with an unavoidable awareness that one wrong move will send the car careening off the side of the mountain. I don’t want that responsibility. I’d rather close my eyes and trust that you’ll get me to the next level safely.

You always do. Here’s how it goes:

The road tightens along the edges of the mountain. My chest tightens as I see the crazy curves coming closer; so I close my eyes like an infant in her mother’s arms and entrust myself entirely to your care and careful driving practices. I may slide in my seat ever so slightly as we swerve, but I stay in the car. Though my eyes are closed, I can sense your hands on the wheel. You do what you do to get us through.

 I wasn’t watching what you did, Jesus. I don’t how we got to the next level. I just know that I open my eyes; and we’re here.

We’re here because I acknowledged that I cannot round this corner on my own accord, and I intentionally surrendered control of the car to you, my Savior. We’re here because of You. 

But what if I forget that?

What if, after it’s all over,

I forget who was driving that day?

What if I forget that what comes so easily to you doesn’t come so easily to me; and I attribute the victory more to my faith than to your power?

There is where the road gets dangerous. Though we’ve passed the challenge of the curve, and we’ve made it to the next level, we’re now in the precarious passageway of pride – where the roads are wide and the snares are secretive.

It looks like I can handle it on my own. So, I insist:

“Let me take it from here, Jesus.”

I reach over the console and wrestle for the driver’s seat; confident that I can chart territories not yet seen.

But unlike my virgin eyes, you’ve already seen this level. You’re not fooled; you know its traps. You see the lusts laid to lure me off that are hidden from my eyes; so You don’t let me drive – you just let me wrestle for the chance.

As I undo my seatbelt and grasp at the steering wheel, I begin to trust more in myself and less in You.

But you don’t budge.

You maintain control of the vehicle even when my eyes are not on the road. You won’t let us fall.


Because You love me.

You love me even when I talk to others before I talk to You. You love me even while I tell others of your faithfulness without thanking you first. You died for me knowing that I would accept the credit for my own breakthrough. Credit that is due to you, Jesus.

Forgive me,

my Jesus.