Chapter Six
Abiding
Today was filled with unexpected laughter and comical moments. I found myself battling a stubborn Southern bug while cruising down the highway, only to be distracted by the sight of a shirtless truck driver barreling along at 80 mph—lost in his own private Metallica concert, drumming on his steering wheel like the big rig was his stage. At a convenience store, I noticed a sign on the front door politely asking customers not to bring their guns inside… seriously, is that even necessary? And to top it off, a hilarious comedian on the radio had me laughing out loud for miles.
All this was intertwined with the anticipation of exiting the I-40. I have felt so safe on the road.
My dad has been on my heart the past few days—especially today. It’s been quite a journey of emotional healing, uncovering things I hadn’t realized or allowed myself to feel about him. He’s been gone for 11 years now, but when he died, a flood of buried emotions began to surface—things I had pushed down for so long.
Out on the open road, I found myself processing decades of pain—the ache of not feeling protected, of not being taught or guided by him. I grieved the longing to be led well. As much as I resisted it, deep down, I had always wanted someone to follow. I wanted him to be stronger than the weaknesses I kept hidden beneath my rejecting spirit.
I’ve been deeply angry that he died in his addiction. I’ve wrestled with that disappointment for years.
But today, something shifted. I came out the other side of it all and remembered: he also gave me so many of the loves and passions that make me who I am.
Being on the open road, I feel as if I am living the legacy he left for me. I look like him. I act like him. He was an artist and a road traveler. He was comical. He wore his emotions on his sleeve. He loved deeply. He was impulsive and had good intentions, but was so often ill-equipped to do life properly. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and I embraced that he is a huge part of who I am.
Just seeing the 18-wheelers made me cry…several times a day. The trucks are symbolic of Dad.
When I was 37 I decided to run a marathon. The day I decided to run I called him and said that I needed him to be at the finish line to cheer me through. He said he wouldn’t miss it for the world. He was my biggest fan when I ran track in middle school. He danced like a fool as I would cross the finish line of even a mile race….and I wanted that again. I envisioned him at the end of the race, jumping and calling my name, celebrating with me. He died halfway through my training and I almost didn’t run the race but someone told me that he would not only be at the finish line but to envision him running with me. I only made it to the halfway mark of the marathon due to injuring my knee, but he was with me as I ran through the half-marathon ribbon. We may not have made it 26 miles, but we did well.
Today as I came close to the finish line of this race over the I-40, I got pretty nervous. I was fearful of being back in the real world, having been so immersed in the presence of Christ for 4 days I really didn’t want to exit the actual highway. I wanted to stay on it forever. I feel as if I’ve been in a God Bubble. I knew the time was approaching and that I needed to finish the race, but I wanted my daddy to be there, cheering me on.
I cried it all out and remembered that I needed to abide in God because He is with me and He cheers me on. There was a sting in that thought for a moment. I know my dad’s physical being. I can remember him. I can see him cheering me on. I cannot see God. How is that supposed to be enough? Something about letting the question form felt good and a sense of peace came over me.
Abide in me and I will abide in you.
The realization of this truth was experienced at that moment. Ask and ye shall receive. Is it okay to ask questions like this? Is it normal to feel intense peace and intense grief at the same exact moment? I decided to just linger in the questioning. I didn’t need the answer. Maybe that was freedom of its own kind.
A sunray poked through the clouds at just that moment, its beam lit up the 18-wheeler in front of me. And led me toward the quickly approaching exit.
“Well, what’s next, God?”. Within seconds the heart clouds appeared above me and my phone dinged with a text from Rhonda. It was a meme of a teacher writing on a chalkboard. It said, “The mother’s heart is the child’s schoolroom.” and God is always telling me to find my mother’s heart. So, I guess that’s what’s next
How Great is our God.
