Carwash

Thanks for your prayers. That was a little rough! Not only did Chuck post yesterday’s blog, he also insisted on doing clean-up duty after a violent expression of chemo-induced nausea. Boy, I owe him one! I stayed in bed yesterday until time to dress for the trip to the doctor, and returned to bed after we got home. So tired. The nurses were sympathetic, but they didn’t seem at all surprised. So now I’m glad this round is over, and I’m feeling much better, planning a good day at work today.

Max Lucado, in Next Door Savior, tells the heart-tugging tale of the time he took his dog along to the carwash. He hadn’t realized that it would scare the dog. He puts himself in the dog’s paws: “A huge, noisy machine presses toward us, pounding our window with water, banging against the door with brushes. Duck! We’re under attack!” Max wanted to answer: “Don’t panic. The car wash was my idea. I’ve done this lots of times. It’s for our own good.”

Max’s meditation continues:
“Ever tried to explain a car wash to a canine? Dog dictionaries are minus the words ‘brush’ and ‘detail job.’ My words fell on fallen flaps. She just did what dogs do; she wailed. Actually, she did what we do. Don’t we howl? Not at carwashes perhaps, but at hospital stays and job transfers. Let the economy go south or the kids move north, and we have a wail of a time. And when our Master explains what’s happening, we react as if he’s speaking Yalunka. We don’t understand a word he says.”

Here's where my thoughts took me: I guess some days life seems to us like a carwash seems to a dog. It’s good to remember that the sovereign God is the one who, in an act of friendship and absolute good motives, drove our shared “car” into that menacing tunnel, he has his hand on the wheel (his other hand around our trembling shoulders), and in his perfect time he will drive us on out into the light. So quit howling, and move in close to the Driver.

Blessings,
Carol