Sometimes, I’m just not ready to walk in the door of my house after my weekly Bible study. Sometimes, I need some time to think before walking in and facing whatever it is waiting for me, which usually includes a pile of dirty dishes. I don’t want to see that, nor am I ready to immerse myself in whatever else needs my attention. Sometimes, these things- the sinkful of dishes, other things that need attention- they feel like such a downer after an especially good Bible study, like a bursting balloon, and I’m floating back down to reality.

So, once in a while, when I know it would be too overwhelming for me, and it’s not in anyone’s best interest for me to go straight home, I will just get in my car and drive for a while. I drive down familiar roads, because it’s dark by that time, but I don’t have a particular place I’m going. I just pick a direction, and go.


I find that when I drive, all of the problems and issues that I’ve buried during the day (or over many days, months, even years) bubble up to the surface. What is it about driving that does that? Those buried thoughts mingle with the study thoughts, and I’ve got to sort that out.

(Sometimes, I should simply be getting out and driving on any particular day, but unless I’m already out, I will rarely get up and go and drive to nowhere.)

Yesterday, I wrote about the psalmist’s cry and how hard it can be for us to pray. So I had one of those times like I talked about. All I could do was cry.

Sometimes, it just ain’t pretty.

You know, we’re here on earth for just barely a blink of eye compared to the length of eternity, and while we’re wading through the muck and mire of all of life down here, it’s easy to forget that this is just a small speck compared to eternity. I was thinking about that because I was once again asking God some questions, some “why” questions, and “I’m confused” sort of questions, I don’t know what to do sort of questions, the tussle in my mind and my will, and I’m ready to just quit sort of questions, and it feels like I have been waiting for an inordinate amount of time, aka, “forever”, type of questions….

I know, I know… who am I to question God? Question His timing? Some circumstances? And “forever”? I’m here for a fraction of a millisecond in eternity. (How many times have I said “forever”? Oh, too often, and to see it written down like that sounds childish, I know, and it also makes no sense….)

Here on earth, we feel the weight of being on this earth. We’re stuck in the dimension of time here. We may know this isn’t all there is, but we feel the weight of all that has gone wrong, and it sure dang hurts. So, I had to let God know how much it really hurts. He knows already, but I just had to say it. 

There are some things in life that are just–

I can’t finish that sentence… though there are a lot of answers to fill in the blank.

I think I find one thing that’s distressing and then, wouldn’t you know it, there’s another that’s even more tough and complicated. 

It seems fitting that there is a “gale” warning currently: very high winds, and very high waves on the lake. Life is like this: winds that are calm, winds that are gusty, and some winds are strong enough to knock someone down or capsize a boat. That’s kind of what life feels like. A windstorm; winds are constantly moving, sometimes they are still, but that’s just the momentary pause in between storms. Yeah, it kind of stinks. I try not to stay here in the darkness of these winds, but sometimes, you’re in the middle of it, and you have to acknowledge there’s a storm raging, for crying out loud!

You know, sometimes, you ever just want to cuss? (I’ve felt it. I admit it. Forgive my candidness. I’m wiping off all the religious whitewash. I was raised Southern Baptist. Did I just make a joke?! I’m not entirely sure….) 

All this seems fitting, as we were reading tonight about Jesus weeping in Gethsemane. Actually, weeping hardly seems to describe what Jesus was going through; it was more like a deep agony, a deep anguish. We’re studying the book of Mark for the Bible study, but in Luke it says an angel came and strengthened him while he was praying in the garden, so I mentioned that. Someone else remarked how lonely it must have been. Indeed… no one else in the entire world, or in human history, can or will be able to fully understand that experience. Isn’t it ironic that loneliness can be one’s constant companion. I’ve written that often in my own journal  (though not here on the blog). It must have been so for Jesus while he walked on earth; though he had a close fellowship with the Father, he certainly was human, too.

I will say this: don’t cry and drive (especially when wearing contact lenses). I don’t recommend it. But to be honest, I won’t be heeding that advice. I know I’ll be out on the the road again one night, driving to nowhere. As long as I’m alive, and this earth is the way it is, there will no doubt be drives to nowhere.


(This post is more of a downer, which I try to avoid; I try to focus on the hope we have. But, it’s real. Hey, it’s Lent, right?)