Drive

Tuesday was one of those days that looked a lot colder outside than it actually was. All of the trees were gathered together, stretching brown limbs into the grey air, grasping for sunrays. It was 41 degrees out, with a light drizzle of rain, and about a foot of snow settled on the ground. New England weather is so surreal to me. One day it's 12 degrees with a pretty severe wind chill, the next it's 51 degrees out with little flecks of snow swirling in the air. Conditions are always shifting, never static. And it's impossible to know what you should be wearing by looking out the window, or using the previous day as a reference.

The seminary is a very quiet place during the daytime. Silence is intermittently interrupted by a giant gust of coastal wind, cuing the surrounding trees into a frantic dance. Their scraggly branches quiver and lift with the rush, they slow, they stand, giving way to another lengthy silence. I thought my heart was with the city, but I'm starting to find contentment in the middle of this forest.

Just a little ways outside Gordon Conwell is all the noise. You don't have to go far to find that cliché New England chaos. Everyone files into their cars, storm down winding roads, and something of a struggle for survival begins.

In all honesty, I've had a fear of driving ever since we arrived in Boston. A simple examination of a Massachusetts map in comparison to an Arizona one perhaps makes it obvious why- Arizona streets are, for the most part, set up on a grid. Massachusetts' are anything but. In Arizona, the lanes are big, the pavement is even, there's no weather to worry about contending with (at least in Phoenix). Boston lanes are uncomfortably small... Not to mention the lines that separate lanes look to have faded a decade ago. Pavement is rocky, snow sits packed up on the side of the road, occasionally shifting itself over a dividing line. In Arizona, driving is set up to be simple and comfortable, in Massachusetts it's made to be a challenge. Every entrance to a freeway is, as a new friend puts it, a launch pad. Merging is immediate, and the only way to avoid an onslaught of honking is to slam on the gas and pray someone lets you in. The elements make things messy. I miss getting into a car with a bright, clear windshield. Tuesday I sat down to a windshield littered with icy residual from winter storms. I used to have to squint into the sunlight. Tuesday I darted my gaze through fogging windows at passing cars, their lights dispersing through a slow shower of rain.

From the very start of Tuesday, I was completely disheveled. Beckett had a tummy ache during the previous night, which translated into a terrible night's sleep for the both of us. A restless beginning to the day led into a frantic afternoon. I had errands to run, so I wrestled the little guy into some warm clothes, strapped on our trusty ergo carrier, grabbed a box that needed to be shipped, and made my way out the door. As a hundred tasks raced their way around my head, Beckett looked up at me with big eyes and a crooked grin, and proceeded to let out a beautiful little chorus of alternating noises in the echoing hallway. A reminder for me to always be joyful is fortunately never far.

As I started the car, radio humming softly under the engine's tired roar, I typed an address to a close post office into my phone's google maps app (a must have in these new surroundings). Our car weaved down familiar roads, occasionally splashing in puddles of rain. Beckett 'read' a book in his car seat (and by 'read' I mean 'chewed'), I kept both hands tight on the wheel. The turn by turn directions my phone's app gives are great; no need to look down and make sure you're going the right way. My eyes nervously focused on the passing street signs as we made our way into unknown territory. 

Then, all my fears of getting behind the wheel in Boston were confirmed. I got in an accident.

The car and I collided instantly; the crash was gentle (I'll say upfront: it was very minor, and no one was hurt in the slightest), but it was loud and startling. Our car sat quietly at the edge of a busy street, Beckett started crying slowly, I lifted my hands off the wheel and stared ahead in disbelief. A monologue started in my head, far more frenzied than the previous one in my apartment hallway: I'm okay, Beckett's okay. WHY did Beckett have to be in the car. I've never been in an accident before. This can't be happening. I just moved here. It's pouring rain. This can't be happening. Should I call the police? I should. Where's my registration. Insurance card. This can't be happening.

I opened my door into the rain, and a driver emerged from the other car. Her face was buried beneath a fur hood, her arms crossed. "My car is new", she said quickly. "Oh no, that's really too bad", I replied solemnly. We examined both cars, the left bumper on mine peeling away from the wheel, broken and deformed from the collision. Her car, slightly scratched, barely a mark. But, scratched, all the same. "My car is new", she repeated. We proceeded to exchange information and made all the calls you're supposed to make. She leaned against her car in the rain as we waited for police to arrive. I felt so lost. I had no idea where I was, and could barely remember my new address. Cars weaved pass us, the rain became heavier, blotting the ink in my notebook. When the police made it to the scene, the rain became sparse and light. The officers were comforting; they made Beckett laugh, calmed my nerves, and released tension between the driver and I. After they took their reports and left, the driver and I even exchanged some encouraging words between one another. "At least no one was hurt", she said smiling. "That's all that matters", I replied with relief. "Your son is beautiful", she said of Beckett. "Let's both go home and have a cup of coffee". "You take care". "God bless."

I'm a person who believes everything happens for a reason. That we have a God who is intimately acquainted with our lives, cares about our hearts, and wants us closer to Him, always. The last few weeks He has been continually humbling me, chiseling away at my pride, bringing me to my knees. It's been painful at times, a relief at others. Tuesday afternoon was incredibly humbling; the accident was minor, the other driver was far more kind than many others might have been, and most of all, we were all okay. A reminder to be thankful for everything sweet we have and hold dear, because not all crashes are so lucky. My husband pointed out that perhaps living in fear of getting in an accident here has taken a toll on my confidence, and he's absolutely right. "Driving is practically the same everywhere". Also true. Yes, the conditions are different here, but everyone's driving for the same reason people drive in Phoenix- to arrive at a destination safely. Why would I build up the idea in my head that every driver here is against me? That New England roads were paved to slip me up? The woman I got in an accident with proved me otherwise, the police likewise confirmed that I was wrong. I was fearful of the unknown, which ended up being detrimental to my capabilities. In seeking to keep my life and my son's life safe, I unknowingly put us in danger. Fear is a powerful emotion; it can take a perfectly normal situation, and make it ugly. Perhaps it's time for me to just simply drive. To trust my instincts, to lean into God when my confidence is lacking, and to understand that however different things might be here, Boston is a beautiful place with great people. And that God is using all of the differences between here and Phoenix to spur change in my heart. For that, I am grateful.