Don't Go Toward the Light

You know those "big savings" offered by auto insurance companies to folks with spotless driving records? Install a little plug-in under the dash of your vehicle for a few weeks, and your driving habits are monitored in order to give you "deep driving discounts." Not so much. My first experience with said plug-in ended with the senseless murder of my fourteen year-old Explorer on a winding airport road. My second? A pitiful eleven percent discount. I know, at least it's something, right? Well, ten percent is the minimum. Turns out, their "safe driver rewards" have little to do with this safe driver and more to do with the hour at which she does her driving. Who would have thought that two-thirty in the morning is a dangerous time to drive? (Probably the guys who poured my mortally wounded SUV onto the back of a roll-off and solemnly bore her away.)

As I drove into work last night, though, I realized high beams have become "a thing." Not exactly a safe driving practice on narrow two-lane roads. Why do people feel the need to drive with their high beams on, especially with the LED headlights available on most cars today? I repeatedly find myself struggling to resist the urge to "go toward the light," as they say. And here's where my metaphor begins; but it may not be what you think.

It's human nature to focus on the things that come at us and tend to ruin our day, steal our peace, or take our attention from the things that require it the most. Just like the lights of an oncoming vehicle, cutting through the black of night, the troubles and trials in our lives can draw our eyes from the path we are following. We think about the things that derail us; we talk about the things that distract us. "My aching back!" "I can't afford another mouth to feed." "Did you hear what she said about me?!" "How am I supposed to have time to do that?" We don't stop with superficial wonder, we talk our issues to death -- and not to the One who can actually do something about them. It's, sometimes, as if we like being fixated on our problems.

You know, I have had to consciously tear my eyes away from the superfluous glow of oncoming lights, tell myself to "Stop it. Pay attention to the road." You wouldn't think something so obviously wrong and ridiculously ordinary could hold my attention that long. But it does. At first, it's irritation. "Are you going to turn those off?" Then it becomes some sort of strange dare -- as if they can see you staring or they care if you are. At last, it completely steals your focus: you're not even sure why you're still staring, you just know you can't stop.

Trouble is that way also. The irritation of the neighbor who constantly parks over your driveway; the cigarettes (and their exorbitant price tag) your wife refuses to give up. Once you start staring, it's almost as if you can't stop. You begin keeping track of how many times he's come home late; you start noticing the pain in your elbows as well as your jaw as well as your ear -- and, "What's that dot?!" You're looking for one more thing, one more infraction, one more second of inconvenience. Before you know it, staring at your problem has become a way of life. You've grown so tired, but you simply can't help yourself. Sick and tired of being sick and tired. But what do you do?

I'm not trying to be glib or dismissive -- real pain, real struggles are, well, real. But we choose to fix our eyes on them, or we choose to fix our eyes on the One Who heals, Who restores, Who redeems, Who provides and protects, Who loves, Who makes all things new! We don't have to keep staring at the distractions until we have left the road. And leaving the road is perilous! Try explaining that to your little plug-in!

Fix your eyes on Jesus today. And when the piercing wrongs of the world begin to lure your gaze from Him, "Stop it! Pay attention to the Way."