Part 2 — Driving Thru Tunnels

Highways and biways. The 110 to the 10 to the 5 to the 405. And the word “the” mixed all in there all along the way. Totally California. So West Coast. But more than that: tunnels. All among these roads. Cutting all through these mountains. Tunnels here. Tunnels there. Tunnels, tunnels everywhere.

We play this game as a family. As we’re driving, all packed up in the van like a bunch of goofy Griswold’s, and as we come to one of these pipelines through the earth, one of us shouts out, “TUNNEL!” And as we enter in, we suck out all the oxygen that van has to hold. And we gasp tight.

Yellow line after yellow line ticking by like a tachometer on an oxygen tank slipping low. A collective silence. But our lungs bearing the beating of the thunderous roll. And all of it — voluntarily. Like a bunch of idiots lined up for one those state fair rides you’re just not quite sure are really meant for joy riding.

And then. As we’re about ready to cave. Each of us quickening to quietly turn away from the ride as our turn comes up. To tip toe back to the safe shores of all that’s secure. And known.

As that moment arises, so does this: the light.

Bursting forth from the end in all of its magnificent glory. Like a good friend surrendering after hiding a little too well in a game of too much “seek”. The mutual giddiness at the hiddenness, of how well crafted the plan was all along. And the shared joy of being found. Each of you — together. The duty worth the delight.

Exhale. Breathe it in. And just laugh.

Joy and suffering aren’t your two friends that can’t be in the same room. No. These dear relationships of yours must eat from the same table. And more often than not, they’re in conversation with one another. And would you believe, there’s shared laughter and common tears among these opposite poles? In fact, when you look away for just one moment, you may find your friends in some sort of song and dance — the intimacy of a shared language. Both fully framed and found in the foundation of you. Suffering and joy. And you at your very core. A beautiful trinity of all that is life.

And there we are. Certainly sitting with all three.

The holding of breath. The breathing it out. And the tunnel in between.

Dutifully pulling out this week’s reading. Another paper to write. A chore of choice. A labor of love. A voluntary holding of breath. An idiot in line.

And there meeting me is Jonathan Edwards. Arguably the greatest theologian this country has ever produced. Writing from three hundred years ago. And still, writing right to me. Right here in the tunnel.

“A great deal of noise and tumult, confusion and uproar, darkness mixed with light, and evil with good, is always expected in the beginning of something very glorious. After nature has long been shut up in a cold dead state, when the sun returns in the spring, there is, together with the increase of the light and heat of the sun, very tempestuous weather, before all is settled calm and serene, and all nature rejoices in the bloom and beauty. It is in the new creation as it was in the old; the Spirit of God first moved upon the face of the waters, which was an occasion of great uproar and tumult. Things were then gradually brought to a settled state, till at length all stood forth in that beautiful, peaceful order, when the heavens and the earth were finished, and God saw every thing that he had made, and behold it was very good.”