Part 1 — Old Jeep Driving

Back in high school, I drove a 1982 Jeep CJ7. I’d tear that thing down through the side roads and by roads. A winding tree-lined road in the middle of nowhere…I was gone. And it wasn’t just beautiful when it moved. It also looked exactly how you wanted an old Jeep to l0ok. Perfectly faded dark blue paint job. Your favorite denim. Light blue stripes down the side. The word “Renegade” written on the hood. The word “rugged” written on my soul. This thing was bad.

The only problem was, it really was bad. Like…bad bad. How bad? Let’s just say the tow truck guy knew me by name. That kind of bad.

It probably took me a good year to realize it, but apart from being the coolest looking / least functioning vehicle ever made, it was also the most stressful to drive. You see, while I was maxing out down the freeway at 55mph, the whole thing shook like the frame was prepping to pop off the wheels. And I’m sure, had I given it another year or two, I would have ridden that magic carpet all the way up into the sky. But in the moment, flying at 55, there was far too much adrenaline flowing through my veins to know any of it. Every one of my senses was as maxed out as that speedometer!

Ahh…but when I finally came to a stop.

And parked.

All quickly became clear.

I’d walk away from that machine with my heart beating out of its chest. Hands shaken. Hearing muffled. Brain fried. And it was then, in the calm, that I realized how crazy the chaos had been. It was only when I put it in park that I felt the fullness of how fast I’d been driving. Even if fast meant 10 miles under the speed limit.

I was loading up the kids the other day after a couple hours at the park. And I noticed something. Samuel walking toward me, beautiful blue sky above, great green glass below. And his sweet, little smirk spread across his face. Sam was smiling. My brain played back the past two hours. Just a lot of joy. Running around. Laughing. And not Samuel, nor Simone, nor Abraham stuck on my shoulder one time. All three kids just being kids. The whole dang time.

I buckled up Sam. Walked around the van. Started it up. And headed home. And then it hit me: this was the first time in as many weeks as I could remember that all three kids were feeling just fine. This was what normal was. I’d forgotten the feeling.

I took in a whole wave of oxygen. Fresh air flowing freely, at least for the moment. And I had a parked-Jeep moment.

I finally took in the weight of the what the past few weeks had felt like.

Heart beating out of its chest. Hands shaken. Hearing muffled. Brain fried.

And it was then, in the calm, that I realized how crazy the chaos had been. It was only when I put it in park that I felt the fullness of how fast I’d been driving. Even if fast just meant three kids with stomach bugs.

No hospital visits. No children in any real danger. No long term pain. Just a whole bunch of short term stress. But even that had taken its toll. Not only over my body. But my brain as well. I’d literally forgotten the peace and pace of smooth, steady cruising. And yet here it was. Sweeping into our souls. Lightness coming our way.