Faster Grandpa. Faster.

As a little boy, I loved climbing up into my Grandpa’s lap. He’d come in from a hard day’s work on the farm, bathe, eat dinner, then find his favorite recliner; and I’d be right behind him. I didn’t care what he was watching on TV. My ADHD found respite in his lap. He’d wrap one of his big forearms across me, and I’d lay my head on his chest and drift off to sleep. That was our routine for years.

Then one day, as I climbed into the passenger side of his big Oldsmobile 88, he signaled for me to climb into his lap, which I did without hesitation. He placed my hands on the steering wheel and said, “You’re going to drive.” My palms were sweaty and my eyes big as we left the edge of town and took the backroads home. I was five and driving… and it was so cool!

We pulled over by the edge of one of his fields and he swore me to secrecy as he slid me back into the passenger seat a few hundred yards before we reached his driveway. Then we had dinner and went right back to the recliner together.

And so was the beginning of another shared routine. We drove those same backroads together for several years. He let me hold the wheel, but I was too short to reach the pedals and far too immature to control the speed. For even at a whopping forty miles per hour, I was often encouraging, “Faster Grandpa. Faster!” I relished those adventures, though I was so eager to control how fast we were moving.

He’s been gone for years. Sometimes I’ll drive those same backroads. Of course, I get to steer and control the speed now. But it’s not the same. Now I know that he wasn’t simply preparing me to do something on my own. He was connecting. He was inviting me to take the closeness we cultivated in the recliner out into the world. Achievement was not his goal. Bonding was. Not once did he have to tell me to trust him while driving because trust had been forged in the recliner. I never doubted I was safe or even questioned where we were going. My confidence was anchored in his presence, and I was sure we could do anything together.

I often hear friends fret about their efforts to determine God’s plans for their lives. They just know that He has great plans for them and they’re so eager to figure them out and get started. Many have already climbed into a “vehicle” whether it be raising a family, starting a new job, volunteering in ministry, or perhaps getting ordained; and they’re ready to go. I can almost hear that distant “Faster Grandpa. Faster!”

Yet, I fear some have skipped the recliner. I think God is a lot like my Grandpa. He doesn’t discount achievement. He loves to invite us to do great things. But accomplishment has never been the goal. Closeness has.

Perhaps God’s plan is to do great things through us, inviting us into the greatest adventures, not as his goal, but as an overflow of the closeness we have with Him. It’s easy to think David’s faith was strengthened by facing Goliath, or Daniel’s faith strengthened by his experience in the lion’s den. Perhaps they were. But the Bible is clear that each had cultivated a close personal relationship with God long before those adventures. That closeness was the foundation of each of their great adventures.

When it comes to doing great things, we’re only as stable as the foundation we’re standing upon. Perhaps we’d be wise to invest more into our closeness with God before pursuing an adventure for God.

Thanks for Reading,

John

FYI - Our adventures were long before seatbelt or carseat laws. I’m not suggesting you put children in your lap while driving.

Share