— Psalm 139
Whenever I’m feeling out of sorts — uncertain about some step I need to take, or worried over some situation I’m facing, or mad at myself because of some mistake I’ve made — my first instinct is to go for a drive.
Invariably, I find some kind of reassurance: a pretty sunset, a rainbow, a delicate sunbeam piercing the clouds. But it’s at my most difficult moments, when I’m too wound up to appreciate subtlety, that Love whispers across my thought: “Turn on your radio.”
The first time it happened, I was driving through the night, feeling physically drained after a 15-hour day at work and emotionally drained after worrying over some friendships that seemed to be falling apart, too tired even to manage much of a prayer.
“God, help me,” I whispered, and I nearly ran off the road when I turned on the radio and heard this pour out of the speakers:
It was as if some announcer had said, “Emily, here’s your long-distance dedication” — except it wasn’t long-distance at all. It was a gentle reminder that the Father was right there, loving me and taking care of me, whether I realized it or not.
I was in a similar state of mind, dealing with some fears and frustrations and disappointments, when I found myself cruising down Route 66 last night, listening to the radio and thinking maybe I ought to change the station.
I’d been beating myself up over what I saw as some personal failings, and I really wasn’t feeling very lovable at all when I hit the button and heard Carly Simon singing …
These little “no-distance dedications” shouldn’t surprise me … but somehow their perfect timing and warm reassurance never fail to leave me just the tiniest bit breathless.
Emily
Red Fork Hippie 