At my former choir in Richmond we had a phrase called “truck driving altos.” This was reserved for those low, gravelly notes that one couldn’t believe came out of such lovely ladies. A few weeks ago, I lived this term out by borrowing Bryon’s “Bubba truck” for the weekend.
Normally, I avoid driving his truck at all costs. But I was going to see Mom and she had promised me free furniture. I’ll do anything for free, so drive the truck it was.
Now, up until April of this year I had driven a standard transmission for my entire driving career. My dream car when I was 15 was a Volkswagon Bug, and because I was spoiled rotten, my parents found, bought and restored that exact car. (Well restored the outside anyway, but the Bug’s adventures will be saved for another blog.) I still vividly remember Mom telling me on the way to pick it up that it had three pedals and my reaction of “huh?” I also vividly remember the adventures of learning to operate a clutch. At one time I actually jumped out of the car in the middle of busy Cedar Road and refused to drive it any further. But after much practice and several gray hairs on Dad’s head, I think I mastered the art of “driving stick” quite well. And even though Bubba truck shifts like a dump truck, I was proud that I could drive it without too much jumpiness.
On Friday morning I watched Bryon drive off in my nice, comfortable, luxurious by comparison Mom car all while I was grumbling about how much this weekend trip would cost me in gas money. My wonderful husband ignored my grumbling and left me with a full tank of gas to get me started. I packed up, threw luggage into the back of the truck and went to pick the kids up from school.
I drove from school to the bank—less than 10 miles—looked at the gas gauge and saw that it was down by a quarter of a tank. A quarter of a tank! I burned through a quarter of a tank in 10 miles! This was going to be one looong trip. Then a light bulb went off in my head. I hadn’t shifted gears once. In a span of five months, I had forgotten that one needed to shift gears, and Bubba truck’s engine is so loud anyway that I didn’t even notice it protesting.
How often do we live our lives stuck in one gear? (Remember the Friend’s theme—“it’s like you’re always stuck in second gear?”) The “noise” around us can be so loud sometimes that we don’t notice. While we have every intention of cruising at top speed in fifth gear, we get bogged down in the immediate crises and forget to shift out of first. I try so hard to spend time with God every day, but there are still days when I get caught up in what I think needs to be done and I forget about what is important. I want so much to be living exactly as God intended and fulfilling His dreams for me, but I won’t get there in first gear.
