I went on an adventure yesterday morning. What should have been a thirty minute drive down the highway to the airport took two hours. Thankfully I wasn't catching a flight but my poor friends had to wait in that boring little place.
It started with news on the radio of an oil spill at exit eighty-something, and the need to re-route commuters. Well, I got to exit eighty-something and there was nothing, but traffic began to slow tremendously soon after, until it came to a stand still. Squished together like tinned fish, the cars then crawled to exit 95 where drivers discovered the highway had been bordered off. We filtered left and sat at a set of lights looking at two traffic policemen with their arms folded. When it came time to move on, we were pointed to make a right turn by a large yellow detour sign.
So off to the right I went, along with other cars probably wanting to get back on track as quickly as I did. We then veered left to be parallel to the highway. That move made sense in my head; after all I wanted to stay on course towards the airport. Following the road, I felt rather confident that all would be fine and this was met with a board announcing a south-bound highway route. But after travelling for twenty minutes, the scenery shifted significantly.
I had landed in the Currumbin Valley and was winding past rural property, with lanky trees overarching the narrowing road. One car that had been behind me since our redirection lost its patience and zoomed past at first chance. I tried to keep up so as to not feel alone and made sure I took the road with another sign to what I thought would lead to my destination.
On and on I drove, panic setting in. That's when I yelled some very unwholesome things in the car and made loud, whiny noises at God while demanding a way out. The blue car that was meant to be a marker had left me in the dust and the thin bendy road grew quiet. There was no phone reception by then and I felt like a complete idiot. When finally a wider patch of ground was available, I turned the car and sat on the side. This was the point I started begging God and telling myself in my head that I was behaving terribly.
The Holy Spirit must have nudged me as a couple of vehicles came along and something inside decided to continue on the path taken initially. After more immature-sounding pleas, I noticed a white car emerging from a small gravel driveway on the right and quickly waved at its driver.
"Erm, sorry, could you tell me what road I'm on?" I said sheepishly to the old man behind the steering wheel. What sounded like Dung-something or other was the reply. He asked where I was headed and upon being told I was bound for the airport, advised I return the way I came but before he could finish I explained the highway had been blocked off, which led to me being here. "Oh, well, then yes you will need to go this way. It'll be another twenty kilometres til we reach the...and then you can take the...but err, you can follow me for now", said the kind round fellow with little hair.
My guide was certainly familiar with the area as he snaked around the mountain faster than expected. Eventually we arrived at a junction and he pulled over. "Well, I've got to turn here but if you go straight and take the bridge, you'll see Cane Road on your left, which you'll need to follow. Go through the plantation and past the race course. You'll see a sugar mill. Turn left after that towards Tweed Heads. You'll get to Coolangatta from there. Scenic route home for you today", said he with a smile. I thanked the adorable Santa-looking man with much gratitude and kept to his instructions.
Just as he had said, there was the bridge and Cane Road and wheat-looking plantations and horses in a field and a large, smoking sugar mill and the highway to Tweed. But oh boy was that road to Tweed a long one. Had I a camera, the right head space and more time, I would have stopped to photograph the giant puddle of fat white ducks and the farm houses and the mountains and the valley and the pretty flowers and the gorgeous glistening river that accompanied me along the highway to Tweed.
What should have taken thirty minutes turned to two hours and though I was a total brat, God answered my prayers and provided me with a cute old man who knew the way. Bless that cute old man with the greying crown and plaid shirt, I say.
God also taught me about detours. When we wilfully go our own way, we sometimes don't see it's a detour because it's voluntary and done out of self-centredness, but when the unexpected shows up and we're forced to change our plans, we sometimes get cranky and question God. But behind every turn of events can lie a valuable lesson or an opportunity to see and experience God in a new and far deeper way.
I received some devastating news a couple of weeks back and couldn't get my head around why something like that would happen to my dear friend. How 'it' could affect someone young, fit, beautiful-hearted and faithful in God. But the truth is, we live in a fallen world and there are many seemingly illogical and unjustified occurrences. Although in my opinion so undeserving of such pain, I am glad my friend does know God and can find solace in Him. I just pray for comfort and peace beyond understanding and a miracle.
It may end up being a long and more difficult ride, but our hearts must choose not to be offended, discouraged or disappointed. God is good despite my inability to see the big picture and He didn't will this. God is moving and He stands by His Word. I just ask that the Holy Spirit teach me how to walk in the authority God has given, to intercede effectively.
In spite of my shortcomings, He hears and answers cries of distress. He delivers from trouble and sets us on high. Though I fail to be righteous, I believe God has considered my prayers and will bring out the best from this situation.
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