Ready for the Journey

Ready for the Journey

Publication: The Lookout

Date: June 21, 1998

Column: From the Editor's Desk

Category: Parenting

Even as the words left my lips I realized how trite they sounded. "Drive carefully," I told my 18-year-old daughter. And as she's done many times before, Michelle replied, "I will, Dad."

Did I hear a hint of impatience in her voice? Perhaps—as if something inside her wanted to respond sarcastically, "No, Dad, actually I was planning to drive as recklessly as possible! Of course I'll be careful!"

If those were her unspoken thoughts, I think I understand. By the time a child turns 18, she doesn't need her parents to tell her the basic rules over and over again. Yet, something inside a father's heart compels him to say, "Be careful." I'm 44 years old and I've driven cars since I was 16; but when I visit my own parents, before I leave they still tell me, "Drive carefully."

Those words represent more than just a warning about highway safety. Behind them are strong subtexts that say, "I love you. I don't want you to get hurt. As a parent, a part of me will always want to rush in and protect you from harm. But I must release you and trust you to make the journey on your own."

And so I watch as Michelle grabs the car keys and steers confidently out of our driveway. Not long ago, it seems, she rode a tricycle in the driveway instead—and before that, she was a 5-pound-12-ounce bundle wrapped in a pink blanket in the hospital nursery, and then a toddler strapped carefully into a car seat while I drove. The protective part of a father's heart naturally wants it that way—I'll drive, with the kids secured safely in the backseat. But it's only that way for a little while.

I treasure vivid memories of Michelle's childhood: going to breakfast together at Dolly's Coffee Shop where oatmeal never tasted better; listening to her sing a solo in the Christmas musical at church (we still laugh together about the way her voice cracked); feeling sad when she came down with chicken pox on her birthday.

And there were summer evenings when we packed popcorn, hot chocolate, flashlights, and warm blankets in preparation for what seemed like a long journey for Michelle and her brother and sister—from the warmth of our house to a tent erected precariously in the backyard. Somehow one dad and three children managed to squeeze into a tent made for two. By morning, my back always ached; yet I loved the experience as much as the kids did.

But now Michelle is 18—a high school graduate since two weeks ago. She's ready for a new grown-up journey into places far beyond our backyard.

When I taught her to drive, we spent hours in the parking lot of a vacant hardware store. I set up red plastic cones and tried to be patient while she struggled to master the art of parallel parking. Like other new drivers, she'd go through a safety checklist before starting the car: adjust the seat belt and rearview mirror, make sure the lights and turn signals work. Now I find myself going through a different kind of checklist: Have I done enough to help her love Jesus? Have I prepared her to withstand life's hard knocks? Does she know how to handle money, and deal with difficult people, and make wise decisions in a complicated world? Have I done my best as a dad?

I can't strap her into the car seat and drive her around anymore. But the heavenly Father will always be there. I trust him. And so does my daughter.

So drive carefully, Michelle.

Drive carefully.