Nearer, My God to Thee...oops, Cait's driving!

Every time I get in the car with Caitlyn, the radio plays a song about meeting Jesus face to face. Seriously. Every. Time. I wouldn't think this was all that funny except many years ago, when my father was teaching me to drive, he used to sit in the back seat and sing such songs as, "Nearer My God To Thee" and "There is a Fountain Filled with Blood." What comes around goes around.

My daughter is, unfortunately, not doing well in her Driver's Education class. This is not her fault. It is mine. 

I used to be comfortable in the West Jackson Intermediate School parking lot. She could turn, she could signal, she could back up and not worry about oncoming traffic. This is before I realized that she needed to get out of a parking lot.

Thursday she came home and announced that Friday was a driving day in her class. I tried very hard to put my reservations aside. I secured babysitting for Harry. I put her behind the wheel. I said an extra prayer.

We left and headed down Jackson Trail Road, a road I never realized was as long as it was until I was in the passenger seat with a 15-year-old driver who wants to listen to whatver used to be 96 Rock. I think I prefer "You'll Meet Jesus Face to Face" to whatever they are playing on that station that sounds suspiciously like, "You'll kill your Mama in a minivan."

About three miles down the road, I had to pull over. The closest right turn happened to be a church. I didn't care. It could have been a tattoo parlor. It didn't really matter as long as the car was stopped and I was able to access Facebook and request the prayer of my friends while I was on this journey. Caitlyn asked me if I needed to be close to the Lord in the church parking lot and I assured her that I felt closer to the Lord in the last 15 minutes than I had in quite some time.

And yet she insisted in continuing on, through Jefferson and on up to Athens.   There were only a few times I grabbed the steering wheel.    Only a few times that I prayed out loud. Only a few times did I consider asking her to just put me out on the side of the road and I'd find a ride home, thank you very much.

We somehow made it down Hwy. 330 and past the "Dave Dodson" curve and on to Hwy. 53 and nearly into the driveway before I had to take over. Lord help us all.

She really is a good driver. What is the problem? I don't fear growing older. I don't fear big insects. I don't fear thunderstorms or earthquakes or volcanoes or all kinds of other things that make other people nervous. What I DO fear, however, is my daughter behind the wheel of my Dodge Caravan. She's a good girl. She makes good grades. She's a storyteller at Sunday School. She is editor in chief of the literary magazine. She is a Girl Scout volunteer and a supporter of veterans. What's my problem? At this rate, she'll never learn to drive. And no one seems willing to take over my position.

Would I have chosen to have four children if I had thought about teaching them how to drive? I'm taking serious applicants only. Please, someone, teach my daughter how to drive. I can' t pay a lot, but I can offer you some good supper and some good references and if you are old enough, a trip to Copper Creek to celebrate the passing of the drivers test, whenver that happens. Nearer My God to Thee, indeed.