1. Without Render, I probably wouldn't have thought of an analogy this wood, so props for that and I hope this isn't considered plagurism, however u spell it.
2. The moral of this story is NOT to hop into cars with strangers. Props to anyone who can figure it out {hopefully u can cuz it's not supposed to be that hard...}
Enjoy.
You tremble as you stare at the quivering choice before you. On one side of the splitting earth is a road that leads to a familiar path you have come to believe is real and exists, though only because of what you have heard. The other is a path you cannot clearly see, and the quaking ground beneath you does nothing to sharpen the twists and turns you can faintly make out past the crossroads sign.
The clouds above you swirl around as if they were a dark, thick batter being stirred slowly with a spoon. Your hands lifelessly seek each other and you clasp them tightly, eager to hold on to something as the earth tremors underneath you, sending you stumbling forward to the fork in the road you have just arrived at.
It’s time to choose…the earth is erupting beneath you, the sky is groaning above you, and the wind in the air around you sends a chill throughout your body, over your skin. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for your whole life – to choose your fate; to choose your destiny. What to do, what to do…choose the path you exist and believe is real, though you haven’t actually seen it yourself…or choose the path that is hidden to you, which has a few visible turns before it escapes into shadow.
You don’t have to make the choice. Well, not by yourself, at least. Another factor comes into play. A factor you have forgotten. Between the two roads, vibrating softly with each tremor sent through the ground, is a truck. Its hood is bent and broken, and mud covers the sides of the wheels and coats the bottom half of what once used to be sparkling chrome. A few broken mirrors and windows suggest something has deliberately attacked the car, but your attention is drawn to one thing: The figure inside.
With painful steps, you stumble over to the car and limply grasp the edge of one broken window. The form inside turns toward you and says gently, “Climb in.”
“I don’t know you.”
“Look into my face. Look into my eyes. You know me. You’ve heard my voice. And I have heard yours. Look at me…you know my name.”
There is something familiar in the corner of his lips…the curves under his eyes…the small hint of joy that somehow permeated onto his face though he wasn’t smiling. You frown, gripping the metal of the car harder as the earthquake causes you to jolt to the side. “You’re here?”
“As I have always been.” The man in the car looks at you and leans back slightly in his seat, inclining his head toward you as his eyes gaze into your face. He leans over and opens the car door, which creaks open like it hasn’t been oiled in ages. Firmly, he says, “Let me drive you.”
“But…I don’t know where you’re going. If I choose my path, I know where I’ll end up.”
“If you ride with me, I know where you’ll end up.”
You shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “I want to go on my path. I have heard of its end: that it is wonderful. With all of me, that is what I most desire. Security. Safety from the shaking world around me. With every beat of my heart, I yearn for control. I want to go down the path I know has no difficulties, has no turns, has only an easy, controllable route; a path I have made for myself with my dreams and ambitions…You will say … that I should not cling to what I do not know is truth.”
He says nothing, only looks at you because He knows you have more to say. Patiently, as a father listening to his child offering up excuses for a deed not done, he places a contemplative hand on his chin and rubs it slowly as you speak.
“You will say…that I cannot control anything at all if I am to go with you. You will say…that the safest and most secure place I will ever have is in the seat next to you. I want to believe this…I want to trust you with myself…But…I can’t see down the path. The shadows conceal it, and it twists out of my sight.”
His eyes gleam through the darkness created by the storm clouds, who have grown closer all the while. “You may not be able to see down this path…but I can. I know exactly where you will be if you ride with me.”
“But…I know what lies on my path. It will be wonderful, I just know it.”
“You do not know that mine will not be even more wonderful than anything you can imagine.”
“But…what if it’s terrible? What if I get in your car and we end up going somewhere I’ve never been?”
“Look at me. Do you know me?”
“Yes.”
“Have I ever led you astray before when you have followed me?”
“…no.”
“Then is there reason to doubt me now?”
“But I’m scared that your path will not be my own.” Your voice seems weak now, as you’re rattled where you stand as lightning tears through the sky and the car is illuminated for a brief second.
In the brief flash of light, the man inside the car lets out a deep, joyous chuckle, as if he honestly thinks something is funny. “Of course it’s not your own. But, it will at some points cross over yours or run parallel to it. Just because you choose my path over yours doesn’t mean the things you desire on your own path are not on mine.”
“But…your car…it doesn’t look safe.”
He lets a smile spread across his mouth which is well-accustomed to speaking words of wisdom, of truth, and of love. “Have I ever looked safe? Yet have I ever led you astray? Sometimes what is best for you does not look the most attractive.”
You look at him and say slowly over the sound of your pounding heart, “You’re not safe…how can I trust you to take me somewhere safe? How do I know we won’t get lost, or stuck, or killed? How do I know that you know where you’re going?”
The man looks at you for a moment. It is obvious that many thoughts are spinning around his head, and that there are a million things he can say to you. Yet only a few words come to His lips that He speaks to you. “Trust me.” These words are utterly impossible. These words call for utter abandonment of any hope of getting to where you want to go. These words are more than you can absorb.
“I can’t,” you stammer out, your white knuckles moving from the window of the car to the door. “I can’t. How do I know you’ll take me where I want to go?”
He tilts His head slightly, and replies in the voice you have heard so many times before, “Would you rather have me take you where you want to go…or where I want you to be?”
Your eyes dance from his tender face, wise and faithful, to the dark world shaking around you. You have plans for where you were going to go…what would you become when you got there; what would you do when you first arrived…if He wants you to give up those hopes, to give up your plans and allow Him to make His own…
He continues, “Is your love for me greater than your desire for your own comfort?”
The earthquake rattles the mirrors on his truck, and the wind picks up in speed, causing you to blink rapidly because it stings your eyes.
Unsure of what he really means, you ask out loud, “You want me to give up my life? In order to follow you? You want me to sacrifice my dreams and instead travel down the path you have made for me?”
He says nothing, but a glimmer in His intense eyes confirms your statement. Your breath comes rapidly now as you feel your chest constricting inside you.
“You want me to turn away? To walk away from my own path, these dreams I have had my whole life; you want me to let them slip through my fingers; to let my path grow overgrown by foliage until no one even knows it’s there?” Your voice grows tight with emotion, and a wave of sorrow passes over you.
He leans back in his seat once more, eyes on you, and says with absolute clarity, “I want you…to give me your heart.”
Another shake; you’re on your knees, clutching the only thing stable in the shaking world: his car. “I…I don’t know if I can do that. If I give it all up…I might break my heart in giving it to you.”
He extends his hand, as if He already knows what you will decide. It is a calloused hand, like that of a farmer. Scars decorate it where nails have pierced His flesh. Veins stand out against his muscles, telling of His strength, like that of a carpenter. His skin is well known by the sun from its olive shade, like that of a fisherman who spends hours outside. But the way that He holds out His hand…like it would be of a comfort to your troubled mind, to your aching heart…is like that of a father.
“Trust me.”
Noticing He did not reply to your last comment, you state, “You will break my heart.”
“This may be true…it may not be. I may have to break you down in order to build you up the way I have designed you to be. But take comfort in this; whatever pain is necessary is only for the moment, and there is something much more wonderful waiting for you, where we’re going. You must know you need to rely on my strength and my knowledge and my plans for you. Stop trusting yourself. Stop convincing yourself you know where you’re going.”
Surprised, and eyes watering, you ask in a quiet voice, “Will it hurt?”
“Yes. In order to give up everything, it may hurt. But the joy you will receive for following me will overshadow any sorrow I will help you to endure.” His hand hasn’t moved, and He meets your moist eyes with eyes of love. “Do you trust me?”
You lick your lips, your heart quivering inside your ribs with another tremor through the breaking ground. Is your love for Him greater than your fear of being left with a broken heart? Are your dreams greater than His unknown plans? Is control over your life greater than trusting the writer of life itself?
He remains, patient, hand extended…waiting for you to give Him your dreams; to give Him your plans; to give Him your life; to give Him your heart.
.JPG)
