Two important truths we have all learned by now…
First, every single person is extremely gifted in some unusual way. Not Mozart-piano-playing gifted. Not Steve-Jobs-visionary gifted, maybe. But in some equally important way, each of us can do one task or activity with extreme ease.
Because this is a gift, we each take it for granted. We don’t appreciate the smoothness and efficiency we can tackle this one thing.
On the contrary, each of us has one sore spot, one area of un-giftedness. This is the second truth, and this is the one we obsess over. We tell everyone about our deficiency…”how I am totally Amish because technology scares me.” Or “I cannot cook” and “I have a black thumb.”
My achilles tendon is directions. I could blame this on growing up on an island, which is only a couple miles wide. But I have learned that is not the truth. I’m raising four kids in elementary school. I’m deep in understanding that every single person learns differently.
Our brains our all wired in unique, beautiful ways. What’s easy for me, my gift, confuses you. You know what confuses me? Trying to get from Point A to Point B.
If this is your gift, good for you. Could you come and be my co-pilot six hours a day as I shuttle kids around? Because I am usually hopelessly lost.
This happened again last night when the kids and I tried to go to Wednesday night church. Yes, at the same church we drive to a couple times a week.
Even though I know where it is, I drive there all the time, I could not find it last night. This is either because my brain is wired differently than normal peoples’ brains or because I was suffering some kind of silent stroke.
Our church is about 20 minutes from our house, but I left 30 minutes early. Plenty of extra time in case something went wrong.
So, of course it did.
The church is east from our house, off of I-10. I drove to I-10 and then panicked. Suddenly I COULD NOT REMEMBER. East or West? EAST OR WEST? The kids were all telling me long stories, the music was loud, and my brain was short-circuiting.
I went with my gut, which is a very stupid plan for someone who routinely gets lost driving home from Target. I sailed onto I-10 East, only to discover that this was the road to downtown Houston, not the road to church.
No problem. We had left early, plenty of extra time. Just whip a U-turn, and we would be back on our way.
But wait. What was this? TRAFFIC?! How surprising that I-10, the notorious jammed-up mess, headed out of downtown at 5:45 on a weekday, would be all brake lights.
While I sat in the traffic, tears rolled down my face. Just like everyone who has a deficiency, I was so ashamed. What was wrong with me? Dyslexia? Irresponsibility? Blonde-ness? Ditziness? Why does anyone trust me to drive my kids anywhere?
Finally, I prayed. This is when I remembered that I’m armed with tools for just these situations. Google Maps on my phone. A state-of-the-art navigation system. Just like a color-blind person matches her socks with little tags, I had a system. I just needed to breathe and use it.
I typed the church’s address into the navigation system, so it could help me find a shortcut that did not involve I-10 traffic at 5:50 on a Wednesday.
Navigation systems are full of grace, at least mine is. She never yells at me or asks, “WHERE ARE YOU GOING NOW?!”
Instead, she gently directs me from wherever I am. This is a blessing because I decided to try and outsmart the navi. Which is SO WISE for someone who doesn’t know where anything is.
When her route involved three miles on congested I-10, I just went my own way. I tried to weave through neighborhoods, around dark backroads, and through dead ends.
No surprise this did not work. My gut instinct about directions is always 100% wrong. If I turned right, the navigation system would gently suggest, “Please make a U-turn.”
At 6:10, we were still driving around like this. I was silently crying, and the kids asking, “What are we doing? Where are we going?”
“A shortcut,” I said at first.
But when Catie noticed all the U-turns, the jig was up. “Are we lost?”
“Not lost. Just going the long way.”
After years of missing birthday parties and even, once, a soccer game, she knows what “the long way” means. So, the kids decided to use the ever-helpful strategy of freaking out that we were lost. Whining and asking if we were going to die. It was delightful.
Then, it started to rain.
Eventually, we arrived at church. Filled with shame and frustration, we slipped into line to eat beef stew and fruit salad. I just wanted to be at home, wallowing in what a mess I am, how I have some serious learning disabilities. Or, possibly, some kind of brain damage.
But then we sat down and ate. Friends stopped by our table to talk to us. Elisabeth, like usual when she answers grown-ups, spoke in a baby voice.
Sam, who is all clumsy elbows right now, knocked over his food.
Catie, who cannot mind her own business to save her life, eavesdropped on our neighbor’s conversation, loudly whispering their news to me.
Nate, tired and hating transitions, insisted on sitting on my lap.
Usually all of this, all of these deficiencies, would drive me crazy. I would let myself be frustrated. I would wonder why they all had to have these idiosyncrasies.
But my own navigation problem had softened my heart just a bit. Stony parts of impatience were now flexible with grace.
We are all beautiful messes, full of short circuits, yes.
But we are also filled with brilliant flashes of marvelous light.
After my hour of darkness, I could see my kids’ flashes of brilliance so much better.
When we finally left to go home, I did what any gifted, wise person would do.
I typed our home address into the navigation system and followed her directions straight to our house, wiser and more grace-filled for my struggles.
