I’d never been in the cab of an 18-wheeler before. It was bigger than I imagined. My roommate and I squished together in the passenger seat, which was separated from the driver’s seat by a center console so wide nobody could reach across it without extreme effort and stretching. That console was now the only thing between the trucker and us.
At first we tried to convince him to just take us to a gas station and we could call a friend to come pick us up. He wouldn’t have it, saying he would be driving right past the campus anyway.
We exchanged small talk and told him a few more of the details of our evening’s adventures. He chuckled and said, “You girls are fortunate. I know other men who drive trucks that would take advantage of girls in your situation.” My roommate proceeded to place a death grip on my knee. “Good thing I’m not like them,” he continued. I breathed an abbreviated sigh of relief, and my roommate released the vice.
Yes… yes it was a good thing, and we were appreciative.
He dropped us off on the frontage road near the apartments, offering to take us right to the door. We politely declined. No harm, no foul. He’d done his good deed, and we arrived home safely with quite a story to tell.
Of all the decisions made that evening that could be second-guessed, there is one in particular on which I look with regret.
Who was I to question God when the tire blew the second time? My argument had been, “Why would You let this happen since we were giving You thanks for keeping us safe before?” It sounds like a logical question, until you realize that it reeks of entitlement. As if God owes me *anything* other than death.
Looking back, I realize that my anger and questions were based on a false understanding of God’s grace and my sinfulness. Our relationship is not like that of an ATM. I do not make deposits of “good” deeds into the bank of God with the expectation that I can withdraw God’s goodness later, according to the amount I have in my account. The fact of the matter is that I’m overdrawn. Anything He gives to me is based solely on grace, not on what I did or didn’t do. Every gift, every memory, every joy, every blessing, every breath are all based on His grace and His desire to treat me as an adopted heir and beloved daughter. The gospel is good news in spite of my actions, not because of…