Carpool

Scripture Reading: Deuteronomy 6:1-9

Today's Treasure: "These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up" (Deuteronomy 6:6-7).

One of the things my children left behind when they flew the coop was a billion miles on my '91 Moore-mobile. OK. So it was only 127,000. But I felt every mile of it. In fact, I'm still feeling it since I'm still driving it. Present active participle verb tense: 130,000 miles and counting. Keith suggests that I might need to wait until someone graduates from college to shop for a replacement. Will any someone do? Or does it have to be one of ours? And what if someone ends up cramming four years into six, I ask you?

These miles are the consequence of that modern-day road hazard called carpool—a sinister plot of the male population to drive the women of America out of the workforce and into a home for unfed mothers.

It's time the public knew. Lives are at stake. It's not that the mother can't drive. It's that no one will let her. A carpool driver rarely faces the front. You may never see her face, but her body can be recognized in double-jointed contortions over the seat, index finger shaking violently. At first glance a passerby might ask, "Was that woman bent over the seat wearing her pajamas?" Yes, but she'll tell you they were her workout clothes. A cover-up. And that's only the beginning.

Oh, the things that run through her mind between the drop-off zone and the grocery store. "What if the kids tell their mothers about the ticket I got for speeding through the school zone?" "What if Chelsea tells her mother I accidentally called her a brat? What rhymes with brat?" No one knows her secret pain. She eventually develops a tic, but that's not the worst of it. She begins dressing to match her minivan. She used to be normal. It's not her fault. But it is her responsibility. Carpool. That perilous rite of passage in modern motherhood that hasn't reached its full potential until you would gladly drive your car into the nearest pool. While in it.

You haven't lived until you've driven a carload of freshman girls, not old enough to drive but way too cool to ride the bus. You have to be sharp, though. They don't talk in real English, and they are forever telling each other what they already know: "Um, you know.you know.um, you know." But if you really listen carefully, those "dot-dot-dots" between the "you knows" can supply you more information than the National Enquirer. I knew who liked whom, who didn't like whom, and who went with whom, whether they liked them or not. I knew what was cool and what was not. I knew who could teach and who could not. Many times after they piled out of the car, I would watch them walk down the hall, talking a hundred miles an hour with their ponytails bouncing. Sometimes the tears would just stream down my cheeks. I had watched these little girls grow up since kindergarten. And what a fine job of growing up they were doing. They were indescribably precious.

I have no idea how many times one would stick her head back in the car and say, "Mrs. Moore, would you pray for me today? I have a huge test." Or, "Mrs. Moore, I don't feel very good. Please pray for me." In the midst of all the incessant chatter something supernatural happened. They caught on to the God of carpool. Somewhere between the backpacks, the purses, the hairbrushes and the hormones, God made Himself room. What amazes me most is that usually He made Himself known through subtleties and snippets. Never through preaching but just plain everyday living. Through upbeat Christian contemporary music that many of the kids had never heard but were soon requesting and joining with singing. Through gentle diversions away from gossip. Through lots of joy, laughter, and encouragement. Through remarks about how majestically He had painted the sky that morning. Through promises to pray for them that day. Through naturally working His way into almost every conversation. God rode in our carpool, and to the praise of His faithful name, not one of them missed Him. Without exception every single one of those girls came to me around their high school graduation and told me how much their time in that overcrowded car meant to them. I cannot reflect upon their expressions without the tears stinging my eyes. What a God of grace to allow me the privilege of driving for Him on a few road trips.

Those teenage girls were oblivious to my speaking schedule and had no idea I had ever written a book until they were practically out of high school. I don't think they would have cared anyway. I was simply Mrs. Moore, Amanda and Melissa's mom. I still hear from every one of them from time to time and have had the privilege of prayerfully supporting several through some difficult challenges in college. They are so dear to me. How thankful I am to have had daughters that never asked me to leave God at home when we drove carpool. He would have gone anyway-but what a pity it would have been for Him to ride silently. Instead, He found a voice in all sorts of low-key/high-glee ways.and when all was said and done, those young girls were so glad He had come along. In Deuteronomy 6:7, God instructs us to talk about His precepts to our children "when you walk along the road." These days, we don't do a lot of walking. But we do a lot of driving. What prime opportunities to engage in a young life in Jesus' name. To me, that doesn't include beating them over the head with my Bible. Carpool is best driven with two hands on the wheel, a heart full of love, a soul full of joy, and a head full of discernment.

Lord, thank You for the priceless opportunities You've given me to participate in the lives of young people. I pray to make my goal deeper than just getting them to their destinations. Let my goal be to engage in their lives. How I want to be found faithful! Reveal Yourself to these precious sons and daughters. In Jesus' name, Amen.

Adapted from Feathers From My Nest, by Beth Moore, pages 15-23. Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 2001. Used by permission.