Lessons in the Fog

It was the end of a long day, the end of a long season, and I was taking my son home after he’d spent a day with us. This son isn’t walking with God at the moment, so I’d planned to have a spiritual discussion with him in the car (we had an hour drive.).

It didn’t happen. We had a good conversation in the car, but I didn’t manage to bring it around to spiritual issues. I let him out at home, said goodnight, and started back toward home. Because, while my Christian heart knows he needs that conversation more than anything in the world, my mother’s heart, already struggling with one child who inexplicably separated from us and shows no signs of returning, wasn’t sure it could bear another one walking away.

I drove home sad, feeling like a failure, berating myself and listening to all those internal voices that very truly hate me. It was almost eleven at night, cold and drizzling, and the isolation of the car was a great place for tears.

Some of you get it. You’ve been there, when it all feels huge and overwhelming and hopeless. At least I hope I’m not alone.

Then I drove into some fog. We’re talking FOG. I could see about five feet in front of the car. I was driving past trees, but I couldn’t see them. I felt like I was the only person in the world.

I was driving through a valley, heading down one side, and I saw a car coming down the other side. It was just a tiny bubble of light with a shining dot in the center, and it looked like it was falling from the sky and not driving down a hill. It was the coolest-looking thing.

 And right then, everything inside of me stilled. I was alone. The fog hid everything. Quiet music was on the radio, and here in the mist I felt God come close like I’ve never felt before.

I felt protected. Safe. In this little bubble of the car, within the shadow of the fog, I felt peaceful and secure. Whatever happened outside the car didn’t matter, because I was safe inside, held and loved. And even the chaos outside the car, things I couldn’t see and couldn’t change—God was out there working it out, a light in the darkness, a light that got bigger as it got closer. 

God didn’t assure me that he was going to fix anything in my life the way I want things fixed. He didn’t solve even one of my problems. But I knew at that moment I wasn’t in this alone. I knew he cared. He loved me. He still loves me.

Regrets aren’t gone. Sadness still happens. I’m still trying to have that conversation with my son.

But God loves me. I’m not alone. I’m held close, and he won’t let go. As the world roars outside, God keeps me warm and dry, serenades me with quiet music, and loves me. Even if I can only see five feet down the road ahead of me.

He loves you, too. We don’t always get to see the veil pulled back, but that doesn’t change that you, too, are being held and loved, kept warm and dry even as the world rages around you.

I’ve heard the term soul safe, and I love that. You, dearest reader, are soul safe. And so am I. And in moments when we forget that, sometimes he draws especially near and reminds us. If you have any stories of times God’s love felt tangible, feel free to share in the comments.