The time: 10:00 p.m., New Year's Eve
The place: on a street outside a very crowded public parking area, in an unsavoury part of town
The mission: to find, among the cars hugging the curb, one spot large enough to admit a van, and, upon finding that spot, to practice parallel parking.

This was our last chance to hone this skill before The Big Road Test. Son in the driver's seat, Mom on the passenger side.

"You need to pull ahead more."
"How will the people behind you know that you're turning?"
Turn indicator engaged. Backing up in progress.
"Could you just stop, please-- I think you're too close."

"I'm fine, Mom."

"Wait! Slow down!"

"Mom, quit yelling-- you make me nervous."

Silence for a few seconds. I go through facial & bodily contortions: twisting myself in the seat, craning my neck, rolling down the window to see behind me, jamming my foot on an imaginary brake.

"I'm just going to get out here and see where our bumper is."

"Mom, I can see the truck. I'm fine."

"There's a pole there. I think we're close to it."

With visions of smashed bumpers and claw-like scrapes across the van dancing in my head, I clench my teeth, clutch the arm rest, and push my right foot through the floor mat.

"I doubt if that car ahead of us in insured. Why don't I just get out for a minute and stand back there-- it's so dark."

"Mom, do you want to drive?"

Yes, I think. "No," I say.

Somehow, he parks. Two inches from the curb. Perfect. Somehow, we get out of the spot. Without mangling a car or a pedestrian. And without mom's help. Definitely without mom's help.

As believers, our entire life is one of faith (2Cor. 5:7). We can't see; we're backing up in the dark. Though we have "helped" God in the past and blown it, we still want to be in control.

God, surely this can't be what you mean for my life. You can't mean for me to wait this long to get married. If you'll just scoot out of the driver's seat...

I disagree with my husband's decision to wait on this move, Lord. It can't be the right choice. I think I'm going to take over here. I have a better feel for what's happening.

Lord, why my child? He's never going to be like other kids. What are you doing here? It doesn't make sense...

We've jumped into 2003, already with less than 12 months to go. Time rockets by, but when you're waiting, it seems to creep. As we ease into a tight spot, spiritual claustrophobia sets in. We must have air-- we've got to take over and make things happen.

Give God your months, days, hours, minutes. Give Him your tight spots. There is a purpose to what you're going through. So, put away your license, and let God have the wheel.

1 Peter 1:7- "That the trial of your faith, being much more precious than that of gold that perisheth, though it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise and honour and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ."