Path of a Control Girl

When my daughter was six, we moved into a new house. She insisted on having the small bedroom looking out over the driveway, rather than the larger one facing the pretty, wooded back yard. When I asked why, she said she wanted to be sure to see the garbage trucks when they came to pick up our trash. Years later, she asked why her brother got the "good room" facing the back yard. I chuckled and said, "Don't you remember, honey? You wanted to see the garbage trucks!"

In life, we make a lot of choices and decisions based on what we're hoping for. We take one path and not another because of some goal we have in mind. But often we're like a six-year-old enamored with garbage trucks. Our perspective is skewed, and our goals are underdeveloped.

What if there were Someone who could see up ahead who knew beforehand what was going to make us happy in the long run? What if he could be in charge of what path we took and where it all led?

Actually, there is Someone. His name is God.

If we ignore God and take our own path, we'll inevitably end up at a trash pile that has lost its appeal. But if we follow God and trust his eternal perspective, he'll lead us — eventually — to a room with a more fabulous view than our six-year-old minds could even fathom.

Lesson 1: A Rutted-Out Path

Read Proverbs 3:1–12

I have a gray video game controller in my basement that looks just like the other controllers, but it's not. It doesn't work.

I bought it at a garage sale and would have thrown it out, except that it solved a really big problem in our home. Our youngest son was two at the time, and whenever the older kids played video games, he would climb all over them — tugging, biting, scratching — doing whatever he could to pry the controllers from their hands. But the gray controller eliminated the problem. The big kids would settle him into a beanbag chair, place it in his chubby hands, and say, "There you go, buddy. There's your controller."

He was completely satisfied. He would jam his thumbs on the buttons, convinced that he was moving the little men on the screen. He was oblivious to the fact that not only was his controller broken, it wasn't even plugged in.

Even though I don't play video games, I'm a lot like my boy, Cade. My gaze is locked on the scenes playing out on the big screen of life — especially the ones that involve people I love — and it feels like I'm in control. I might not be pushing actual buttons, but I do have a strong sense that I am shaping the future. In fact, I feel responsible for making everything turn out right. Our Happy Ending rests in my hands.

This is why I call myself a Control Girl. I think I'm in control.

Now I wouldn't say I'm in control. I would say that God is. I've read the Bible. I know the stories of the flood, Lot's wife turning to salt, and the parting of the Red Sea. If you pointed to a story in the Bible and said, "See? God is in control," I would nod my head in agreement. Yes, I believe this. Completely.

But then, what do I do when my teen begins dating someone I disapprove of? Or my coworker is withholding information and making decisions without me? Or my husband shrugs off my concerns about the musty smell in the basement? With an eye on the future and where this all might lead, I suddenly morph into ... Control Girl. My voice gets louder and more intense. I become manipulative or direct. Like a kid who just lost a round on his video game, I lean forward with greater intensity and determination, convinced that it's all up to me to set things straight.

In these instances, my demeanor necessarily raises the question: Do I truly believe that God is in control? Or do I secretly think I am?

Also, what is God's reaction? Does he shrug off my insistence that it's all up to me? It's one thing to let a toddler carry on with a façade. But what if I'm the one clutching my illusion of control with sweaty, frantic hands? Does God just wag his head in disbelief and let me continue in my panicky frustration and angst?

No. Out of kindness, God leans down to dangle the cord of my teeny-weeny controller before me. Gently, he says, "See? Honey, you're not plugged in." God wants to free me of this control-burden, which was never mine to carry in the first place. God is in control; not me. He invites me to live like I believe this.

That's what these cord-dangling moments are: invitations.

Sometimes God uses something drastic — like a car crash, ongoing infertility, or a tornado — to expose my lack of control. But other times, he tucks his invitation into something smaller. Like a certain towel I encountered on the bathroom floor.

My Heart's Rut

One morning, I gave my middle schooler a crash course in bathroom etiquette. He had recently begun showering in our guest bathroom, and I didn't want guests tripping over damp towels and yesterday's jeans.

My training was thorough. After cheerfully giving clear instructions, I also required several walk-throughs that included hanging up a towel and throwing clothes in the hamper. I felt good about my constructive...