anxiety in the car

When we drive, I sit at attention. I try not to worry but I do worry, especially when the road is narrow and the drop off is steep. I listen to music and look up at the trees passing by and I don’t actively think of tragedy, but sometimes it comes in flashes. It comes uninvited. The image of the far slipping off the road, rolling down the hill; broken glass and blood and could I even reach my cell phone? 

The images come and go, and there are so many of them, and they are full color like my television.

I stand guard, and I bat away the images and replace them with what I actually see in front of me: sunshine and beautiful trees and a husband who is a capable driver. But danger is also real, and it harasses me with that fact when I try to deny it.

One day, I got tired of the fight.

I reclined my seat, all the way back, I took out my pony tail, and I laid down. I laid myself down in the car as it barreled along on a narrow strip with a cliff to eternity on all sides. I closed my eyes. I felt sun on my face, a gentle breeze from the air conditioning. I could see nothing but color behind my eyelids, red, then black, then red, as we drove under the trees.

The miles whooshed by, and I laid there in the sun, not entirely safe, but not in danger, either.

I shall lie down and sleep in peace, 

for you alone, 

O Lord, make me dwell in safety. Psalm 4:8

Do you ever feel like you are standing on the edge of eternity?