Our friend and national host motioned for us to get in. I ducked my head and pulled up my knees as I crawled into the open-air 3-wheeled vehicle. My husband scrunched his frame, almost twice the size of anyone born in that country, and shimmied beside me. Our host turned from the front and said “I know it’s a bit crowded for you, but it is much cheaper than other transport and the best way to take you to my home.” 

My smile was not pasted on when the tinny-sounding engine started. It did not fade when we entered the six lanes of rapidly coiling traffic. I knew my friend loved us and had grown up in that city. I was all eyes and laughter and not surprised when we safely arrived at his home. 

What confused me though, was that I could trust rather blindly in that situation but not trust God’s faithfulness in another area of my life. God loved me much more than our host, and He certainly knew I felt emotionally cramped. It could’ve been that I realized that God doesn’t guarantee a life of no problems, but I knew that when I took that ride, too. (I had seen someone hit on that street earlier in the morning).  

So what was the difference between my trust and enjoyment during that ride, and my anxiety during this other “ride”? My eyes. When all traffic had stopped and horns blared loudly enough that my ears hurt, I immediately looked to my host. When a motorcycle had slipped by so closely that a woman’s hair touched my face, my eyes riveted, once again, to him. In fact, each time my comfort zone was pinched and my smile started to shift, I judged my reaction from his. 

I think you get the point. 

My host, my faithful guide, my friend, is God. If I want to enjoy any ride, I’d better fix my eyes on Him.