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Looking past our noses
Mom couldn't see past the end of her nose. Well, actually, she could, but she definitely couldn't see past the hood of the car.
Her one driving lesson, given by a boyfriend who preceded Dad, ended with her putting his car straight into a ditch.
Maybe it was the hood ornament that distracted her. After all, hood ornaments were quite a bit more elaborate in the late 40s. In any case, that first lesson scared her enough that she didn't even try to learn how to drive until decades later, right before her cancer diagnosis. As is often the case with cancer, it eclipses every other goal -- at least temporarily -- and Mom never did learn to drive.
Perhaps because of Mom's phobia, or just because it made sense, when Dad would let me steer the car in my early teens, he would advise me to look as far ahead as I could, focusing on the far horizon. He believed that if you kept your eyes far down the road, you would not only see what was happening in the space between yourself and that far horizon, you would also be better prepared for any hazardous condition on that far horizon.
I think he was right. To this day, I drive with my eyes on the farthest horizon. And I seldom tailgate, because it obscures my far vision. Thus far, I have always managed to keep my car on the road and haven't had a moving violation in all my years of driving.
(Keeping your eyes on the far horizon is not only a good driving skill, it is good practice for passengers as well, because it opens new vistas, some of them far too beautiful to chance missing. A recent trip home on the Herndon road is a good example. It's a great roller coaster road, and as we crested each of the rolling hills, a vision of spring green grandeur would reveal itself, just before the little whoop as we headed back downhill. I don't know how I've missed the Herndon road all these years. Although I grew up in the shadow of the Front Range of the majestic Colorado Rockies, the High Plains offer a different type of majesty. No wonder, when God finished with his creation, he declared it "good.")
I think far vision is at a premium these days. We have become an instantaneous culture and as a result have lost our far vision. It seems we cannot see beyond the noses on our faces (or at least past the hood of the car). Marriage going through a rough patch? Pitch it. Life's short. Bank account a little thin? Stretch it out with plastic or with some creative accounting. Leftovers from the 60s have infected us well into the 21st century, with such maxims as "If it feels good, do it," or "If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with." Then there is the one that has stood the test of eons, "Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die!" spoken by the Jews when they stood under God's impending judgement (Isaiah 22:13, final clause).
Short vision. No view of the horizon. No thought given to the destination and the many hazards that stand between us and our forever home. No appreciation for the joys of the journey, because we fail to see them coming and before we know it, we've passed them by, missing a moment of breathless wonder. All because we cannot see past our noses.
Perhaps we are short-sighted because we've lost sight of our destination, or we don't even realize that this life goes beyond our earthly sojourn. Whatever the reason, open your eyes. Look down that winding, ribbon road as far as you can see, keep your eyes on the far horizon, alert to both the dangers and the glory set before you.
"But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus." Philippians 3:13, 14 (NIV)
Things you won't see in heaven: Eyeglasses
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