Jesus Take the Wheel!

A close friend of mine has been experiencing some alarming heart symptoms lately — shortness of breath, chest tightness, fatigue. In other words, bad news.

He refuses to see a doctor.

His reasoning? “God’s in control. If it’s my time to go, it’s my time to go.”

Eh... what?

If I’m barreling down the freeway at 80 miles per hour, I don’t take my hands off the wheel and say, “Well, if God wants me to avoid the cliff, he’ll turn the wheel. If not, I guess it’s his will that I die in a fiery explosion.”

Absurd.

We can’t project our denial and fear onto God, then expect Him to shoulder the blame when things go wrong. That’s not faith — that’s avoidance.

Free will means we’re responsible for our choices and the direction of our lives. If we refuse to course-correct and end up in a ditch, that’s not divine intervention — that’s us ignoring the guardrails.

God doesn’t take the wheel instead of us; He takes it when we’ve lost control entirely. When the car’s already spinning through the air, when there’s nothing left for us to do but brace for impact — that’s when grace might intervene.

Until then, it’s on us to steer.

Faith doesn’t mean letting go of responsibility. It means gripping the wheel with both hands, taking full control, and trusting that if — and when — it all goes sideways, God’s got the rest covered.

Paul & Me

The Apostle Paul once said (and I’m paraphrasing), “I know what I’m supposed to do, but I don’t do it. I do the things I shouldn’t do, and I don’t do the things I should.”

For most of my life, I assumed he was talking about holiness — about failing to pray enough, missing a tithe, working on the Sabbath, neglecting scripture. In other words, I thought Paul was beating himself up for not living a perfectly pious life.

Only recently did I realize that wasn’t it at all. Paul wasn’t talking about religious ritual — he was talking about love. About Christ’s greatest commandment: Love God. Love each other.

I’ve written before about how my default setting is discontentment. When I feel wronged, I naturally lean toward bitterness and resentment. I know I’m called to offer love and grace, yet time and again I fall back into anger and revenge. There’s a momentary satisfaction in “getting even,” but it never lasts. In the end, it only leaves regret.

What’s funny is that I’ve never once regretted choosing kindness. Every time I’ve responded to cruelty with compassion, I’ve walked away lighter. When I manage to quiet my ego and lead with love, I win — every single time.

Paul understood this too. He knew what brought him peace: love, kindness, patience. And he knew what robbed him of it: anger, bitterness, resentment. Yet even he found himself choosing the latter more often than he wanted.

In recovery, we call this progress, not perfection — learning, one decision at a time, to choose love over ego, grace over resentment, peace over pride.

Turns out Paul and I have a lot in common.