I hang my hand out the window, doing the airplane as I drive through the gravel roads of Iowa. The old farm truck I sit in doesn’t have air conditioning, but the evening is cool enough that it doesn’t bother me. My jeans have holes in them, and when I look down, I notice there is blood on my leg, probably coming from the finger I hurt while loading the air compressor. I hang it out the window to dry.
This is who I am. I love the country lifestyle. I’ve even been called a “classy redneck” from time to time.
“Your life is about to make a 180, Duane… are you sure you’re ready for that?” my Dad asks me.
Glancing over, I look at him and he looks at me, and we both know I’m probably not ready (how could anyone be), but I’m willing to walk in faith.
Because this coming Monday, I’ll trade my country lifestyle for a large stack of medical textbooks. Instead of wearing faded blue jeans, I’ll be wearing scrubs and sometimes, a suit and tie.
I glance out the window, watching the cornfields float by, lost in thought.
“This is where you stop me, God,” I tell Him and I feel rude, almost accusatory to Him, but I continue, “This is the exact point where you’ve stopped me in the past. What’s it going to be this time? Cancer? A car wreck? (I hold my hands at 2 and 10 o’clock.) A family member’s death?”
I spew ugly. And immediately, I feel guilty because over the past year, every blessing I didn’t deserve has been given to me and here I am, doubting God’s intentions.
“All things work together for good,” my dad reminds me.
I shrug. “Maybe. Then why is it actually going to happen this time? Why is God allowing me my dream?”
Silence fills the truck. I watch the wind turbines circle around and around, casting long shadows across the soy bean fields.
“…for those who love God,” I whisper, finishing the well-known scripture.
My heart quiets.
My resolve shatters.
Because that is what is different this time around. This time, I love God. I really do.
And I become willing for His love in return to be poured all over my life.