The turn signal clicks a steady metronome. My eyes flick: mirror, shoulder, mirror, shoulder. The lane next to me is a chasm of emptiness, but I can already hear the voice from driver’s ed, warning me about blind spots. Only after my fifth check do I let the car breathe into the open lane.
That’s my nature—call it caution, call it overthinking, call it what you will. If you know me well, you’ll know it’s not just on the road.
Flashback to 2003: the year Canon released the first sub-$1,000 digital SLR. While my colleagues lined up to snatch one, I waded into a research marathon. Review after review, American and otherwise, every amateur’s gallery, every translated comment buried deep in European forums—I scoured them all. A thousand bucks is a huge decision for a teacher, especially considering that, adjusted for today’s inflation, that price tag would feel like nearly $1,760. Impulse buying? Not in my DNA.
The truth is, my entire approach to life is an echo of that lane-change ritual: triple-checking before proceeding. Reserving a hotel room? I look up street views, floor plans, and user photos. Picking a cruise cabin? I compare decks the way others compare cars. Even a new email address warrants its own risk assessment.
When we land in a new city, our rental car is already reserved at the best price, thanks to my research. Meanwhile, other travelers step off the plane and say, “I’ll see if I can find us a rental car.” That seems reckless to me, but for some, it works—no stress, no frantic planning. It’s like tightrope walking without a harness; unnerving, but some people thrive on it.
No matter how carefully I plan—or how cautious I am behind the wheel—there’s always this nagging doubt that I’ve missed something. Maybe there’s a tiny subcompact, the exact color of Houston concrete, coming up fast in my blind spot. It doesn’t matter that I’ve checked three times. The “what if” is always riding along, somewhere between the seatbelt and my overactive imagination.
When it comes to walking with Christ, I’ve noticed there are believers who trust their lives to God the way my fellow passenger trusts they’ll find a rental car—no reservation, just faith that it’ll work out. And then there are people like me. Before I step out in faith, I’m double-checking the rearview mirror, scanning the side mirror, craning my neck for a sign I might have missed.
The Bible tells us to walk by faith, not by sight—and I believe that. Still, for some of us, it’s a steeper climb than for others. The God who made Peter, bold and impulsive, also made “doubting” Thomas.
And here’s the good news: God loves and treasures the Thomases just as much as the Peters. Faith comes in all shapes, sometimes cautious, sometimes bold. Thankfully, grace leaves room for both.
. . . and that’s what I know today.