Just one of those days.

I sit reclining in the driver's seat of my car (which I am still amazed that I even have), feet propped in the corner of the open window. Cool spring breezes alternate with the heat of the engine blowing through the vents. I stare at the trees swaying in the wind, listen to the rustling, whispering of the branches. The leaves are still young, having only appeared a day or two ago. The trees are black silhouettes against a cloudy sky, city lights casting a pink-tinged glow. Something that had been uptight slowly starts to unwind in my chest. The rumbling idle surrounding me like a breathing giant, the distant sound of cars, and the wind talking with the trees are soothing.

Sitting in a car at night makes me feel safe. It reminds me of the countless times my family traveled. As we neared home I would gradually wake up from dozing but keep my eyes closed. My parents' murmured conversation from the front reminding me that all was right in the world. My now feigned sleep kept the spell hovering in the air, knit together by hushed words, dark night, and the constant gentle shake of the engine. As we turned into the driveway, Dad would shift into park and just wait. There would be a few seconds before Mom said "We're... Home!" As the car idled, I wanted that moment to last forever.

Now nearing my 23rd birthday, having taken on many of the responsibilities of an adult and watching several more loom on the horizon, I feel so old and yet so very young and inexperienced. I just want to be that little girl again, cherished and protected by her parents. All is right in that world, packed into a car with my two siblings sleeping beside me, my family all together, so close and quietly content.

The moment the key is turned and the engine dies down is a sharp reminder of reality. We have to go inside to squint at bright lights and brush our teeth, awakening lulled senses, trade warm clothes for more comfortable pajamas, crawl between cold sheets and wish that the bed had an engine that could sooth us back into oblivion.

Maybe that's why I'm still sitting outside in my car more than an hour after getting home. I want to delay reality, to be safe and loved - ironically alone in my car filled with nostalgia. I'm overwhelmed by the irrational desire to move back home with my parents, where responsibilities are measurable and acceptance and understanding are a constant.

Now, we all have our off-days, when it seems we got out on the wrong side of the bed (though the other side is against the wall, so I'm not sure how that works). But here's the thing: I've spent a good part of the evening trying to find something to make me feel better - food, chocolate, friends, TV, a trip to the store, sitting in the car. I've been trying to fix myself with all the things I know that help. But I've neglected what can help most.

He'll quiet me with His love, rejoice over me with His song.
He'll hide me in the shadow of His wings.

He restores my soul.
He cries with us, rejoices with us. And provides things like the wind to remind us of His goodness.

I am reminded to seek Him.

Yet I think its OK once in a while to allow the gentle vibrating hum of the car to lull me into contentment, to find solace in the physical that brings forth the memories of a treasured past. It makes me want to cry from relief. Or maybe I want to cry because its just been one of those days, where tears are inexplicable and a good long, solid mom-hug (or dad-hug!) is the only thing that can right a skewed world. 

To be honest, this - writing this - is also a way to quiet whatever is irrationally, inexplicably wrong tonight. Writing, guitar, piano, crafting - creative expressions make the world better.
And I think that is a gift. Something God gives us to deal with the stresses of life, something tangible. For others it may be running, or gardening, or sports, or - well, you know what helps you. If we have the right intentions, these can be an act of worship, of gratitude, of trust, using the gifts he has given us to handle life. 

So maybe it's a good thing I took time to simply sit in the car, watch the trees dance and let the words flow.

And maybe now I should let my poor engine rest and go inside.