By Jeff Scoggins

I don’t think so any more but I once thought that one of the great advantages of living in Beirut, Lebanon, was the total absence of traffic control. Drivers paid attention to police only when it was convenient, like when traffic became so knotted no one could move. This happened regularly. The worst I saw a policeman do when someone ignored him was throw a wad of keys at their car. The only uniforms anyone paid attention to were the heavily armed soldiers who commanded the frequent check points.

However, chaos was not the great thing about the traffic situation. The great advantage I saw was that driver’s licenses did not exist, therefore anyone could drive. One time as our family drove a deserted mountain road a yellow sports car blew past us with a child at the wheel, craning to see through the windshield from his perch of phonebooks or pillows. We soon caught up with him as he sat stopped at a military check point. The soldiers were laughing. I got out of the car with my dad to check out this marvelous thing. The soldiers asked the boy how old he was. Thinking back today I realize that my memory must be flawed, but I distinctly remember the kid holding up five fingers. Now that I have a four-year-old I know that simply can’t be right. However old he was, though, he was younger than I was. So at 11years old I was awestruck.

That is why when one day my father roared across the lawn toward me astride a brand new motorcycle, I imagined glorious possibilities. Finally I would drive. Incredibly, he agreed to teach me. I climbed on the back, and we drove up the hill to a dirt soccer field. My dad made some skid marks on the ground for me to follow, and after a little clutch and throttle instruction I drove. It wasn’t hard. I quickly gained confidence as I guided the bike around the skid marks. One mark, though, bent at a right angle, and try as I might I couldn’t follow it.

Finally, determined to corner sharply enough I cranked the handlebar and in so doing I wrenched the throttle. The front wheel came up, and I quickly rocketed toward my dad and the high rock wall a few yards behind him. He yelled, “Let off the gas!” Panicked, I opened it wider and the back wheel also bounced off the ground for a moment. I think my dad was preparing to pull me off of the bike as I flew by, but before that became necessary I managed to bring it under control. Shaking, I gladly let my dad drive home. Perhaps unfortunately a couple of days allayed my nervousness and I began practicing again.

Around that time I decided to attend baptismal classes that were being held a couple of miles up the mountain. I would drive the motorcycle to attend. My dad said he would ride as I drove the first evening and after that I would drive myself. Rounding a curve with my dad on the back I once again popped a wheelie. How my dad hung on at that angle I’ll never know, but he somehow managed to push forward over me and force the front wheel back to the road.

Although I could tell many more stories about learning to drive vehicles, suffice it to say I messed up a lot. But I never heard disparaging criticism from my parents. Imagine if they had lost patience or been paralyzed by the fear that I would hurt myself, so that they decided to always drive for me. What if they wanted to protect me from making mistakes—even injurious ones? By definition learning involves doing things less than perfectly for awhile. And that goes for maturing mentally as well as maturing spiritually.

We understand this intuitively with our kids, and we urge them to learn despite and even through their mistakes. But what about fellow Christians? Somehow we seem to have less patience with their spiritual learning curve. We may do things better than they (if we do say so ourselves), but no one will ever improve if we don’t allow them to be less than perfect now and encourage them through their learning.

Parents don’t ignore their kids until they figure out how to drive for themselves. Neither do good parents chastize, criticize, and belittle children for their mistakes. That kind of behavior can damage a relationship forever. Rather parents kindly, patiently, carefully guide and encourage through the growing years, just as we should do for the spiritually growing—just as God continues to do for us. The operating word is grace!

Copyright 2008 by Jeff Scoggins

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