Drive Slower

My electric car might make me a better follower of Jesus. 

There’s lots of reasons this could be true, but today I want to reflect on my family’s first experience taking our EV on a longer trip. Suffice to say, it was rather tumultuous. We did our best to prepare: had plenty of charge at the start; confirmed there were plenty of chargers at our destination. Everything was shaping up for us to have a delightful excursion. 

But I wouldn’t be writing about this if everything had gone perfectly fine. 

Upon arriving, I found a charger that seemed like it would fit our needs perfectly. However, for unknown reasons my car refused to charge at this port for longer than a second. Even more worrying was the notice my car displayed: “Battery Charge Malfunction; Visit Your Dealer.” I was a lot more than the range left in my battery from a dealer. As I tried to play it cool in front of my family—including my parents who were visiting from out of town—I started to genuinely wonder if I had stranded us over 100 miles from home. 

In some stories, this is where some miraculous provision from the Lord would solve all the problems. This would become a post about how we’re not supposed to be anxious about anything, and I would laugh about how silly I was to worry that God would not provide for me. 

But that’s a bit basic, and also not what happened. 

While my family got lunch, I searched town for other chargers. After several failed attempts, I finally found a station that would charge my car, and had an app that actually functioned. The trouble, though, was this station was functionally identical to plugging my car into my wall outlet at home. This would be cheap, but far from efficient. I would need hours to get enough battery to guarantee a successful return trip. I roughed out some math on how long I could stretch our journey to a quaint Bavarian hamlet where the novelty wears off rather rapidly. My sense of dread only grew when I imagined convincing my mom (who recently had a knee replacement) my dad (lovable though cantankerous) and my son (who didn’t want to come on this trip in the first place) to do just one more walk around town while we waited for the agonizingly slow trickle of electricity into our car to complete. 

I thusly found myself in a position I hate: needing to take a trip without the certainty I had enough fuel to make it home. See, running out of gas is the foundation of a particularly formative memory of mine. I vividly remember our family’s first time taking a trip across my home of Alaska with our new travel trailer. I can particularly recall the sound of the engine sputtering—in the middle of ******* nowhere—as we discovered just how much hauling something that big damages your gas mileage. There’s nothing quite like watching your dad syphon fuel out of a generator to try and get to the next gas station to make you acutely aware—for life, it seems—just what it feels like to run empty. 

This all made me want to stay plugged into that charger for as long as possible. Yet facing increasingly inevitable mutiny, I tried to accept my wife’s encouragement that we would make it home just fine. As my white-knuckled hands choked the steering wheel, I anxiously watched the range on our vehicle tick down, all the while thinking that the last thing I wanted to do was inflict my anxiety about long trips on my son. 

I then got to see God provide through whatever genius he inspired to create a particular little innovation: regenerative braking. 

For those who aren’t familiar with this wonderful feature: hybrid and electric vehicles—through some technomancy I do not fully understand–actually recharge their batteries when braking. This proves particularly useful when having to drive downhill on a steep grade, presuming one is interested in staying under the speed limit.

Did I mention this little village was up in the mountains? 

As I began our descent homeward, I rejoiced in actually watching my car’s battery capacity increase as I let this beautiful piece of physics do its work. According to my navigation, I started the trip with just under enough battery to make it home. By the time I reached the flatter portion of our journey, I was sitting pretty with over twenty miles-worth of extra charge.

More than just a cool piece of tech, however, the Holy Spirit helped me reflect on the deeper meaning of this whole experience. Specifically, the Spirit helped me notice how my car was helping me behave more in line with the values of the Kingdom of God. By compelling me to brake, my car was teaching me to embrace patience. My car rewarded me for being willing to relax, when every other impulse in me screamed to get home as fast as possible. I am only typing this message in the comfort of my living room because I was willing to keep my car slowed to the speed limit, rather than letting the momentum of various hills speed me along. The slower I went, the more my battery charged.  

Gas-powered cars can’t do this. Sure, driving a car at lower speeds is more fuel efficient, but keeping to the speed limit cannot literally regenerate fuel. Traditional cars tend to incentivize hurry; they emphasize scarcity. There is only so much fuel in the tank, and nothing you can do can bring it back. You better use it while you can. 

This strikes me as similar to much of how America encourages me to think. There is only so much money; so much time; so much stuff; so much fame available. According to my country I have to get mine before anyone else, otherwise I’ll be left in the lurch. I am, therefore, actively encouraged to frantically chase after everything I can. America only ever seems to demand I do more. 

God, however, commands I do the exact opposite. At the founding of his very first people, God insisted that we do less. This took the form of his command to keep the sabbath holy: to take a day of each week and set it aside to honor God. Given the experience that preceded it, this command clearly shows God inviting his people to trust him. Jesus’ insistence that he did not come to abolish the law means this encouragement—and the command from which it stems—still very much apply to us today. Rather than providing for ourselves by constantly doing more, God wants us to rely on him. We still work—for the majority of our time, in fact—but we also trust he will provide even as we rest.

I am, thus, very grateful to my new (used) car for reminding me of this fundamental principle of God’s Kingdom. The solution to our worries is often not to try to hurry after something. Sometimes, we simply have to trust that as we rest, God will restore us and provide for us the things we need. This doesn’t mean we won’t feel anxious, we just don’t have to let that feeling own us. We can defy that worry not by wishing it away, but by constructively choosing to rest as our Lord commands. 

I know I will now be looking for ways to apply a metaphorical brake pedal to my own life, so that I might enjoy some even-deeper restoration. I invite you to do the same.