I have a confession. My prayer life is not what the books describe.
It’s not quiet. It’s not serene. I’m not sitting in front of a window with a leather journal, sipping tea, and lighting candles while I pour out my soul. No, my prayer life looks more like opening an app at 2 a.m., typing in a destination, and then aggressively refreshing because the driver is taking a route that makes absolutely no sense.
You know the prayer I’m talking about.
“Okay, Lord—I see where we are. I see where I need to be. I’ve entered the destination clearly. So why—WHY—are we going this way?”
I have prayed that prayer on a sandy road in central Florida more times than I can count. Three walks a day. Same road. Same sky. Same God. Same me—basically refreshing the app and asking why the ETA keeps changing.
And let me tell you, the hits were real.
Career? Driver is rerouting.
Finances? Unexpected stop added to your trip.
Friendships? Passenger cancelled.
Raising special needs twins while isolated, while the money is gone, while the career is tumbling, while living in inland central Florida—where the traffic alone feels like a spiritual test?
Your driver has taken a significantly longer route. Estimated arrival: unknown.
And what did I do? What any reasonable person does when their Uber driver goes rogue. I started negotiating.
“Okay, if you just fix this one thing, I’ll handle the rest.”
“Actually, if you fix these three things, I promise I’ll stop complaining.”
“Fine—just get me to Tuesday, and we’ll talk about Wednesday when we get there.”
Sound familiar?
Because here’s what I’ve learned after years of aggressive backseat driving with the Creator of the universe:
He doesn’t cancel the ride.
He doesn’t pull over and ask you to get out.
He doesn’t leave you a one-star review for being a difficult passenger.
He just keeps driving.
Through the reroutes. Through the unexpected stops. Through the “this is definitely not the way I would have gone” moments. Through the sandy road prayers that started as begging, turned into bargaining, went silent for a while, and somehow ended in gratitude.
Because here’s the thing about Uber drivers—and apparently about God.
They can see the whole map.
You’re looking at one street. One block. One reroute. One unexpected stop that makes absolutely no sense from the backseat.
They’re looking at the traffic. The construction. The accident three miles ahead that you can’t see yet—but the route you wanted would’ve taken you right into.
The long way wasn’t punishment.
The reroute was protection.
The unexpected stops weren’t delays. They were the trip.
I don’t have a perfect prayer life.
I have a sandy road.
And I have a God who has heard me refresh the app approximately ten thousand times and has never once cancelled the ride.
And this Easter, I finally stopped arguing with the route.
He knows where we’re going. He always did.
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight.”
📖 Proverbs 3:5-6
Even the sandy ones.