Lessons From a Dying Minivan- Part 1

The discipleship of turn signals

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

There are some new subscribers here (hello!), and this post warrants a bit of a recap. This Substack is called “Reconstruction Letters” because it was born out of a time of deconstruction that left me earnestly desiring to rebuild faith. Reconstruct. And, with anything faith-related, growth dynamics are not linear, and the chapters are not discrete.

My “chapter” of deconstruction didn’t have an objective beginning or end, and there wasn’t a firm, irreversible transition to reconstruction. Over the past few years, I’ve bounced back and forth between the two with periods that felt momentous, and others defined by the uncomfortable stagnation of cynicism. I feel firmly in the reconstruction camp today, but even this is a different reconstruction than the one I began writing about on Substack.

It feels like a testament to what life with Jesus is like- walking but never arriving. With pauses, sprints, and regressions all to be expected along the way.

I want to return to a time that felt more deconstructive than reconstructive, then I’ll work back to the present, and the whole point of this post.

While my time of deconstruction had definite positive experiences, there were some aspects I’m relieved to leave behind. One of those was a pervasive cynicism in faith. I felt cynical about so many things- the truth of the Bible, the validity of past faith experiences, whether God was active in the world, if salvation was all just a hoax, if the cross meant anything, etc. I feel a bit shocked writing that all out, but it was real.

There was a specific discipleship outcome related to this cynicism, one I can see much more clearly in hindsight. With cynicism came a propensity to avoid triggers of doubt and pain, and avoiding those triggers resulted in avoiding God. Even more specifically, I found myself abandoning an old habit of consciously attributing anything in my life to the work of God. Basically, there was a huge decrease in thanksgiving and prayer. Maybe God was behind something, maybe he wasn’t. Who could know?

I haven’t solved the issue of sovereignty, and I don’t even want to. But I am in quite a different place now, and I can see a fascinating relationship between a decrease of awareness in God’s presence and an increase in cynicism. The less I thought about God, the less I engaged in thankfulness. The less I engaged in thankfulness, the more cynical I became. And the cycle viciously repeated.

Again, there wasn’t a definitive end to the cynicism, but this week I noticed something that hinted at the reality that huge shifts towards reconstruction have occurred. Our minivan functionally gave out, forcing our hand to buy a new (to us) one. It all happened too fast (and was frankly too difficult with the kids) for me to go along and test drive it. To be fair, I don’t bring a lot to the test-driving experience anyway. The main things I observe are essentially the color of the vehicle, the feel of the steering wheel and the sound of the turn signal.

Yep, the sound of the turn signal. It’s a quirk and I own it.

I’ve always been acutely attuned to the tonality of a turn signal. I want it to sound crisp and modern. Decisive. No sloppiness.

So, when Ben called to say he was on his way back with our new minivan, of course I had to ask, “How’s the turn signal?!”

“Um, not too different than the last one?” he responded.

My heart sank a little, but I knew we were in a situation of practicality in which The Ideal Turn Signal couldn’t be an ultimatum. I decided to be ok (I know, such a sacrifice).

This morning, I drove the van for the first time with tempered expectations. But, as I pushed that lever towards the left turn signal, I heard the BEST click and my mind immediately exulted,

“YAY GOD! THANK YOU FOR THIS TURN SIGNAL!”

The thought was so automatic that it took me by surprise. I hadn’t forced the thanks; they just came. And spontaneity, the lack of conscious thought, is a measure of where our discipleship is taking us. Whatever we are steeped in and oriented towards is what we express most easily in thought, word, and deed. And in that surprising (mental) exclamation, I felt tremendous hope that reconstruction really has been happening. It really is progressing. The specific darkness of cynicism has lost a lot of its grip. This is not the same faith that I had five years ago.

It was so encouraging. There were times of deconstruction when I felt like faith would never happen again. And there have been times of reconstruction where I’ve felt the temptation to give up on the fight to find Jesus again. But He has been doing a different work. It’s a pervasive work, one that operates on the conscious and unconscious.

No two deconstruction journeys are analogous; I would never claim mine to be a pattern for you. But if you’re looking for hope or direction, pay attention to where your subconscious takes you. What are your automatic reactions when you’re not trying to control your thoughts?

You might be farther along on your journey than you think.