“Please – I just got my picture taken three minutes ago. Does that mean we can leave and my driver’s license will come in the mail?”
The DMV manager – no doubt frazzled by an onslaught of similar questions – shrugged.
“I don’t know what to tell you. Computers are down statewide. You could hang around to see if the system comes back up, or you could come back tomorrow and restart your application.” She spun on her heel abruptly to signal our conversation was over.
Her words threatened to extinguish my sputtering hopes like a bucket of ice water. My original road test – scheduled for October 14th – had been canceled after I arrived due to an administrative mix up. At the time, we’d been told it would be several weeks before we could expect my case to be reviewed, or the test rescheduled.
But God intervened, and last Monday we received a nondescript envelope in the mail from the DMV. This puzzled me since we’d been told to expect a phone call to discuss my current medical status in greater detail. The envelope’s contents were even more puzzling: All it contained was a form letter stating I could renew my driver’s license at any DMV field office. This seemed like another administrative error since there was no mention of a road test; however, when I called the next morning to verify, the voice on the phone assured me that the letter was correct. My medical case had been been closed. We’ll never know what changed between the test being canceled on October 14th and then waived last week, other than God wanted to teach us extra patience – and give me extra time practicing my driving skills. And I practice for tests very seriously!
In God’s good timing, Ivan was available to take me to the DMV last Wednesday afternoon. This is significant because Ivan’s work schedule has evolved a lot this semester. School technically ends at 3 pm, but between private piano students and administrative duties, he often works late or returns to school at night. Hence my dismay at the DMV manager’s suggestion that we restart my license application on a different day. It could be weeks before we had another open afternoon.
Oh Lord, I prayed. We’ve waited so long. First there was the road test cancellation, and then you intervened to take that off the table. A statewide system shut-down is nothing to you, Lord. Please, if there is some way, any way, please let us leave with my license today.
The manager told the disgruntled crowd that everyone waiting for driver’s licenses should go home and come back a different day. They’d keep processing car registrations, but licenses were over. I kept praying. The clerk who had been processing our application when the system crashed quietly told us not to leave. Ivan and I ambled back to the rows of blue plastic chairs and sat down dejectedly as half the crowd left and the other half selected fresh numbers and reformed a line.
“What do you think we’re waiting on?” I asked.
Ivan shrugged.
“She didn’t give us a number.”
“Maybe she’ll call us if the system comes back,” he replied.
We sat in silence as the clock ticked inexorably toward 5 pm. The car registration line moved quickly, but new driver’s-license walk-ins continued to be turned away.
Please, Lord, I prayed. All we need is one computer to come back. I realized God could have allowed this bizarre turn of events to teach Ivan and me even more patience, but it all seemed so strange. We hadn’t anticipated getting my license for several more weeks: why would the Lord surprise us with hope so unexpectedly, only to have things not work out at the last moment?
“Okay, let’s go check again.” Ivan’s voice interrupted my musings. I looked up at the clock. The office would close in a few minutes. We shuffled back to the station that had been processing our application.
“Still down,” the clerk shook her head and sighed. My heart plummeted. Then – “Hold on a sec.” She gestured for my paperwork and disappeared. Ivan and I exchanged confused glances. I no longer knew what I was praying for if the system was still down, but I kept praying. The woman’s absence felt even longer than the time we’d languished in the waiting area.
When she reappeared, she was holding a thin slip of paper.
“There was one computer still running in the back.” The clerk smiled faintly. “Here’s your license.” She passed the slip under the glass partition.
“Oh! Thank you! Thank you so much!” I beamed as I snatched my prize.
The lady couldn’t have imagined the all the feelings she triggered by double-checking: Seven years of relying on others anytime I needed to go anywhere, followed by the nerve-wracking process of reacclimating to the road, followed by a canceled road test and the uncertainty of when I could actually get my license. Perhaps, for her, checking was simply the “nice” thing to do. For me, it was the beginning of a whole new world.
Both Ivan and I are overwhelmed with gratitude to God for this new chapter in our journey. Our suspenseful DMV visit reminded us that my driving again has never been guaranteed, or even expected. It’s a gift, and one that God can give and take back at any time, whether or not it makes sense to us in the moment. We’re very grateful that in God’s love and mercy, he’s decided that my driving again will bring him glory. But that, like all the healing he’s done in my life, is an undeserved blessing. We pray he will help me to be a good steward of it for as long as he allows me to be on the road.
***
P.S. Here’s an in-depth post about some of the stroke and TBI deficits I still have to manage while driving, and here’s a more light-hearted post about what it was like to actually get reacclimatized to the road. Thanks so much for walking with us!
