Life is like a ride on a bus. We are embarking on a journey that we must take to a place that we have never been before. I am three or four years old and seated next to the driver in a special child’s seat. I have before me a toy steering wheel connected to absolutely nothing. The driver is a great guy who loves kids, and me especially. He talks with me during the ride of routes, road conditions, almost as if he needed my consultation. I hold my toy wheel and pretend to drive the bus along with him.

Sometimes I get so carried away that I get almost upset that I’m carrying all if this “responsibility.” At those times he will turn to me and say, “I’ve got it, son. You might even want to close your eyes until this section of the road is past!” It is sometimes so easy to forget that I am not in the slightest way responsible for the trip. I have no control at all, not even a little bit! My toy steering wheel is just not connected to anything at all! I could even throw it out of the window and make not the first bit of difference to the course of the bus. The driving is entirely in the driver’s hands even if he puts his driver’s hat on my head. It would, of course, fall down over my ears, but I would be proud to wear it. Still I am not the driver.

The fact that I am in no way responsible for the trip does not at all mean that this is a trivial experience. My relationship to the driver is of utmost significance. The game of playing driver or helper is a vehicle for that relationship. The essence of what is occurring between us utilizes the structure of the unfolding events to be transmitted. There is great substance in the experience, even though there is no truth to its literal content.

As I stand by the steps and shake the hands of the departing passengers with the driver’s cap over my eyes and ears and receive their thanks for a smooth ride, I know this: I did not drive the bus. Yet I am contented, and the knowledge that it is a game bothers me not at all.

There is another position that I might occupy during the bus journey. In the driver’s compassion and wisdom, he might suggest that I leave the seat next to him. He will escort me to a seat further back in the bus and give me a coloring book to play with. That is another type of experience, which is a vehicle for another aspect of driver-passenger relationship.

Still again I often am captured by a fit of tantrum and fall out in the aisle of the bus crying and holding my breath and hitting my head on the floor! In rage and frustration and intense turmoil of confusion I can carry on … and usually do at least once a day. The driver is still in charge. The bus is still going on its way with no disturbance whatever. The driver loves me as much as when I am sitting next to him. It is no problem for him to tend the bus and watch after me. He shepherds me as always. Of course, I am out of touch with him. I am feeling desperate and in pain, yet in truth, all is totally all right. My subjective experience is nightmarish; it is profoundly real as an experience, yet completely empty of truth.

Whether I am playing assistant driver or working on my coloring book or throwing a temper tantrum in the aisle, the bus is fully on course. The driver’s relationship to me in each mode is fully intact. The quality of my participation in that relationship, however, is very different.

In the midst of plenty I can focus my faith in the belief that I am in hell. On the other hand, that same moment could be as if I were virtually sitting at the right hand of God. The truth of the situation does not depend on the subjective experience but upon my focus of faith. My faith can be in the relationship with the driver, who always possesses the power, regardless of the circumstance.

What peace there is in this! Just relax and leave the driving to the Lord!

Adapted from Blumenthal, David L. and Sipes, Gregory P. Transformation of the Soul, Volume I. Bloomington, Indiana, AuthorHouse, 2008.