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Five minutes before arriving at church this past Sunday, I turned off the too–loud worship music (it was a sunny day that demanded volume) and had a conversation with God.

It had been one of those mornings. When I'd put on my pants, five minutes after I'd meant to leave for church, I remembered that my left pant–leg hem had ripped out the last time I'd worn them. I chuckled when I saw the oh–so–elegant duct tape holding the hem in place. I grabbed a shirt from the take-these-to-the-dry-cleaners pile, finished dressing quickly, and dashed out the door.

Now, almost to church with a blessed five minutes to spare, I thanked God for the rare appearance of the sun, then added, "I feel a bit like my clothes this morning. A little messy and discombobulated. I wish I had something better to offer, but this is the best I can muster today. But I give it all to you. And I ask you to meet me here in my messiness. On your day. In this gathering of your body." And with that I parked my car, and me and my messy clothes went to church.

I've been doing that a lot while driving lately, turning off the music and having a heart–to–heart with God—usually about the place or person to which I'm en route. Some people have a prayer closet; I have a prayer Civic.

Funny thing is, I used to think it was a bit lonely driving alone to and from church, parties, and work functions. Alone in the car, I'd muster up courage to enter these places solo. I'd pray for someone to sit with, to talk to. Oh sure, I could have carpooled. But that's not always logistically feasible. So, when friends weren't in tow, I'd cart myself there. Alone. Me and the three empty seats about me. Me and the too–loud music drowning out my occasional insecurities.

Driving home alone was sometimes the worst. After the warm glow of a gathering of friends or a worship service, my empty car seemed especially silent. The disparity sometimes felt like social whiplash. I wanted to discuss, debrief, dissect.

But lately that empty space has filled up with prayer.

As one who often rushes out the door to church ten minutes later than I meant to, I've found that time alone in my car a great space to center myself. To prepare my heart to worship my Savior. To give my concerns, petty thoughts, and distractions to God. To remind myself why I'm headed there in the first place—to meet with my Father in the presence of my brothers and sisters.

On the way to meet my friend Melody for dinner this past Friday night, I asked for God to join us there in the Macaroni Grill booth. To give me wise words and protect me from foolish ones. To grant us encouragement, wisdom, and accountability through each other. I asked for the privilege to be God's hands and feet, mouthpiece and arms blessing this friend. And I humbly asked him to do the same through Melody.

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