Friday, August 30, 2013
Today, I’m going for my second attempt at passing the Texas road test. This time, I’m confident. I’ve never felt so at peace about a driving test. The Coach, my husband, is a little concerned—he’s unsure if he’ll be able to leave work early enough to get me there on time. But I’m not worried. Everything has been lining up too perfectly for this not to work out.
Earlier in the day, I tackled a few projects before heading out to practice my parallel parking. After a few failed attempts, I finally parked my truck nearly perfectly—twice. At one point, frustration crept in, but I reminded myself to let go. I took a deep breath, prayed, and sat in my truck, soaking in the peaceful scene before me.
My practice spot overlooked a manufactured lake, its fountain cascading into the water below. Young cranes glided through the ripples, moving lazily in the current. As I watched, Joyce Meyer’s voice filled my truck. Her words from The Spirit of Fear reminded me that fear isn’t from God. I had to agree.
Feeling renewed, I put the truck in drive and headed home. Walking inside, I realized I had only two hours left before my exam. Not long after, Oji texted—he was on his way but apologized for the delay. His high school was 25 minutes away, so I knew he’d be cutting it close.
When he arrived, he found me lounging on the couch with a book. “Let’s go,” he urged, deciding to drive us there himself. Initially, I was supposed to drive, but I said nothing. It wasn’t the time to argue. I thought, My seat is perfectly adjusted for me, but I let it go. He seemed flustered, driving irately while I joyfully sang along to the radio. When I pointed out that he had taken on my old nervous energy, he just gave me a look and kept driving.
We arrived 15 minutes early. The Coach, exhausted from his long day, dozed off while we waited for the examiner. When she finally knocked on the driver’s side window, he jumped, startling both of us. I laughed—it was precisely the lighthearted moment I needed.
Then, I recognized her. She was the same woman who had helped me transfer my learner’s permit from New York, the one who had assisted me through every step of this process. We’d even spoken on the phone once when I rescheduled an earlier appointment. Now, she was my examiner. And as if God was leaving yet another little sign, she was decked out in bright neon purple—just like me.
After Oji stepped out to wait inside, she got in and said, “I already know you know how to drive. I’m just going to tell you what will make you fail.” Another confirmation. God was telling me yet again—I was going to pass.
The test began. I corrected myself while parallel parking; we drove through the surrounding streets. I expected a highway section, but after a few minutes, the examiner told me to return to the DPS parking lot.
On the way, she confided that, just 15 minutes earlier, she had been in an accident with another driver. They had blamed her, even cursed at her. That person had failed, of course. I saw it as one last desperate attempt by the enemy to throw off my victory. But she chose not to let it ruin her day. She could have refused to take any more test-takers, but she persevered.
As we entered the DPS parking lot, she said, “Pick a spot—you passed.”
She handed me my paperwork. A near-perfect score! The only deduction was for being slightly too far from the curb during parallel parking. In my excitement, I almost forgot how to properly secure the truck before sprinting into the DPS office.
Inside, I found Oji already holding my place in line for my temporary license. Surprised, I asked why he was there.
With a soft smile, he said, “Babe, once I saw you leave the parking lot, I knew you had passed. I just came in here to hold your spot.”
And just like that, another reason why I love that man so much.
© 2025, Lela Fagan. All rights reserved.
