"Yes, of course it is, honey," I responded and turned back to the conversation I was having with my husband.
A few seconds later, he interrupted again. "Are we going home? Is this the way home?" In the front, we found this humorous, seeing as how we were literally a mile from home and on a road that we'd traveled multiple times, but we stifled our grins and tried to reassure him. "Yes, sweetie, this is the way home. I promise. We're very close. You'll see in just a second when we exit the highway."
But he simply would not let it go, turning his concern to the parent driving. "Dad, are you sure you know the way?" I glanced back at him to see he was sitting up straight, turning his head in every direction with true apprehension on his face, attempting to pinpoint his whereabouts.
My reassurances having failed, Kyle addressed him directly and at the very root of his apprehension: "Reese, you're just going to have to trust me that I know where we are and that I know where we're going."
With Kyle's words, my stifled grin turned to compassion. I also sometimes wonder where I am, where I'm going, and if the Person navigating really knows the way. I also feel apprehensive when the landmarks look unfamiliar and when a destination appears further away than it is in reality. And like Reese, I also question and doubt over and over even though the ability of the Navigator has proven to be perfectly accurate. As I thought about these things, I laughed at myself. My concerns about the future are equally as silly as Reese questioning our abilities.
Hearing Kyle's words to our son were like hearing God speak down deep in my heart: "Christine, you're just going to have to trust Me that I know where you are and that I know where you're going."