We started down the driveway and hit the clay road. The first few curves were a little slick, but nothing out of my control. We rounded the corner at the end of the clay pit and my car wiggled and wobbled. I slowed down just a shade, but kept a steady pace. I knew I needed to climb the next big hill around the last bend, so I couldn’t stop now.

I was doing great until my front left tire got into the soft clay on the edge of the road. My whole car began slowly sliding toward the left bank. As we slid sideways, I kept the pressure on the gas. Mud was flying, smoke was stirring, but the car wasn’t moving. I tried backing up a little at a time, but the more I backed, the closer to the bank my car got. Back and forth I rocked; only moving a few feet at a time.

Inches away from the bank, my back tire finally caught hold of a firm piece of ground and I was able to began a slow backwards descent to the bottom of the hill. If you have never seen my spectacular backing skills in action, just imagine the tracks that a drunk driver would leave on a dirt road. Now, envision the new ruts I created as I slowly backed down the hill. That road looked like a gang of kids on four-wheelers had just done doughnuts and sped away!

When we got to the bottom I told my son that it would probably be wise to turn around and go through our neighbor’s field because there was no way I was going to be able to make it up that hill. He looked at me and said, “One more time, Mama. Just go fast!” Well, what else was going to happen? Get stuck?

So, I backed up my poor, pitiful, 2-wheel drive buggy onto a solid section of dirt road, popped a piece of gum in my mouth, and mashed on it! Through the wiggly ruts, up the base of the hill, through the soft clay; twisting, turning, sliding we finally made it to the top of the hill. Celebratory cheers rang out as we threw our hands up in victory.

“See, Mama. You trusted me and we made it up the hill,” my son said excitedly. “Just trust me, Mama.”

This stuck in a rut moment wasn’t an isolated incident; it was the cherry on top of a weekend filled with God tenderly stirring my heart. At our women’s retreat, I kept sensing these same, simple, hopeful words that were just spoken to me by my son, “Trust me. Just trust me up this hill.” Just like my son wanted me to trust him, God, too, was beckoning for my trust.

I’ve been stuck in a rut, lately. For those if you who keep up with this blog, my posts have been scarce. I have allowed fears, doubts, and opinions to keep me away from what I love to do and as a result, I have questioned my abilities and assignment in this life.

I’m grateful God used so many people and situations this weekend to remind me that just because I was stuck in a rut doesn’t mean that I have to say there. All I need to do is back up, hit the gas, and get on up that slippery, wiggly hill.

Don’t let the world derail you from what you know God has called you to do. Don’t neglect your gift. We are not only hurting ourselves, but we are withholding blessings that could be shared with others.