There’s something magical about the idea of a road trip. The open road. Quality time. The illusion of peace and harmony in a moving vehicle.
We recently packed up our midsize SUV for a long weekend up north. Now, when I say “packed,” I mean packed. As in, every crevice filled, every nook claimed by something important—or at least important according to a 9-year-old and a 7-year-old. You’d be amazed how many stuffed animals, blankets, toys, snacks, and just-in-case items can fit into a space that felt a lot bigger before we put our children in it.
My wife, in all her strategic brilliance, had prepped and packed snacks like she was planning for a mission to Mars. Crackers, fruit snacks, juice boxes, trail mix—we were ready. Organized. Prepared.
And then... we started driving.
Three minutes in:
“Are we there yet?”
“No.”
Ten minutes in:
“She’s breathing too loud.”
“He looked at me weird.”
“Dad, can you tell him to stop looking?”
Twenty-five minutes in:
“I dropped my water bottle.”
“Well, can you reach it?”
“No, it’s under the seat where the sun never shines and no hand has ever returned from.”
And somewhere around the 90-minute mark, I started hearing a familiar theme: complaining, dissatisfaction, impatience, snack injustice. And I had a strange thought...
This is exactly what it must’ve been like for Moses.
If you’ve read through Exodus, you know the Israelites weren’t exactly the poster children for road trip behavior either.
“Why did you bring us out of Egypt to die in the wilderness?”
“We were better off back there!”
“We’re hungry. We’re thirsty. We’re bored.” (Paraphrased heavily, but you get the vibe.)
And what did God do?
He stayed with them.
He didn’t threaten to “turn this promised land right around.”
He didn’t leave them in the desert with a divine eye roll.
He led them—patiently, faithfully, lovingly.
Even when they couldn’t see the destination.
Even when they whined about manna.
Even when they begged to go back to slavery because at least the food was better.
Honestly, it makes a juice-box meltdown in the backseat seem pretty manageable.
The thing is—whether we’re driving up north or trudging through a spiritual wilderness—we all have moments where we act more like the Israelites than we’d like to admit.
We complain.
We lose sight of the destination.
We question the route.
We beg God for a shortcut.
But God’s not thrown off by our noise. He doesn’t get tired of our questions or overwhelmed by our chaos. He stays. He leads. He provides. And He keeps driving—even when we don’t appreciate the ride.
“The Lord went before them by day in a pillar of cloud to lead them along the way, and by night in a pillar of fire to give them light…”
(Exodus 13:21 ESV)
That’s who He is. Whether you’re wandering through a desert or just trying to survive a road trip with kids and a crushed granola bar under your seat.
So if your current season feels bumpy, loud, or way longer than you expected—hang in there. Trust the One who’s navigating. He’s not lost. He’s not annoyed. He’s with you. And if He could handle the Israelites, He can absolutely handle your kids.
Next time, though, I’m bringing headphones. And maybe asking my wife to pack just a little more trail mix. For me.
