Driver Log Day 8
It looks like this is it! Three o’clock I meet the lawyer at the licensing office to pick up the finished product, if I am not mistaken.
Yesterday we were down there for about an hour and a half. He shuttled me from one office to the other, we are talking eight stops here people. I got an eye exam; passed it. Had the doctor sign off for the medical part. Got my picture taken. Paid a few more fees. They took my thumb prints. Finally, they stapled my Bolivian i.d. card to the page that has my signature, thumb prints, and pertinent information and kept it. Didn’t have a choice about them keep the card, so I will just pray it is still there when we go back today.
Do I feel bad about jumping to the front of the line at each stop? Slightly, yes. Then I remember that I am doing this for the good of my home by not having to get my license the long way. I am saving a ton of time. Can you believe that what I have been describing to you has been the short cut method? I am also doing it for my own mental health. I have recently been realizing that I do not need to be the martyr in every situation. I need not lay down my life for a driver’s license. If there had been no other way, I would have just had to do it. Thank God there was another way!
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It is hard to describe, maybe this was just a coping mechanism, but it was as though I was watching myself go through all the motions. It was all very mechanical. Walk. Greet. Smile. Upstairs. Walk. Stand. Go. Stop. Sign. Pay. Handshake. Downstairs. Walk. Sit. Wait. Answer. Sign. Walk. For about ninety minutes. I saw the fifty-some deep lines of resigned people in the hallways with the bad lighting. I saw the run down facility of broken doors, missing window panes, worn our flooring and cheap furniture. I registered the smells of greasy hair, unattended bathroom, and sweat. But it was like I wasn’t really there. The same way I remember the scenes in a novel is how I remember what happened yesterday. It is as though I can disconnect from feeling sorry for those I was ushered in front of. It was as if the contrast of supposed officialdom and obvious poverty did not bother me as I think it should. It is as if I am calloused to the point that I am not affected by my surroundings. I feel dull, uncaring, and dispassionate.
It makes me wonder how much of that same attitude I carry with me in other dealings throughout the day. Have I let exhaustion overtake me? Am I becoming hardened or just toughening up? What is the difference? Can I (and do I need to) reverse these patterns?
I’ll stop there. Maybe things will look different after… after what? I don’t know. Just after…
On this journey of life, sharing my existence with God’s wonderful creation, there is nothing that thrills my heart more than knowing that my moments drip with purpose and destiny. 
Comments
Wow @ng…Did you get it today?!
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Congrats!!!
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I never read the back – that’s hilarious!
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Hi, Found your blog via Coffee Girl. I was born as an MK in Bolivia!! Now my family and I (with 3 sons and my husband) are missionaries in Japan. God bless, oh, and be safe driving. (smile)
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