It's Not Automatic

My daughter Melinda does fine in her college classes, but recently she's been facing a new educational challenge: learning to drive a car with a manual transmission.

She doesn't like it when I say, "You've been spoiled by automatic transmissions. Now you're really going to learn how to drive."

Nor does she like it when she drives down the street with a series of jerks and jolts. "What if I come to a stoplight at the top of a big hill," she worries, "and start to roll backward when I try to shift gears? And what if that happens while another car is directly behind me?"

"That's part of the excitement,” I tell her. “A manual transmission gets more body parts involved—left foot on the clutch, right hand on the gear-shift knob, left hand steering the car. Think of it as exercise," I say. "You'll burn more calories driving this way." Melinda is not amused.

Of course, a lot of good things happen automatically. When Michael Jordan steps to the free-throw line, you know there's at least a 90 percent chance he will sink the shot—it's automatic with him. When New York Yankees' shortstop Derek Jeter stoops down to field a routine groundball, you know he will catch it and throw the runner out. Some people are so reliable, you can always count on them. They will show up when there's work to be done. They'll be at your bedside if you're hospitalized. They have a helpful insight or a funny story to offer when you're feeling down.

But "automatic" isn't always good. What life-lessons do I overlook when I speed-read my Bible and glance mechanically over the familiar words? Warning signs do I miss when I toss hasty prayers in God's direction instead of pouring out my heart to the Father? At church on Sundays, do I shift into spiritual cruise control, singing songs of praise without meaning them and treating Communion as a conditioned reflex instead of a time to reflect on the cross?

After more than a quarter century of marriage, my wife and I relate to one another automatically. Candy knows instantly when I feel restless or bored. (She says I fidget and my leg jiggles up and down.) Instinctively, I know how long she needs to comb her hair and freshen her makeup before we go out for the evening. (I've spent a lot of time waiting with my leg jiggling.) We know many mindless details about each other: favorite salad dressings, TV shows we detest, pet peeves and silly habits. It's tempting to slip into auto-pilot and take each other for granted.

The Greek word automatos means "self-acting." When I put my marriage on automatic, I end up acting mainly for myself. Love, though, "is not self-seeking" (1 Corinthians 13:5). Like driving a car with a manual transmission, it takes a little more effort to build adventure and intimacy into a marriage. Sometimes you grind the gears a bit, but that's OK as long as you keep moving forward. A good marriage doesn't happen automatically. Without intentional acts of kindness, a relationship will slide backward like a poorly-driven car at a stoplight on top of a hill.

Familiarity doesn't have to breed contempt. When each partner acts in love, familiarity breeds contentment, security, and joy. That's the direction I want my marriage to go—even if it means I have to shift some gears now and then.