Backseat Peace, A Rarity

It was a sedan. I think.

It definitely wasn’t the cramped “backseat” of the Ford Ranger we had, where when you sat sideways you touched the back window with one shoulder and the back of the front seat with the other. It was spacious and squishy.

It definitely wasn’t a new car, because the smell was the pleasant smell only used cars could have, like freshly shampooed upholstery and air freshener.

It definitely wasn’t in late summer, because the warmth I felt wasn’t the brutal heat that East County San Diego is hit with for the few months of the year when the rest of the country is experiencing the relief and beauty of the seasonal transition from Summer to Fall.

It is so much less than a story and much more of a moment. But it is so much more than a simple moment, and more a feeling. A state of being. A shalom.

My mom was driving. My sister was either in the front seat or in the back with me, but enveloped by God’s peace that surpasses understanding I felt no need to pester her. I was slouched in the tan upholstered seats, softer than leather but not as saggy as a Cadillac’s seats.

Whether she truly was or not, Alanis Morriset was playing on the radio. Her music, though I later understood to be full of angst and aggression, represented peace to me, when mom was listening to her favorite music, inner demons at bay and happy about life, inviting us into the moment by playing that music over the radio.

The sunlight was perfectly warm, the kind where you enjoy the delicious pinpricks of sunlight warmth on your skin that have been filtered through a car window, but you’re not hot. And this was a miraculous moment in and of itself, because in East County it can get so hot that life becomes nearly unbearable for a few months, at least if you don’t have ready access to air conditioning.

The view was up through the window. The lower field of vision included the car door and the armrest with its window controls. That quickly gives way to the trees that are tall enough to be in view, as well as the tops of two story houses found in the suburbia we were driving through. Above that was clear blue. Maybe a wisp of high cloud or two, maybe not. Sky, nonetheless.

The seat, the warmth, the music, the neighborhood, the sky, the feeling was spacious.

I wasn’t concerned with my asthma medication or whether I was staying with mom or dad tonight or school work or friendships or future or past.

I had the perfect temperature, perfect sounds, perfect smells, perfect foliage, perfect neighborhood, perfect potential, perfect safety, perfect peace.

I possessed childhood shalom, draped in sunlight in the backseat. Even if just for a moment.