Blind Spot Check

 Back when Micah and I were dating, we took a day trip to a city a couple of hours away. We hadn't been on the highway long when Micah, who was driving, needed to change lanes. 

"Am I good?" he asked me, "Can you check my blind spot?"

I'd never been asked something like that before, and it struck me as a little odd. Actually, it was a little disconcerting. He was the driver, after all, and I wasn't sure how comfortable I felt making a call about whether the lane was clear. Still, I looked over my shoulder at the lane he wanted to enter, shrugged, and told him he was clear. He looked for himself, nodded, and changed lanes.

It's become second nature since then. When Micah puts his blinker on, I automatically turn in my seat to check the lane for him. I give him a quick, "You're good," or "Wait for the white car to pass." He double checks, and then changes lanes.

I noticed this little habit of ours more than ever on our recent week-long getaway to Texas. With more than 18 hours in the car each way, there were plenty of opportunities for me to check his blind spot. To be honest, by now it just feels like part of our language, part of the normal routine in our relationship. 

Earlier this week, one of our kids received a text from a friend that contained advice. It wasn't solicited, and wasn't particularly welcome at the time. The friend was pointing out a potential pitfall, and warning them about where a certain behavior could lead, and how it would be in opposition to their values and our house rules. The text stung, and our child was angry. They poured the whole thing out to us, fuming. 

I read through the text thread, and then heard myself say, "He's checking your blind spot." The confused look I got in return reminded me a little of my initial reaction to Micah, back when we were dating. 

So I went on to explain our ritual (even though all of our kids have witnessed it countless times), and how'd I'd found myself thinking about it after our Texas trip. It's not that Micah couldn't drive without me there to check the lanes. But from my seat on the passenger side, I had a different vantage point. I was freer to turn around and see things more clearly than he could with his eyes fixed on the road. 

And that's exactly what this friend was doing. From his place as a friend, he had a different vantage point. He was removed, personally, from the situation, and so he was freer to see the larger picture. He was unencumbered by the emotions our child was feeling, and could give an objective perspective. He was checking our child's blind spot. 

The truth is, sometimes it stings when someone checks our blind spot--especially if we haven't asked for it. But there is so much value in having people in our lives who are willing to do it. People who know us well enough that they can identify the pitfalls and dangers in the moves we're about to make. It's humbling to ask for it, but, wow, does it save us heartache and disaster down the road. 

I encouraged our child to sit with the advice that had been given--after all, just because someone says something, it doesn't mean it's true or right. We are responsible to check for ourselves before we change lanes. But we are wise when we sit with the words others courageously share, to look for ourselves to see what they've seen in our blind spots. We can weigh it against Scripture, against our own values, against what we know to be true. And if they are right, we owe them a debt of gratitude for helping us to see more clearly. 

In Proverbs 27:17, we read "As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." I believe it's the ancient equivalent to checking one another's blind spots. We are meant to live in community, meant to make one another better, meant to help one another see the things that can't be seen from our particular vantage point or emotional state. We are better when we are on the lookout for each other. And we are better when we're willing to have our blind spots checked.