The Oath I Could Not Take

By R.M. Hamilton

Learning to drive in New Zealand had been difficult. My progress towards a full license had been seriously interrupted by us moving to America when I was seventeen. I had my Learners when I left New Zealand and when I returned, I had to get my Restricted. After I got my Restricted, I got my Full.

I found the tests beyond stressful, but somehow, I passed them. When each new license arrived in the post, I gleefully chucked the old one away in the rubbish, declaring, “thank goodness I’ll never need that again!”

Under normal circumstances, that would have been correct. But then the family moved to Australia. And unfortunately, Australia has her own complicated system for getting a full license.

It was alright for Mum and Dad. They had been driving so many years, all they had to do was show their New Zealand license at the desk at the local NSW Service Centre and pay a small fee.

 They were promptly granted full licenses on the spot.

But it wasn’t so easy for me.

“We need to know that you’ve been driving for a certain period of time,” said the nice lady at the desk. “Can you remember the date you were issued with your learner’s license in New Zealand?”

I thought all the way back to that day. It was shrouded in mystery and the confusion of having changed countries twice. I could remember the year, but that was it.

“Hmmm,’ said the lady. “Well, we’re going to need the date. If we don’t have the date, then I’m afraid we can’t give you the full license. You’ll have to work towards it and take a test.”

I thought about how miserable taking tests had made me back in New Zealand.

 My face fell.

“Are you sure you don’t have something to prove when you got your learner’s license?” the lady asked. “After all, the year is just far enough back, we only need to see what time in the year you got it.”

“I’ve got nothing,” I said sadly. ‘I didn’t think I’d ever need my learner’s license again.”

“Well, you wouldn’t, would you?” said the lady kindly. Suddenly her face brightened. “Tell you what, why don’t you just take an oath you’ve been driving the allotted time? Then we can give you the full licence!”

I looked at her. Her friendly, warm face was wreathed in smiles. Everything in her wanted to help me and her solution was so appealing.

I had hated the process of getting my licence in New Zealand. The thought of going backwards into that stage of life made me feel quite tearful.

I wanted to swear the oath.

She wanted me to swear the oath.

So many problems would all just melt away if I swore this little oath.

It would also be pretty embarrassing if I didn’t take the oath.

I would look like an idiot.

 Moments passed as my spirit wrestled with my mind.  

“Shall I administer the oath?” her voice called me back.

Spirit won.

“No. That’s very, very kind of you, but I can’t. I don’t know that it’s true, so I can’t swear an oath.”

“I see,” said the nice lady. “I’ll get your temporary licence.”

I wanted to howl as I watched her disappear out the back. I would be stuck back in the licencing process, with those hideous, anxiety producing driving tests, all because of an oath I couldn’t swear, even if it was probably true.

The Bible was making my life unnecessarily complicated today, I thought bitterly.

She returned and handed me a piece of paper. “Your official licence will arrive by post in about two weeks.”

I looked at the paper and blinked. “But this is for the full licence!”

“Yes,” said the lady. “I’m giving you the full licence.”

I walked out of the service centre in shock. I held my licence tightly.

Mum and Dad had drilled into me my whole life that doing what is right, sometimes has nasty consequences.

What no one had mentioned was that sometimes the tough consequences for doing right, are illusionary.  

If I had taken the oath, I would have got exactly the same result as I had got for not taking the oath.

The same result, that is, with a large chunk of my character eroded.

I thought my licence was tottering in the balance.

 I was wrong.

The only thing that had ever tottered in the balance, was my integrity.

Life is a long road. The choice to do the right thing, despite a hard consequence will surely return.

And more often than not, the nasty consequence will not be an illusion. It will be real and it will be unpleasant.

But for those outcomes we have another oath. But not one sworn by us.

It is an oath sworn by God.  He says in Isaiah 43:2-3:

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.”

I don’t think that means we’ll literally never be burned. I don’t think it means we’ll never drown. I think it means, no matter what we go through, he will stay with us. And because he is with us, we will find the courage to continue.

It’s an oath he can swear because he knows it’s utterly true.

 The writing belongs to R.M. Hamilton. The picture of the gavel and the picture of the scales are generously provided by Pixabay.