I live in a city of nearly 5 million people, on an old, quiet street with nice neighbors. Two private universities and one of the largest medical centers in the world are minutes from my front door. So are lovely shops, cozy restaurants and at least half a dozen Starbucks. Most of the cars parked in driveways nearby are less than five years old. On either side of me, my neighbors have put up elaborate Halloween decorations on their porches and in their yards, spending more to delight the neighborhood kids for one night than most folks do for the entire Christmas season.

If you walked down my street, you’d think it was full of people without a care in the world. People in complete control of their neat-as-a-pin lives.

But control (I’m learning) is an illusion.

I’m reminded of that every time I see someone on a nearby corner with a crudely lettered sign and a plastic cup for handouts. “Hungry” the sign might say, or “Please help. Need work.” Their faces change – but almost always there’s a sign that sums up the bearer’s plight in a handful of words.

I’ll bet once, they thought life was controllable. I’m sure each one used to live somewhere else. Somewhere better.

Last week, a national talk show host with an audience 20 million strong held up a sign that said “addicted to prescription painkillers.” He appeared to have an enviable life. He appeared to be in control.

Earlier this week, I heard a precious woman tell of being abused, evicted and living out of her car in a Wal-Mart parking lot. She did so for a long time before she went to her boss and spoke the words that would have been printed on her sign: “I’m homeless.”

An NBA superstar with youth, looks and millions now holds a sign that says “alleged rapist.” But until weeks ago, he was the very picture of control – both on and off of the basketball court.

So I’m wondering what’s behind the illusion of control in me – and in most of the people I see every day whose lives look near-perfect. Which of us would have a sign that says “toxic marriage” or “adultery” or “liar” or “secret addict?” Whose sign would say “lonely,” or “cancer” or “unresolved anger” or “compulsive shopper?”

The truth is, we’re not in control – none of us. No matter how enviable our lives appear. No matter how neat and attractive we seem.

That’s why I’m relieved that the one whose sign said “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews,” invites “Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” (Matthew 11: 28-29)

I can’t pretend I don’t need that. I do. Don’t you?

© Leigh McLeroy 2003