Weekly ride.

It occurs to me that I've carved tire tracks in this road for six years. Back and forth and back and forth. I can step onto the stoop a woman crazed with hurry, an ever-deepening frown line creased between my mama's brown eyes. But as I turn left out of the neighborhood and my heart slows to calm, I feel tears prick my eyes. I have to keep hands on the wheel as one then two then three then four have arrived in the seats behind. No matter if they're laughing or crying or singing (especially singing), my soul soars on this road. Jesus meets me here as I drive on my way to seek Him, to take my children to seek Him. Seven minutes to catch my breath.