Right now, there's nothing I'd like more than to be in a car, windows down and radio/cd/selected driving music blaring - and driving north.
I'd like to be packed up and driving north, to North Carolina, maybe the Smokies, then Virginia, pass through Pennsylvania with a stop in Pittsburgh. Then I'd continue on to New York State, go west to the Finger Lakes, then north again, northeast. Through Connecticut, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, the White Mountains - on up to Maine. I'd keep going until I reached some rural rinky dink place so far up into the interior of Maine that God has to be reminded where it is.
Then I'd stop. Find an old abandoned cabin, clean it up a bit. Patch holes, sweep up, open windows if there are any. Unpack my stuff and unroll a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor. Light a candle for a while, sit on the floor on the blankets and. just. be.
That's what I'd do. I'd love every mile. I'd feel the wind in my hair and on my face. I'd get away. Just get away.
And just before I blew out the candle, I'd thank God that I was so far from everything. And I'd blow out the flame, lay down and fall asleep. Sweet, restful sleep, safe in the arms of God.
That's what I'd do if I could.
I'd like to be packed up and driving north, to North Carolina, maybe the Smokies, then Virginia, pass through Pennsylvania with a stop in Pittsburgh. Then I'd continue on to New York State, go west to the Finger Lakes, then north again, northeast. Through Connecticut, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, the White Mountains - on up to Maine. I'd keep going until I reached some rural rinky dink place so far up into the interior of Maine that God has to be reminded where it is.
Then I'd stop. Find an old abandoned cabin, clean it up a bit. Patch holes, sweep up, open windows if there are any. Unpack my stuff and unroll a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor. Light a candle for a while, sit on the floor on the blankets and. just. be.
That's what I'd do. I'd love every mile. I'd feel the wind in my hair and on my face. I'd get away. Just get away.
And just before I blew out the candle, I'd thank God that I was so far from everything. And I'd blow out the flame, lay down and fall asleep. Sweet, restful sleep, safe in the arms of God.
That's what I'd do if I could.
2 comments:
Hey, hope you get that vacation soon. I've been thinking about you and your dad lately. Is he doing any better?
Hey there! Sounds like I need a vacation, doesn't it?? My dad is himself, but very weak. He is 90 years old this year. Thanks for asking about him! It's a blessing that he has his mind, though.
Post a Comment