One More Drive



Every spring, I drive up this gravel road—slowly, so the neighbors don’t see a dust cloud. 


But there’s another reason I don’t hurry.


This road carries twenty-five years of memories. Each spring it begins, and each autumn it ends, with a weekly crate of organic vegetables waiting for me.


Along this gravel road, my teenage daughter once rode beside me on her way to cello lessons.


I remember times when my young boy’s baseball game would be that evening.


And there were other times, when I was sorting out the knots of life as I slowly drove—often whispering prayers into the solitude.


The weekly trip up the road reminds me of how time moves, seasons change, and how much I’ve changed too.

I should be used to change by now—even as I hesitate to let go of another season.

So I hold on, grateful for just one more slow drive up the gravel road. 

Popular posts from this blog

Please Don't Tell Anyone

Image
She asked me not to tell. Once she shared her secret I felt ashamed and would have been mortified to actually tell someone else what was happening. I was probably eight years old and back then, no one talked about the things that happened behind closed doors. When she moved away, I never saw her again. But I've never forgotten her secret. Fast-forward to a school hallway during the hustle between classes. “Do you have a minute to talk?” I looked down into dark eyes that seemed to plead with me. She’d been one of the students who had just listened to me talk in her health class. As soon as no one was close by, she said, “Please don’t tell anyone.” Those same words. Again. Only a different girl, in a different time and place. She might not want to tell, but she’d never get free unless someone came to her rescue. Most schools have “safe places” for kids to share the dark secrets that tend to perpetuate themselves. Without intervention, 30% of ab...
Read more

Planting Good Seeds

Image
Harvest will always depend on what we plant and how well we care for our crop.    Looking over my seed packets, I notice they’re different than the ones I planted before. One package is called Word seeds. The directions say that each of my words is a seed, so it cautions me to think before I speak. Harsh words don’t produce sweet, nourishing fruit. These seeds will require thoughtful care in the garden. I see some Volunteer seeds. Those extra hours I tend to fritter away are going to be planted in a useful project.   It looks like time isn’t wasted in this garden plot. Next are some Love seeds—the directions are interesting: get up each day and love others. No specifics are given—just do something for someone every day. The seed package shows pictures of smiling faces. I smile back. As I’m ready to head to the garden with my seeds, a package falls to the ground. I open it. Inside are the tiniest seeds I’ve ever seen—but the directions s...
Read more

Giving Their Tomorrows For Our Todays

Image
At seventeen he felt awkward standing next to his family at the Memorial Day parade. His younger siblings enjoyed it all, but he’d rather be hanging out with his friends. It was the same every year, his family getting together to honor Uncle John. After the parade, there’d be a picnic in Grandma’s backyard. Uncle John had been killed long before he’d been born, so all the Memorial stuff didn’t matter to him. But it mattered to his grandma. Sulking in Grandma’s living room, he didn’t feel like playing games in the backyard. As he sat alone, he saw an old photo of his Uncle John. He picked up the picture gazing into the face of the young, uniformed soldier taken in some war torn jungle. Grandma came in and saw him looking at John’s picture. “I’d like to show you something.” Grandma motioned for him to follow. They went into her bedroom where she pulled an old wallet from her dresser. She carefully laid o...
Read more