on the way home

we were still a ways from home
when the windshield shattered
coming back from vacation.
Dad pulled off to the side of the road;
he and Mom picked glass out of the car;
they broke the rest of the windshield—
then got out all the sleeping bags
and towels from the trunk
and piled them into the car;
and we in the back seat snuggled into the warmth—
made all the warmer by the cold
outside air whistling through the interior
as we continued the journey home.
and we felt cozy …
with that special excitement
you only get when things go wrong;
and we relished the adventure—
trying to recognize by the feel of the turns
when we got close to home.

God, You’re in the front seat—
cold wind in Your face—tearing Your eyes—
glass in Your clothes,
while Your children snuggle in the backseat
in the warmth You provide on the journey home.


2 thoughts on “on the way home

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