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Who’s Really Driving?   I returned from a morning dog walk and listened to the most lovely voicemail message. As it played, I felt like I was part of a poetry reading and closed my eyes so I could immerse myself in its beauty. As part of the message, our daughter decided to read a journal entry to me where she described the treacherous blizzard conditions we met on a narrow mountain road in Utah during a road trip we took together right before the pandemic. 

Her voice was almost foreign, with a confidence and grown-up tone I hadn’t heard much of yet but can imagine she uses more and more often as she experiences the multitude of her life’s treasured moments. She relayed how the two of us were frightened but that ultimately we made the wise decision to turn around. We experienced elemental fear together that day and I believe, because of our shared faith in something greater than ourselves, we had someone else driving that minivan for us even if it was just to make that 6-point turn to head back (or was it a 9-point turn?)  

God only knows why we’re supposed to make it through some of our craziest and most fearful experiences. And I’m alright with that, especially if it means I’ll get more chances to hear my daughter’s beautiful adult voice.  

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