For many reasons, I love to drive. One particular reason I love to drive is: I don't like to cry. See, when I'm alone in my car, I cry, when the need arises. When I earned my first A on an algebra test, I cried happy tears in my car. I've been crying more often lately, for good reason, since my dad's passing, but usually not in my car. I've cried in my son's arms as he held me and kissed my cheek. In my brother's arms, in my mom's arms. In the arms of a few friends. Today was especially difficult, so I cried in my car while picking up pizza.
The day began marvelously as I drove to church this morning. No crying yet. I've been a volunteer in Vacation Bible School at church this week, and I am having a fantastic time with the 4th graders, friends, and just being at church. Then it hit me-my dad is not here at church. He is not here. He is not here. It felt like I was playing catcher (I played girls softball when I was 13) and a girl accidentally hit me in the head with the bat. I just had to get out of there. I may need to apologize to the few people I bumped into-I wasn't very nice. I didn't cry, though.
I cried a few hours later, thinking about church. And I cried in agony-I prayed. He is not here. But Jesus is here. Jesus is here. Jesus is here. And so am I. So...what now? I get up, keep driving, and go back to VBS.
