Driving, by myself, to the beach…
God, You are so good and faithful, and Your timing is perfect. Thank you so much for working things out with the house. Wow, we’re moving! Got to get things packed up. Holy cow, the garage is such a mess. Wait, I’ve still gotta pull out what we need for vacation, and call A and T, and see how the recoveries are going. And, I need to call about the dog, and the boys need haircuts. Maybe on Saturday. Oh, and Cutler needs soccer cleats. I wonder if he will refuse to get out on the field—can we get our money back? I need to pick out paint colors. Look at that beautiful sky You made, God! I‘m going to pull off at this little beach. Peyton needs jeans because he has grown a foot this summer. He is getting so old, we only have him around, really, for a few more years. He is going to be morphing right in front of us and are we letting him…ooh, there is a shell under my heel. Here are the steps down to the beach. Have we done what we need to get him ready? I don’t know how to parent teenagers! Carly is right behind him, and she is going to be a whole different story. I feel sick to my stomach—seriously—I think I am totally messing up with her right now, like when she rolls her eyes, and doesn’t get what I’m trying to tell her…
Aww, look what some little girl was trying to do…
How…funny.
You are, God.
I get it.
