Tomorrow I'll drive across the mountains and it probably won't look like this, but still. Crossing into Washington from Oregon stirs my heart so well. The ambiance of the nature in the Pacific Northwest is lulling and beautiful and ever-present; I can almost hear it sometimes. I wouldn't trade it for anything.
I'm all packed and ready. There's a backpack, a Samsonite, and a princess dress waiting by the front door. Also a tiny parcel of lavender.
When I drive by myself, for hours on end, I roll my window down and just listen. I listen to the wind and the trees and the birds and the cars and the outside of where I am. Sometimes I speak French to myself. I try to make things up, hard things, things I don't remember. I talk; I tell stories, out loud, things I wouldn't dare tell if I was with someone else. I make them up. I try words together, just to hear their sounds. I recite poetry. I sing. And I pray. Sometimes I pray about the things I know that I need to pray for. Sometimes I pray about things I don't know or don't understand or can't remember. And sometimes I just simply thank God.
It is so much easier to remember to thank God when it's you and the road and His nature and six hours ahead. I promise. So much easier.
I like that though. Even though I forget other times, I remember to be thankful when I'm driving. You see so much that you can't really help it. All of your senses are overwhelmed and spilling full of the outside, and you just remember.
I can't wait for tomorrow for many reasons. I get to see my little sister. There will be coffee. Nature. More coffee. Friends. A week of summer camp. And six hours of thanks.
