I never drive off down the road to Fermilab or set off for the airport without wondering if I will ever return. There are so many things that can go wrong; so many ways to say “Game’s over.” And then to never see the family again; and so much is left undone! Things I meant to say or do; one more kiss—not possible any more. (Truth to tell, you could more easily count the things I finished than those I started.)
When I travel it is brutally clear that I’m completely in God’s hands. No skill of mine means anything at all to a pilot, and even when I drive I know how close to the edge I am. A sneeze at the wrong time, or an inattentive truck driver, and time’s up.
Of course we’re always in God’s hands; we just let the daily routines take on the role of fortress walls. Outside those walls I have to pay more attention to God. Sad but true, that even prayer times turn into routines. Of course, they’re good routines to have, and God can use every opening.
Maybe I should travel more. Maybe I should travel more at home?
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