I can't sleep yet even though I'm so tired. My baby, my 16-year-old, is taking his girlfriend home, about 15 miles round trip. The wind blows cold outside my window, and the snow was falling on unseasonably warm ground. Just wet pavement, Lord, that's what I pray. Who is this woman? This woman who worries so much more then she used to about the older kids. Is it the wisdom of experience, or a byproduct of age, holding those I love in more preciousness than before.
In a week's time since Carman got his driver's license my prayer has been whittled down. I love you, God bless you, may angels surround your car...
The wind sounds hollow, the late night lonely. I will wrap myself in warm prayers until he returns.
Almost as soon as I finished typing that, I hear his key in the door. What a lovely sound it makes. I fancy it sounds like the whispers of angels.