on night driving

The last two hours are always the longest.   We’re 13 hours into our way to New York, the Empire State where my grandparents live.  The kids are holding up pretty well, little ones and big ones alike.  In the moment of typing the last sentence, a sibling spoke out from the yonder back seat.  Not only is somebody thirsty, but another one is hiding the water.

I love brotherly love. I really do.  I’m not just saying that.  It’s the most painless of loves, not that love is meant to be painless, but it is kind of nice in the times when it is.  With Eros there is pain in separation and desire.  With Charity is pain in the sacrifice of self.  But brotherly love brings the comfort and security of loyalty and warmth.  It’s what gets you through the pain of all the other loves.

They ended up sharing the water.  Good for them.  Things really do go better here when everybody shares.  After twelve episodes of “What’s in the Bible with Buck Denver”, the adults have taken back control of the radio waves.  We’ll give it back in a bit, when they ask again later.  I offered to drive but he said he’s alright.

The music just stopped and the van has encompassed a slowing down silence.  This is the gift inside the union kind of love, that you never have to worry about a silence being awkward.  Sometimes silence is itself a kind of love, someone’s personal space to be cherished and protected, a sacred presence of peace to get you through from here to there.

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