Sparkling Escapades Abroad with the Fairy Bra Mother

I spent today on the road traveling to see my mom. When I drive, I have a lot of time to think and observe. Sometimes I’ll listen to an audiobook, but most of the time it’s music that keeps me company. Music seems to keep me the calmest when I’m in heavy traffic or driving through a large city.

There’s a lot you can notice about people while you’re driving—following them, passing them, or just sitting in the same lane for miles. I find myself wondering about their stories. Are they driving slow because they’re afraid—maybe they’ve been in an accident, or they’re older, or a brand-new driver? Do they drive erratically because they don’t have cruise control, or maybe they’re afraid to use it? Did that person who pulled out in front of a big rig not see it, act thoughtlessly, or truly not care what happens?

And that angry driver who flipped me off—did they just lose a parent, a partner, or even a child, and the only way they can cope is with anger? Did they have a hard morning getting the kids off to school or a spouse out the door to work? Maybe there’s trouble in their marriage or with their teenager. And the ones flying by without a care—are they running from their thoughts or their problems?

As I thought of these things, I also thought of my friends and family and prayed for each of you. For those in special difficulties, I said your name and asked God to draw especially close.

At one point, I saw a sign for Kanopolis Lake, and the memories started flowing—picnics there when we were kids, swimming in the summer, and the first time I ever put on ice skates. That lake was determined to swallow me whole! There was a hole in the ice, and every time I stood up it seemed to drag me closer to that dark water.

Then came other Ensz family memories—Grandma and the aunties making New Year’s cookies (some without raisins for us picky ones), sleeping in Uncle Virgil’s pitch-black basement (I’ve always had claustrophobia in the dark, waking up gasping for air, desperate to find the light), the girls’ room upstairs at Uncle Mel’s where we all piled in together, Aunt Glenda’s kitchen and her delicious meals, singing at the school where the John A. Ensz children sang “Silent Night” for Grandma.

I can still see the “outlaws” trying to sing “God Moves in a Mysterious Way” and dissolving into laughter, the uncles attempting to jump rope with us girls (they never quite managed that little extra hop in the middle—it was hilarious!), and all of us going up by families to introduce ourselves. Sometimes I felt a little cheated not having a crowd of siblings to stand with, but when it was Aunt Lucy’s turn, all of us grands stood up together because we were all her kiddos.

And the smell of Grandma’s house—do you know the smell I mean? That distinct, comforting scent. When we grands from far away would visit, she’d give us baby food jars filled with coins. So many memories.

As the miles passed, I noticed the clouds—so many shapes and variations. I saw a heart, and one that looked just like my friend’s poodle. That reminded me of an evening walk with a fellow teacher. We both looked up and saw the same cloud at the same time—a boy carrying a gun over his shoulder and his little dog trotting behind. We described it to each other and laughed because it was identical.

And today, I saw a beautiful sunrise in Iowa and a breathtaking sunset in Kansas.

So many miles. So many thoughts. So much gratitude. ❤️