Little House in the Suburbs

This past weekend I was taking my family down to a birthday party 2 hours away. It sounds strange, but long car rides are actually one of my favorite activities with my beloved. It offers a rare opportunity for us to be together and not be distracted by the world's business. So we talk, listen to sermons, debate theology, and do all the things it seems like we never have the mental energy for.

About an hour into the trip, both my beloved and my jewel had dozed off. So it was just me, both alone with my thoughts, but also having the two most important people in the world within a few feet of me. For some reason, the imagery of Michael Landon from "Little House on the Prairie" floated through my mind. That image, of pioneer man forging across the unsettled plain to find a new homestead to raise his family, with all his most important possessions traveling there with him, resonated within me. That's kind of how I felt. Granted, I was driving a minivan, my kid was in a car seat, and I was listening to Eric Clapton on an mp3 player, but I still felt some sort of weird connection with the men who embarked in those sorts of journeys, because they kept their families close to them as they went. Maybe I couldn't have taken down a bear with my bare hands and Michael-Landon-like hair, but I could at least take my family to our destination, and they could trust that I would be the one to get them there.