America

My thoughts on arriving home from our road trip, written Oct. 10...

That ribbon of highway before and behind me, stretching, weaving its pattern on the map, criss-crossing our country. Sometimes straight and sometimes winding, paved in black and gray, even pink, made of concrete and asphalt. We zoom along, seeing things for just a moment, and then they're gone.

The White House, glimpsed through rush hour traffic.

Two deer, their eyes bright in the shine of our headlights as we drive through the Maryland night.

A fawn deep in the woods on Skyline Drive in Shenandoah National Park, Virginia.

The winding road through those famed hills of West Virginia, that song rolling through my head, and the lyrics ring true as we make our own way home, wishing we were already there ...

The radio reminds me of my home far away And driving down the road I get the feeling that I should have been home yesterday, yesterday... Country roads, take me home to the place I belong...

Miles and miles of crops through Ohio, Illinois, Missouri, and Kansas, whether pan-flat or beautifully hilly, clouds of dust rising from the combines working. The bread basket of the world.

That little boy I saw in a convenience store, his father angry and harsh, for whom I've prayed every day since I saw his pain and felt fear for his future.

The sunrise behind me as we make our twisting way through Topeka.

The Golden Arches ... a perfect to-go cup of iced tea.

The steeples of distant churches all across Kansas, beautiful in the distance.

Beautiful and plain, touching and harsh, prosaic and extraordinary. Not just a drive - a winding journey home.