The hum of the pickup tires on the quiet highway this morning lulls me into deep thought. I glance over at Sam, one hand on the wheel, keeping a watchful eye on the road and the dark ditches, mindful of glowing blue orbs, indicators of deer ready to cross. He is also deep in thought…and dread, I suppose.

As I watch him, he looks over at me, the predawn sky just beyond his profile. He smiles warmly.

As we were gathering the meds and supplies and breakfast and water to make this trip once again, Alexa played, “You are My Hiding Place,” by Selah. It’s kind of our thing on these early mornings, attempting to keep the fears and the realities at bay, putting our focus on our call to trust God in all this.

“You always fill my heart with joy, and deliverance, whenever I am afraid, I will trust in You, I will trust in You…”

I am grateful for Sam’s warmth in a simple smile, for his strength in adversity, for answers to prayers unspoken, for grace given freely by my employers who understand all too well this caregiver role and the stress that accompanies it, for early morning quietness as Sam faces yet another treatment, for the incredible gift of predawn colors, for school bus drivers who commit to picking up the farm kids on cold dark October mornings before the rest of the sane world wakes.

I am grateful for eight grandchildren who have increased our heart size and given us laughter and swollen chests and tears and muddy shoes and laundry to do and Amazon shopping carts full and…plans of reasons to live.

Sam: “I would have never had this blessing, Rhonda.”

I need this to last forever.