Yesterday I rode alone through the mountains of East Tennessee in a restored 1975 red VW convertible with the top down the speakers to their max. I was listening to the old gospel hymns and country tunes and being transported into heavenly realms of joy. Nothing has prepared me for the meaning of life after living it for 62 years, meaning that only comes from a long distillation of actually living. I was so blessed to have parents who set my foot early to the tune of service, goodwill toward others, and finding something productive to do every day working to build better. None of this matters except that all this early building and serving seemed to always be accompanied by old hymns playing silently or loudly as the backdrop music of living. It is a mystery for sure, and one I was never prepared for or saw coming but it can turn a ride in the hills into a magic carpet ride.
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| Even a leaf from an American Basswood tree can be a magic carpet if you know Who made it. |
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