"You've survived the war, now survive the highways."

There's a sign on the right-hand side of the road as you leave the main gate.  It has three lights--red, yellow, and green--and a counter that displays the number of days since the last traffic fatality.  Depending on the number of days that have passed, a different colored light lights up.

It was red the last time I passed it.  The last time being this afternoon, when Alan and I were leaving chapel.

In the ten months that I've been here, we have yet to make it to triple digits, but we've made it past 50, and that seems to be pretty good.

Too frequently, the light remains red and the number in the single digits.

This sign (and others like it) has fascinated and saddened me ever since I first saw it.

I think of the spouses, the parents, the children, loved ones left behind, and the thought sticks with me until it's time to merge onto I-35, because I need to concentrate if I don't want to be the one who sends the counter back to 0.  Drivers don't always yield and sometimes people seem to remember at the last minute that they don't actually want to take the access road to go home (because it's not like they drive this route every day or anything). ...

And so, they cut in front, and I'm keeping my eyes simultaneously glued to the vehicle in front of me and to the car to my right--is he going to cut me off?--and the traffic to my left.  I don't want my husband thinking of me every time he passes the sign ...

... 6 days since Elizabeth died.

Fort Hood brings people from across the country, across the world, and their driving styles show it.  I'm not sure what a native Texan driver is like, but many drivers in Killeen drive like their parents just filled out the logs without actually holding their teenagers accountable aggressively.

At least, they seem so for someone whose typical definition of a traffic jam is three cars behind a tractor (or a horse and buggy).

But, hey, I don't have to have every destination referenced to me in terms of its relation to Lowe's anymore.  When I first arrived, we went to Lowe's a lot, so it became my landmark--if I'm going to the Soldiers' Hospitality House, I should pass Lowe's.  There's an amazing, hole-in-the-wall Thai restaurant (Amazing Thailand) in the plaza in front of Lowe's.  Firehouse Subs is farther down, near where Lowe's Blvd. intersects with Trimmier.

My life pretty much revolved around Lowe's.

But now I am learning, and my memory serves me better when I'm not stressing out about whether I'm going to cause an accident and am I in the right lane to turn around and do I need this exit or the next one?

And so we continue to survive the highways.

the least of these

On a recent drive to school in the morning, our oldest foster child asked me if I needed Scripture references in order to believe things or share things. We sometimes have political or theological discussions on the way to school, and I either preface or end my response with, "Well, the Bible says. ..."

I said that I did, and explained that if it's not backed by Scripture, it's just someone's opinion, and opinions can lead others astray.

That lesson became even truer to me on Saturday, when we attended a Focus on the Family Wait No More event in Houston.

On the way, we passed this really amazing house. We told some of our friends that we needed to buy it and move in together.

But, I digress.

But when the fullness of the time had come, God sent forth His Son, born of a woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, that we might receive the adoption as sons.  -Galatians 4:4-6

We have all been adopted, as children of God. God gave (and continues to give) us grace when we deserved none. No matter what our biological parents were like, we have a Heavenly Father who loves us unconditionally, whose love is not dysfunctional.

When I was younger (when the movie rental place only had VHS tapes and it was in a tiny plaza that isn't even there anymore), I recall sitting in my parents' Jeep while we waited for my dad. I asked my mom if she would always love me, and she said that she would, no matter what. Thinking of the worst possible thing I could imagine, I asked if she would love me even if I killed someone. She said that she would. And I thought that was the weirdest thing ever, because I didn't think I would love me (or anyone else, for that matter) if I'd killed someone.

No matter what my biological parents were like, my mom and dad love me unconditionally.

Father to the fatherless, defender of widows—this is God, whose dwelling is holy. God places the lonely in families. -Psalms 68:5-6

Alan and I have been discussing adoption for a very long time. He feels led to adopt. I want to adopt because I feel that I am uniquely suited to help children navigate the questions and issues about their biological families and identities that may arise. And now I want to adopt because there's Scriptural support to this idea, and the event gave me an entirely different perspective on adoption.

I had never had adoption put to me in a Biblical sense (that I recall).

Pure and genuine religion in the sight of God the Father means caring for orphans and widows in their distress and refusing to let the world corrupt you. -James 1:27

"Caring for orphans." I never thought that might mean, "take one into your home and make him family." I thought that meant something like, "donate to charities."

After all, donating on occasion is way less intrusive--financially ... emotionally ... physically ... personally--than the total upheaval that comes with bringing children into your home. Into your life.

Especially older children.

          Traumatized children.

                    Legally orphaned children.

But, isn't living for God all about living lives that are totally unlike the rest of the world? And if one life can be touched, if one little soul can be granted the peace that comes with stability, the comfort that comes from support, and the chance to know Jesus Christ as his or her Lord and Savior, then isn't it all worth it?