Flowers On the Side of the Road
Sammy exploring the wilderness in his sister's pink boots.
Towards the end of what felt like a very long day, we came down the east side of a gradual mountainside in Virginia. Trees lined the highway, a sea of ash brown interspersed with the occasional drooping evergreen. The sun set behind us, pushing the bus’s shadow far in front of us, all the way into eternity.
North-facing banks held up a thick layer of snow – the south-facing banks looked soggy and water-logged. It was like driving the line between two seasons. Read more 
A Message to You
Sam getting ready for breakfast.
Thank you.
Thanks to those of you who came to my parent’s house and wished us well and saw us off.
Thank you for the gift cards and laughter and well wishes.
Thank you for following along with us on our journey.
Thank you for spreading the word about the newspaper article and the news story on TV.
Thank you for praying for us.
Thanks for feeding us and letting us use your showers and park in your driveways and parking lots.
At so many various points throughout this journey (which is only a week old) I’ve met discouragement or frustration or uncertainty. And more than once your Facebook notes or Tweets or emails or blog comments have been just what I’ve needed at that particular moment. Read more
How to Get a Bus Out of the Ditch
I stood on the narrow road, leaning against my minivan. A layer of grit covered the hood, and we had only traveled a few hundred miles. It was Friday, an unseasonably warm day with a cool breeze and a bright sun. The blueness of the sky seeped down through the trees.
But all that I felt was discouragement and disgust and anger. In front of me, twenty yards up the road, our bus was stuck. Read more
How a 148-Year-Old Speech Spoke to Me
Wednesday was a rainy day in Gettysburg, but it seems appropriate weather when contemplating the history of the place. Nearly 50,000 of the 164,000 combatants in the Battle of Gettysburg lost their lives during the three-day hell. The hills and forests must have been literally slick with blood and littered with bodies.
It’s a strange thing, driving these roads, looking out over the fields. I wonder how the people felt as the armies assembled. As the cannons began to boom. As distant gunfire whizzed through the air like a host of demons. Read more
The Man Under the Bus
The generator hums under the bus, like the constant snoring of a contented man. The small spotlights shine down on me, and on the kids, and on their endless chatter. They are a host of sparrows on a warmer-than-usual spring morning, except it is dark out, and cold.
All four kids sit at the tiny dining room table with a huge plastic container of crayons in front of them. The spill rainbows on their pages, unaware of the magic. Read more
