Static crackled from the radio as I drove up Interstate 95. I hit the radio station preset button to get a fresh signal and hummed along to the music. Christian rock wasn’t my thing, but my 17-year-old son always tuned to these stations during our bi-weekly, 200-mile trip to his mother’s place in Fort Lauderdale for a custody visit.
It was nice to have steady music to keep me company on the long rides back home, even if I didn’t know any of the lyrics. I needed the distraction so I didn’t think too much. Since my divorce, I felt lost. Thinking too much only made it worse.
Mile markers flipped past. Billboards, rest stops, highway signs. I passed the exit for Boca Raton. Not even halfway home.
What are you rushing back to? I thought. I turned the radio louder. But it didn’t help. I’m alone. I’m lost. I’m not even 60, but it feels like my life is over. Where do I go from here? The road became bleary as my eyes welled with tears.
A new song came on the radio—one I hadn’t heard before. I started to sing along. Then came the chorus.
“I want to live like there’s no tomorrow, love like I'm on borrowed time. It's great to be alive…” I sang at the top of my lungs. Where did that come from? Somehow, I knew the lyrics by heart.
The song went on. “I won’t take it for granted…I want to give you a life well-lived…” I sang along. When the song ended, I found my internal mantra had changed: I have loving children. A decent job. A roof over my head. My mood lifted—and stayed that way until I reached home. I wasn’t in the best place in my life. But I was on God’s path, and he’d lead me where I needed to go.
On Sunday afternoon, I picked up my son. Turning onto Interstate 95, I heard a familiar strain of music. “I won’t take it for granted…” I started to sing.
“Dad, you know this song?” my son asked.
“I suppose I do,” I said.
