(If you want to hear Lori read this story click)here

 

Today I conquered Broad Street in Philadelphia. 

 

Twice before, I acquiesced to take Zack's girlfriend to the bus stop downtown. Just barely. I am accomplished at many things... sewing costumes on an hour's notice, befriending children, writing a song or two. But navigational skills are not on my resume, so I tend to get flustered when lost.

 

My GPS, also known as Gypsy, successfully guided me to the bus stop before, but both times she insisted on taking the tedious route home on Broad Street. Perhaps it was to advance my compassion for sections of the city that I do not usually frequent, the ones with bars on the windows. Maybe it was to get me to slow down and mediate at the approximately ninety seven red lights between Market Street and Alden Road. But my efforts at staying calm were less than successful. I was steamed.

 

But today, after the combined preparatory effort of Zack, Gypsy, and Mapquest, I made it home in half the time with a fraction of the red lights. It was a triumph, and I sang boisterously on I-95.

The success was doubled because of my previous vexation. When Zack asked if I would drive, I wanted to want to. But I could not manage that. I could only do it reluctantly. Yet in the effort to coerce myself in the right direction, I found ways to enjoy it. I talked with my passenger. I held close the remembrance of the son who is a continual blessing. He wanted this favor, and I wanted him. Hence I did the trip for a triplet of reasons: