My Blonde L
ife Our family was a host family for Safe Families for Children, beginning in 2012. Over the years, we hosted thirty-two kids in crisis. The following is a story about one of them.
www.tamarajorell.com
In the following story, written in 2017, our girls were 13, 16, and 18 years old. It gets me in the feels, thinking of car rides like this one. Here’s to enjoying whomever you travel with through life!
***** The truck gobbled up the miles on Highway 94W, and I sipped my latté in the passenger seat. I slid on a pair of sunglasses and eyed the snowless landscape flying by outside the window. Our family of five was all together, something that was growing harder as the once littles matured into bigs. Across state lines and on the other side of the day awaited still more family in Valley City, North Dakota.
I turned my gaze to our teenagers in the back seat.“What are you thankful for, girls?”
“Food,”Thora said, popping a French fry into her mouth.
“My dog,” Olga said.
The day before, I had driven Lala, the family dog, to meet our friend Trixie who agreed to watch her for us over the Thanksgiving holiday. We met halfway in a parking lot in Woodbury, and our exuberant animal bounded from the car and hurtled through the open door of Trixie’s Jeep. The canine wagged her entire body, and I already knew what she was thankful for: three days of playtime with Trixie’s Great Dane, Sarge.
“And that dog left me pretty easily yesterday,” I said. “What am I, chopped liver?”
“If you were,” Inga said, “she would’ve stayed.”
“I’ve got another thing,” Thora announced. “I’m thankful for my sisters.”
Inga smirked. “I’m so glad you thought of us after food.”
But Thora was on a roll. “And I’m glad I passed my driver’s test after three tries.”
“You said three things already,”Olga said to Thora. “Hey, stop touching my blanket.”
I shifted my focus to Olga. “Anything else to add?”
“I’m just gonna stick with my dog, I guess.”
“I’m thankful I have a good relationship with my family and that God has helped me figure out what I’m doing in life,” Inga said.
Behind the wheel, Husband straightened, tweaked the rearview mirror, and peered into it. “He has?”
Inga tilted her head and shot him a look.
“Okay, I’m thankful for my family,” Husband said. “And for friends who make going to work enjoyable.”
“I have one more thing,” Thora said, waving her hand. “My heart is beating, and I’m breathing. So that’s good.”
She laughed, but her words lodged in my chest. Heartbeats and breaths—the essence of our time in skin. The gift of momentary life.
Life in a family: our hearts beat in sync as we make our plans, and our lungs breathe together through whatever days we’re given.
Car rides laced with happy chaos along the way are good too. They’re very good.
