Funny things, these dreams.
When I grew up, my family travelled with kids piled everywhere singing to the top of the world. That old suburban could hardly hold all that joy. I know we kids couldn't. We had to sing it out.
My Shoulders is a car thinker, and it has often been lonely travelling these roads with him. Hours and hours of quiet as he plans and invents, invests and builds. Great thoughts. I can feel the heat being generated by his brain as I sit, his passenger. Still. Lost in my own thoughts too, but always missing all that music. Dreaming of it.
The Strong Soft is working her way toward a driver's license. ("Keep us safe, Oh, God for in you we take refuge." Psalm 16:1 ) She is more relaxed when listening to the radio, and her soul singing sends shivers up my spine. Goose bumps on my skin. Her voice making heaven in the car. I, her passenger, raising a joyful noise. Her brother says, "You sing like an angel." She does, and I smile. Music fills the car, and we carry tunes all the way home.
Singing to the top of the world,