The car doors slam, and we slide into opposite sides. We look at one another, then sit silently and think over the last hour. The question comes again:
“Will we be like that?”
As our car heads home, my husband and I add to our verbal inventory for our future. We talk about what we don’t want, what we do want, how we hope to be, what we hope to do, but mostly how we want to spare our children from what’s ahead. Our conversation flows like hot lava, layered thick with our stuck-in-the-middle stage of life.
The admonition to “leave father and mother and cleave to each other” jumbles with “honor father and mother” in uncomfortable confusion with uncertain solutions.
If They Only Knew
God cares about generations. He invented them…
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