It was already raining lightly when I left the office late Friday afternoon. By the time I merged onto the interstate, the gentle summer rain had turned into a gushing torrent of water. Somewhere along I-459 south of Birmingham, I could barely seen the tail lights of the car creeping along in front of me.
Traffic was bumper to bumper in all three lanes of each direction. We inched along dangerously. I was afraid of what I might hit as I kept going forward, but I was equally afraid of being hit in the rear if I didn’t move fast enough.
I simply couldn’t see what was going on — and I was afraid that trying to pull off the road was no better since I couldn’t see anything and others couldn’t see me.
So I moved along blindly — barely moving — as buckets of rain continued to fall from the sky.
And then I saw something that seemed like a faint shaft of light in the sky off to my right. The rain still beat down furiously, but where was that light coming from?

Visit with high school best friend leaves me pondering my old fears
Christmas marks God’s attempt to connect us to himself and others
Sane people change systems with ideas, not by murdering people
Bride is 89 and the groom is 86,
Politicians sometimes lie even when they know they’ll be caught
My unconscious choices on love say much about women and me
Nature struggles to keep alive
The moon represents what I seek, but words are all I can offer now