By Sharon (SD) Mac
Once I left the neighborhood and merged onto the highway,
the world suddenly felt too big and too quiet at the same time.
Cars passed me.
Billboards blurred by.
The sky stretched open like a canvas God painted just for that morning.
But inside the car,
everything was still.
Heavy.
It was the first hour of the Pilgrim Sojourner road,
and I could feel the weight of it deep in my bones.
I didn’t turn on the music at first.
I just listened…
to the engine humming,
to my breath,
to the silence
that was no longer empty, but expectant.
The highway has a strange way of making you honest.
You can’t hide from your thoughts when the road is wide open.
You can’t pretend everything is fine when the lane stretches endlessly ahead of you.
And in that first hour,
every emotion I tried to hold together for months/years…began to unravel.
The grief.
The exhaustion.
The numbness.
The fear.
The responsibility.
The calling.
They all sat with me.
All at once.
A few minutes in,
I reached over and tapped the playlist Steve and I used to play on our long drives.
The very first song that came on was his favorite Dream Theater song.
I froze.
My hand stayed on the screen.
For a second,
I almost turned it off.
Too raw.
Too soon.
Too painful.
But something in my spirit whispered,
“Let it play.”
So I did.
As the melody filled the car…as the lyrics spoke, “…the spirit carries on…
it felt like the air changed.
Like God Himself sat in the passenger seat.
Like Steve’s memory wrapped around me gently…
not crushing,
not overwhelming,
but comforting.
Tears rolled down my cheeks
without warning,
without apology.
Not sobbing.
Not breaking down.
Just a steady stream, grief mingling with gratitude.
I whispered,
“Lord, this is hard.”
And then, as if the highway answered,
a gentle wind blew across the car.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing special.
Just a small reminder:
“I am with you.”
That’s when I noticed something.
For the first time since Steve passed,
I wasn’t crying from despair.
I was crying from release.
From surrender.
From finally trusting God carry the weight
I’d been forcing myself to hold alone.
The telephone poles flew by like markers of mercy.
Each mile felt like a step out of grief
and a step into obedience.
Somewhere near mile 22,
I whispered through the tears,
“Thank You, Lord…
for letting me feel again.”
The first hour wasn’t easy.
Because the more the road stretched ahead,
the more I understood:
This journey wasn’t about traveling.
It wasn’t about a foundation.
It wasn’t even about telling my story.
This was worship.
Every mile.
Every breath.
Every tear on the steering wheel.
Worship.
And the God who met me in hospital rooms,
in empty bedrooms,
in quiet living rooms,
in broken moments on the floor…
met me again on that highway.
The first hour taught me something simple
and life changing:
I wasn’t driving alone.
Soli Deo Gloria!
To God Alone be the Glory!
“Thou therefore endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ.” -2Timothy 2:3
“Resolved, never to give over, nor in the least to slacken, my fight with my corruptions, however unsuccessful I may be.” -Jonathan Edwards, Resolution, 56
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