The Hereditary Need for Commutes

I'm lousy at praying. If I try to pray to myself, I get distracted and never get passed "thank you for this day." Even when I pray out loud, I still get distracted. There seems to be only one solution: I need a commute.

My Dad drove 30 minutes a day, to and from work, for 30 years. My Mom did the same for several years. In fact, I can remember riding to work with her when I was younger. When she wasn't listening to James Dobson or Chuck Swindoll or Marlin Maddox, she'd say, "Joy, I'm going to pray on the way to Rockford today." And then she'd either pray to herself or out loud.

I had a pretty decent prayer life when we lived in Colorado. My commute to Colorado Springs was 37 miles one way. It's amazing how wonderfully serene it is to drive that far at 4:30 in the morning (except, of course, when it's snowing - then there's a different sort of praying going on).

So, now that we're at this crossroads, deciding where in the world we'd like to live next, I think I'd like a commute again. I know it's not great on mileage and gas and all, but I think it's pretty great for the heart. Besides, it's in my blood.