I didn't hear the trumpets

I have mentioned before that my son was extremely hyperactive and ADHD as a small child (he continues to suffer from attention challenges). I would watch him in the church toddler area where he would be running from one wall and then across the room into the other wall and I'd often comment that I hoped Jesus would come again before he got his driver's license. (I've probably said it thousands of time when he was younger.)

Well, Friday around 1:00 I was at my kitchen sink and listening for the sound of the trumpet. Whatever my theology about the return of Christ, I still thought it a good thing to keep an ear out for an answer to prayer. Around 3:00, my husband and son returned with my son the proud owner of his driver's license and I had not met Jesus face to face.

I had my husband teach him to drive (remembering that I do not ride with new drivers). Most homeschool boys spend a lot of time with their mother. Mine probably spent even more time with me due to his father's illness. However, I believe there are certain times in a boy's life he needs to share with Dad and mother takes a backseat...pun intended. Anything having to do with automobiles, the lawn, the garage, building stuff out of wood, etc. has fallen under Dad's directive in our home. Only my husband could share the glee of a boy getting his driver's license. Fathers gloat, mothers pray at such rights-of-passage for boys.

I know he is a good driver. He failed his first driver's test two weeks ago because...get this...he was too polite on the road. Two of the three areas the BMV person marked against him were actually things we had taught him to do. She also remarked that he drove like a country boy coming into the city...which he is. This time she thought he did a great job.

So, how did she know he was a country boy? Well, the address gives it away. When I was growing up, country addresses were all Rural Route 1, usually abbreviated to R.R. #1 or 2 or 3, etc.. Directions really were...go to Fred's barn, turn north until you come to the goat farm, then swing south towards the second corn field and you're there. It isn't any less confusing now. Country addresses look like something one would use to pinpoint shipping lanes. We live on 222 West 555 North (not really but something similar). We have yet to figure out how the houses were numbered. My two neighbors live close enough that when I sneeze, they can say God Bless You, even if it is a shouted blessing. However, our addresses would make one think we live miles apart even though our rural mailboxes nearly hug each other on their shared stand.

Our addresses do not make it any easier to find us. My sister spent 45 minutes locating our home before she went back into Town to call from a gas station and she lives in this area. We continue to give directions to locals that goes something like this...take 555 West until you come to that strange intersection, hang a left and go to three mailboxes in a row and there is gravel to the left...across from the cute barn. That's probably why she couldn't find the house.

So, my driving time is going to be cut in half. We still have only one car so I'll need to drop him off and do errands part of the time. I need to go with him on the days he gets his allergy shots after his class (he can't sign for himself until he is 18). However, it really was wonderful that he could drive himself to various places since Friday. I have to remember that we cannot add one moment to our life by worrying and he is one step closer to independence...which should be our ultimate goal...building men.