Yesterday my youngest and I were on a lonely, deserted stretch of I-25 in northern Wyoming. If you know anything northern Wyoming geography you know that between Casper and Buffalo there is a whole lot of nothing. And that is right where we were when the storms hit us.

We’d been watching them build in the distance, and this storm loving woman was in her element, praying we’d run right into them.

And we did.

And I changed my mind very quickly when I started to hydroplane at 75mph and nearly lost control of Lucy. (Yes, I name my cars.) I looked out the window and could only see a wall of water the front tire was skimming off. And I knew we were in trouble.

We were heading south, the wind was fierce and blowing from the west. The water on the road was deep and rushing. It was almost like driving through a stream at flood stage.

Or maybe a river with whitecaps. The wind would push me one way, the water would push me the other.

It was scary. My body was trembling with the exertion of just trying to keep us on the road. I knew enough to reduce my speed and turn into the hydroplaning swerves and not fight against that.

At one point I was driving 50 mph in an 80 mph zone. The water was so deep on the road I was having trouble accelerating.

I know our life was spared yesterday.

I also know I want to hydroplane in the sweet grace of Jesus. I want to know in the marrow of my soul that He is, that He is good, and that He is in control of life, because He is my life.

Then I want to crash headlong into His throne and say, “Whooooaaaaa!!! Jesus! What a crazy, thrilling ride that was!!!”

And then I want to do it again. And again. And all over again.

For an eternity of agains.