Drivin’ Down the Road Song (No. 1)
when You reach out your arms to me
and take me to your heart
I know that there will never be
a time when we’re apart
each time I read your book I’m filled
with wonder through and through
then even though You’re who You are
You love me like You do
all my days I’ll sing your praise
and lift up your name
everywhere I’ll tell them how you care
I’ll tell them why You came
I know You made the stars above
You call them all by name
but I don’t know how it could be
You love me just the same
I pray that You will fill my mouth
with praises to the Son
so I can tell this world of hate
in love we can be one
One day I was just driving down the road and it really hit me how everything around me was praising the Lord. The bright sunshine, the singing birds, the wildflowers along the road—everything was effulgent with the brightness of life—everything seemed to be praising God, just by its very existence. It seemed that God was reaching out to me in the trees and whispering His secrets in the wind.
How strange it seemed that man, though he is the highest order of God’s creation—made in the very image of God—how strange that he should be the only part of the whole creation that does not give glory to God.
How great is God’s love, that He would give to us alone the capacity to reason and the freedom to choose, even though He knew we would choose against Him.
Brothers and sisters, let us praise Him with all that is within us. Let us not be put to shame by the stars (Psalm 19:1-6).
Not much to add here. Except that it’s still the same after all these years. I still ride down the road and the same thought still hits me. I was just riding bikes down a Florida road today with my folks, and looking around and thinking the same thing. It had been rainy and windy the last couple of days, but today: bright sunshine, a gentle breeze, birds singing, eagles bringing food to their young, grapefruit, doggies straining at their leashes, people waving from garages, and hugs all ’round—from Mom, from Dad, from Uncle Phil, from Aunt Leota, and from my 95-year-old grandpa. And the voice of my Davey on the phone, sounding like he wants me to come home.
Thank you, Lord.