Dear Texas,

You lived up to the hype.  In spades. Everything IS bigger.  Sky, churches, traffic jams. And hearts.  I know… there’s a song.

Set out from Frisco in the wee hours on a Tuesday – headed for Macon to collect some precious hugs and leave great-grandma Jeremias’ bedroom suit (I know… ).  And to take a breath-break before the last leg to Wilmington – our sweet hometown still shell-shocked from the battering of a hurricane named Florence. Not knowing what we would find upon arrival. It was worse than we imagined.  And better. Another blog.

Anxiety rode high in my little car, watching the tail lights of the U-Haul-It (I know…) bearing my possessions and my beloved for hour upon hour.  Somewhere along Interstate 20, maybe in Mississippi or Alabama, there was a line of vehicles pulled over on the opposite side – westbound. A convoy of big pickups and trailers.  And there on the last one a sign: Texas Baptist Men’s Disaster Relief.

The tear-dam burst.  The heart of Texas had been to the heart of Carolina.  My homefolks helping my homefolks. And lighting up my way home.  Both of them. (I know…)