Sometimes life just takes big-ass faith.

Faith like a toy car with thick rubber bumpers, except you control the spin. But sometimes, it’s fun to spin and not know where you’ll stop. Sometimes I get out, yell at the car to go faster, slow down, be prettier, be easy, go straight, take the long way. Move. Stop.

It’s good to not know the answers. Better yet, to not know anything.

The older I get, the wiser I am. The less I know. I’m okay with that.

But faith –my faith– is like that bumper. Solid, bouncy, present.

I keep dreaming about trucks. Big 18 wheelers. In the first dream, I stepped out of my Alaskan home that looked like a rabbit cage, all tucked up like The Thinker on his ass, maybe asleep, but waiting, waiting…always waiting.

I climbed out, threw what little stuff I had into that truck and drove off. Probably south, towards the sun.

In the second dream, I traded a little, cute rental car for an 18 wheeler in a motel parking lot in the middle of the night. The thing was, I knew how to drive that truck like it was a Maserati. It was time to get on the road.

Time to get on the road with my big-ass faith. Even in the middle of the night.