The Green Room

Eighty-seven miles

It is eighty-seven miles from my parents' driveway to ours.

To some people that may seem incredibly far. I know that as a child, the 70 minute drive to my mother's parents seemed forever, especially compared to the one minute walk next door to my dad's parents.

But now, that seems incredibly close. Compared to 898 miles to Texas? Compared to 1037 miles to Pennsylvania? 87 miles is nothing.

Eighty-seven miles allows for spontaneous weekend trips to celebrate birthdays and new homes and nothing at all.

Eighty-seven miles is only fifty-five miles when Grandma works halfway in between. Fifty-five miles means a happy babysitter comes to stay the night on the rare occasion that we go out without our girl.

Eighty-seven miles is one short nap away. "What time are you leaving?" The answer is always right after lunch.

This week eighty-seven miles meant Miriam and I didn't have to stay home alone while my husband went away on business for a few days. It meant breakfast with Grandma and afternoon snacks with Grandpa in his recliner. It meant more "meow" and "doggie" and "mow!" It meant lounging with family on the back porch, showing off climbing skills to the amusement of Great-Grandpa and the terror of Great-Grandma.

We didn't take a hundred pictures. Because eighty-seven miles means that visits are no longer rare occasions to be documented to the fullest. Eighty-seven miles means that visits are simply life being lived to the fullest.

Praise God for the blessing of eighty-seven miles.