Driving home the other night the moon was as bright as a spotlight in the sky. Back when I was young and wild, I used to love driving on summer nights when the moon was full. I would turn off the headlights on my old Chevy, roll down the windows and fly like a maniac through the night. It's a miracle I'm still alive. I believe that we have guardian angels riding with us. I am thankful for the protection they offer.
I read somewhere about a list of people that did NOT die in the World Trade Center attack. One man's alarm clock did not go off. Another guy spilled coffee on his suit and had to go back and change clothes which cause him to miss his ride and he was late. One woman had to stay home with a sick child and another stopped to pick up doughnuts for her office when tragedy struck. I just watched the Buddy Holly Biography and his two band mates were supposed to accompany Buddy on that fatal flight. Waylon Jennings gave his seat up to J.P. Richardson (The Big Bopper), who was running a fever and had trouble fitting his stocky frame comfortably into the bus seats. Tommy Allsup, the other Cricket, flipped a coin and lost to Ritchie Valens who was the third musician that died on that flight.
I think about these stories now when I get behind someone driving 45 miles an hour in the left lane of the interstate or when someone slows down just enough so that you can't make the green light and you have to wait an extra minute or two. Instead of stewing and cranking my blood pressure up a few notches, I simply take a deep breath and say thanks because I know that I am where I'm supposed to be.
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