I'd been driving for what seemed like hours. At the outset the trip had gone smoothly. Because we'd left home early, the roads had been largely empty. Everything was smooth sailing. We'd made good time.
We'd enjoyed the scenery along the way and had brought along some CDs of enjoyable music. It was just the two of us and the trip afforded my wife and I an opportunity to chat now and then, catching up on each other's lives and compare notes on issues of the day.
I knew the way to the border. The route was simple and straight-forward to follow since we'd travelled it several times before. The highways and interchanges were clearly marked. And before we knew it were were stopped and chatting with the U.S. Customs agent about our summer vacation.
But now it had been hours since we'd passed the border and as we motored along nothing looked familiar. We'd made this trip to Ogunquit on several occasions, the last time being about four years ago. I thought I could make this trip with my eyes closed. Maybe I had. Maybe that was the problem. Whatever the problem, I was lost. But like all great male drivers, I wasn't going to admit it. And I certainly wasn't going to stop and ask for directions.
Travelling from Canada to Ogunquit, Maine, one has to - oddly enough - drive briefly through New Hampshire and then go North into southern Maine. I'd remembered seeing the signs for New Hampshire, but that was some time ago.
Where were we? I needed an indication that I was on the right highway. A hint that at least I was going in the right direction. What would I say if my wife asked me how longer it would be? If she did ask me then she'd know I hadn't a clue; that I was lost. What could I do?
And then I was struck by divine intervention. It was help from above. Praise the Lord, it was...a sign.
This week Theme Thursday is going with "sign". Drop by and see what other bloggers have written about this theme.