prayer to the little train that could.

yesterday i drove from the great salt lake to south orange county in one solitary swoop. i stopped at mcdonalds, in n out, four gas stations, five restrooms, one alien jerky store, and contemplated stopping at the mad greek cafe because who doesnt want to dine surrounded by 494 statues of greek gods in a makeshift parthenon. you would think i was a family of six, not one solitary person. i listened to 2 cds the entire time and now have every single word memorized of michael jackson billie jean. i listened to 4 hours of talk radio and found out: barack obama is the devil incarnate, john mccain is the devil incarnate, barack obama kills babies, john mccain kills souls. all in all, a rockin experience.

although all of those things made the trip a real joy, perhaps my favorite moment was in the middle of a desert when the longest train i have ever seen passed by. the sun was setting, the mountains were looming, and a boxcar train chugged its way down the tracks as i drove by craning my neck to count. i lost count at 94. the number of boxcars is not important. what is important is that the chugging train, oblivious to its surroundings, going on with its business and gleaming in red yellow and blue, reminded me of how much i love trains. reminded me of when i found out my mom had cancer again, this time terminal, one of my friends bought me the book the little engine that could and told me i could do it. reminded me of at my moms funeral, when one of her best friends got up and said my mom was like the little engine that could, never giving up, always finding a way. reminded me of when one of my moms best friends bought us little glass trains and said to always remember that my mom never gave up. reminded me that even when obstacles arise and things get in our way, we are all little engines that could. we are all little trains in the desert. my mom never gave up. i will never give up.

whenever i see a train i am reminded of my moms dedication, her will to live, to never complain, to endure terminal cancer and endless pain with dignity and grace. yesterday, watching the long train run its track through the desert, one of hte most beautiful sights i have seen in a long time, i felt the little engine that could inside of me and i knew that no matter what life brings, and no matter how looming the mountains look, i can do it. and i will do it. and so will you my friends. so will you.