We took our little blue FJ-40 to church yesterday. It’s our “once-in-a-while” vehicle, the special occasion car. On this day, the occasion was the feeling in our bones that winter is nearing its end. The early signs of spring are flitting around everywhere. I have heard the birds in the branches chittering away all week. My Allium has sent its first shoots up through the bark. The sun is getting warmer and the air is fragrant. The coming spring is worth commemorating.

For all its aesthetic charm, the FJ is a 1978 and a primitive ride. The engine reverberates and roars through the stout uninsulated cab. Yelling is the only way to be heard over the mechanical force pushing us through the air. The FJ demands a whole different level of alertness from my climate-controlled daily driver. It is easily pushed off course by the gushing sidewinds coming from passing 18-wheelers. It rides in the ruts a little less securely. Wind whistles through the crevices and joints. Riding in the FJ lends itself to feeling alive and exposed.

There is more to see and hear and feel in the FJ. I was caught up in the sensations on our drive. Some of the rolling hills were velvety green already. The yawning light of morning pressed firmly against shadows. It was quite dramatic. In one lovely stretch, my children erupted into song. In unison, they belted out the lyrics of a tune my daughter has been writing herself. Their voices strained to rise above the din of the FJ but I could hear each one pound out the words. I felt the flush of relief that I hadn’t missed this by being distant or preoccupied.

I was thankful for a morning of noticing the world around me. I am not good at this normally. I lock my focus on a screen or a road or a project and tune out everything else. The conditions were just right to experience the blessing of awareness. This is the gift of being present and I’m thankful I didn’t miss my kids singing together or the loveliness of a common route. It was simple and good.