I got a notice on my car last month. It was parked on the street, and I saw that all the cars had this notice. Rolling my eyes at the prospect of another advertising flyer, I plucked it off from behind my windshield wiper and read, “No Parking on this street after November 5.” It went on to say that my street was going to be repaved, but no specific timeline was given except for this enigmatic warning about “after November 5.”
Not willing to have my car blocked in if I parked it to my driveway, I moved it around the corner. November 5th came and went without any sign of a road crew. On my neighborhood walk later that afternoon, I saw a crew tearing up the street three blocks up and parallel to mine. I remembered there was a QR code on the notice, pulled it up, and learned that a whole section of my immediate neighborhood was to be part of this project. It listed the street where my car was currently parked. That’s when I realized the crew had torn up that street, working around my car. The notice had warned that cars would be towed, so I was thankful that hadn’t happened.
When I went to move the car yet again, now to a road not on the repave list, the crew was standing in the roadway. They told me that indeed they had to work around my car. I asked when they were going to be on my street, but they didn’t know.
About a week later, as I was gathering my belongings to leave, I heard an ominous rumble. Looking out the living room window, I saw a huge machine creeping up my street, heavy steel teeth chewing up the asphalt. Behind that was a steel brush sweeper. I was stuck until the machines moved past. Luckily, I didn’t have to be anywhere at any particular, and eventually, I was able to leave my house.
And then, just yesterday, the first Sunday in Advent, an extremely talented tenor soloist at church sang an aria from Handel’s Messiah, “Every Valley Shall Be Exalted.” The text is from Isaiah and talks of raising valleys, lowering mountains, and straightening crooked paths. One line stood out: “And the rough places (made) plain.” Though Christianity has interpreted this passage as a prophecy about John the Baptist preparing the way for Jesus’ coming into the world, it has a more universal message—obstacles and challenges can be overcome. There is hope in that message. Just like my street, the rough places in my life can be made smooth.
My life before my husband’s illness and death was a well-known, well-traveled road. I knew it’s contours. I knew where all the bumps and holes were, dodging them when I could. My life’s road got really bumpy during those eight years of caregiving and grief. I couldn’t outmaneuver them and had to drive straight through the best I could.
So maybe now my life’s road is being repaved. The potholes are being filled. The rough patches are being torn up to make way for a new way. From physician, wife, and mother to author, speaker, traveler, hiker, and grandmother in the last five years or so.
This road is taking me to new places. The views are mostly incredible. I’m learning a lot about myself and my priorities. But this road will need repaving or replacing at some point, too. The author road is being repaved so that I can focus on fiction. Yes! I am trying my hand at short stories, and a novel or two are in the works.
Where does your life need to be repaved? Maybe it’s planned. Maybe it’s thrust upon you. But you have the power to make the changes that your road needs.