"Let's go to the covered bridge!" I suggested. We were relaxing after a long breakfast and warm conversation, then the mixing, chopping and stirring of Thanksgiving dinner preparations. Everything was in readiness now, and the gorgeous November day was beckoning us outside. We needed to sharpen our appetites for the feast ahead and for the roasting turkey that was filling the air with its delicious aroma.
"Great! I'll be right down," our son Mark said as he hurried upstairs for his shoes. This was their first trip to his sister's house in Georgia, and we were eager to show them around. Soon most of us were piled into two vehicles for the short ride down to the river; we rode with Mark and our daughter-in-law, Rhonda, while the younger set followed in the pickup being driven by our 18-year-old grandson, Reid.
The rustic, hand-pegged bridge built over a hundred years ago was the perfect foil for the scenic display before us: the recreated village, the country store, and the meandering road through the woods. "This is gorgeous!" Rhonda exclaimed as we entered the bridge's dimmed interior with the shafts of sunlight coming through. Looking down through the wide spaces in the bridge floor, she suddenly wailed, "My sunglasses!" as they slipped off her head into the swirling water below. How unexpected! We felt bad, but she laughingly said she had lost lots of sunglasses.
Getting thirsty, we decided to drive into town, since the little store was closed where one could usually sit and enjoy a bottle of pop. Our guests wanted to see Cartersville, anyway, so we chatted and drove behind the kids ahead of us. Suddenly we heard gasps and exclamations from the front seat and peered to see a pickup truck turn straight into the path of our grandchildren! They had swerved just in time! All in a split second the unexpected had happened and the unthinkable narrowly averted!
"What just happened?" I exclaimed when I reached them on the phone. They said a girl coming from the opposite direction had made a left turn right in front of them. Our older grandson, Chase, told his mother when I handed the phone to her that, thanks to Reid's skillful driving, the accident had been avoided. Thank You, Lord!
We went on to walk around a little of the old town district, got our drink and headed home. As we gathered around our Thanksgiving table, we had much to thank God for, as our minister son voiced in his heartfelt prayer of thanks and blessing. More than the bridge was covered, we realized, acknowledging the safety of God's hand.
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