Those long stretches of highway taught me that silence isn’t always golden; sometimes it’s just empty. Like a library download that vanishes at midnight, truth has a way of slipping through our fingers if we don’t intentionally click renew.
I love audiobooks. It’s a habit that has shaped the rhythms of my life and the quiet spaces of my soul.
In my 30s, I balanced family, college classes, and hours on the road driving for a car service. Those long, empty drives between the airport and the next pickup could feel endless without a voice in my ear to carry my mind away.
The technology evolved—cassettes gave way to CDs, then to Audible. Then came public library downloads: free, but with digital due dates. If I didn’t finish in time, the book would just vanish from my player. I could “renew” the download—but only if I did it before the expiration. Otherwise—poof—it disappeared like a shiny coin in a magician’s hand.
That “disappearing act” taught me a spiritual lesson.
My career in teaching proved that we can never review what we’ve learned enough. In the classroom, if you don’t reinforce the material, it vanishes. In our spiritual lives, new worries crowd out yesterday’s truths. Without intentionally anchoring ourselves in God’s Word, we lose our way—adrift in the fog of the immediate.
We have to “click renew” on our faith every single day. We have to purposefully recall who God is, before the world makes us forget.
As the Psalmist wrote: “I will remember the works of the LORD; yes, I will remember your wonders of old. I will reflect on all you have done and meditate on your mighty deeds.” (Psalm 77:11–12)
