Dirt Roads

We have a travel rule, Jim and I.

Always leave room for a detour.

Not the kind that adds hours to a trip — just the kind that adds life to it. The unexpected turn down an unfamiliar road. The little town that doesn’t show up on any highlight reel but somehow feels like it’s been waiting for you. The places where people still know their neighbors, where time moves a little slower, where beauty hasn’t been curated — it’s just there, growing wild along the edges of ordinary life.

We were on our way to a conference in North Florida when we read about it — a canopy road. One of those roads where the trees grow so tall on both sides that their branches reach across and lace together overhead, turning the whole stretch into a cathedral of green. Yes, human hands paved that road. But those trees? That canopy arching over us like a living ceiling? Nobody planned that. That was all God. And we had to find it.

And we did.

The canopy went on and on, longer than we expected, the kind of road that makes you go quiet without even realizing it. And then — slowly, almost without warning — the pavement gave way. And we found ourselves rolling down a red clay dirt road, the color of rust and earth, stretching out ahead of us into what felt like the middle of nowhere.

Now, dirt roads were something we just didn’t see growing up in Jersey. 

There was green — don’t get me wrong — but it had to compete with a whole lot of cement. I didn’t meet a real dirt road in this country until we moved to Florida when I was a teenager — and the moment I did, something in me came alive. My brother and I used to beg our parents to drive us through them. We loved everything about it — the rattle of the car, the red dust rising behind us, even the bumps that made us laugh. I still have no idea how our old black Buick survived those roads without losing something important underneath. But our parents never said no. They just drove. Because that’s what love does — it finds what brings joy to the people it loves, and it goes there.

Dirt roads still do something to my soul. I can’t fully explain it. They just do.

So there we were — Jim and I — no map signal, no sign of civilization, just that gorgeous red clay road disappearing into the trees ahead. And Jim decided it was time to turn around.

“Wait. Stop the car.”

He stopped. I got out. Because there was no way I was leaving without a photograph.

He waited. As always. 🤍

And this is what I saw.

I know you might look at this and think — it’s just a road. Unpaved. Unremarkable. But I want you to look again. Look at the way the light filters through. The stillness. The wild, unhurried beauty of a place that exists simply because God made it that way — not for anyone’s highlight reel, not for a tourism brochure. Just because He loves to create. Just because beauty is part of who He is.

That’s what I keep coming back to.

In the middle of nothing special. On the way to somewhere else. With no announcement and no fanfare — God impresses me to stop…and take this in. To savor this beauty. 

A surprise. A gift. A glimpse of glory hiding on a dirt road in North Florida.

He does that, you know. He tucks beauty into the unlikeliest places. Joy into the most ordinary detours. Wonder into the moments you almost drove past.

Keep your eyes open today, friend.

He might have something waiting for you just around the bend. 🌿