My sisters were talking about the three-channel television days as we took a road trip to Winston-Salem to visit my father in the hospital. There is nothing like a road trip with your family late at night to bring up nostalgia.

Especially when your sister is driving her huge expensive SUV through parts of town where huge expensive SUVs stand out. The graffiti on the walls, the tall wire fences around the building and the general sense of discontent permeated me as we drove along. Young me stood on street corners, obviously engaged in some sort of illegal enterprise.

I only wished I had driven myself. Being a man and thus, thinking I can drive better even if it isn’t so, I was sure I could have found my way to our location. Of course, I must admit that it was partially my fault that we got sidetracked to start with. I had the poor judgement to try and download the quickest possible directions to the hospital, rather than follow my usual routine of following the signs.

My sister, who could easily get lost in the average Wal-mart restroom, took it from there. I finally convinced her to listen to me and get back on the main road, from which we took another exit for the hospital. As I answered a quick phone call, I looked up and noticed we were on a Main Street in a business district. “What in the world are you doing here?” I asked. “Mom told me to turn here,” said my sister. “Don’t ever listen to her,” I said, suddenly remembering the trip to Roanoke with my mother some months earlier during which she guided me on a tour of back alleys, muffler shops and closed gas stations.

We finally stopped at a gas station, not for directions, but for the restroom. We were quickly informed that the station offered no such service. Sure, they sold coolers full of beer, soda pop, water, wine and many other beverages, but had no where to deposit those beverages later. Drink here, use the toilet somewhere else.

It just so happened that my niece, who is somewhat more road savvy, stopped at the same gas station. She was also lost.

Please let me drive, I offered. “No, I want to do it,” said my sister. “Mom, she won’t let me drive,” I was tempted to complain. I averted the urge, but only barely.

After the second trip to the larger road, and a second time onto the right exit, we finally made our way along the route to the hospital. We found the parking area safely and then I, too tired to try another trial and error trip into the unknown, found a security guard and asked him to guide us into the right place.

As I was saying, we were driving down on a Tuesday night to visit my Dad, for whom another bout with illness has taken its toll. He seems to be getting expert care there. “I have everything I need,” he wrote to me on a note the last time I saw him. Knowing not only of the level of care he is receiving but of his faith and his belief in things to come, I’m sure he does.

When I went in to see him the first time, he looked up at me with eyes that were not seeing and a face that was flushed with fever. We stayed with him through the night; I was the last to drift off to an uneasy sleep sitting upright in a chair. The waiting room had arms on all the chairs to prevent comfortable sleep, but a sleeping area was afforded nearby with, you guessed it, more chairs.

I went home later that evening after being there for nearly 20 hours and returned the following afternoon to visit again. While I was gone, he regained consciousness and wrote my mother a note asking where I was. I felt bad that I hadn’t been there when he awoke.

I had been worried about him, what with his age and his health. I had prayer with him at the hospital and I felt better about the whole thing. I figured I might as well do what I always do best: Try not to worry about it and it will all work out. Worry never accomplishes anything productive. Besides, my other sister and my mother handle the panic attacks quite well on their own. I always listen to their reports and take them with a box of salt, since they only seem to hear the negative. In contrast, I have found that I can believe good things and, more often than not, watch them happen. Being a realist by nature, this isn’t always easy, but I can separate negativity from simply stating the facts. Conversely, if I turn off negative, then negative consequences typically do follow.

If I just wait and let things be the way they are, while believing in what they can become, it all works out fine. It’s funny how many issues go away and how things improve when you accept the fact that we’re not always in control.

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