Rising Waters, Rising Light

If you pour yourself out for the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then shall your light rise in the darkness and your gloom be as the noonday. And the Lord will guide you continually and satisfy your desire in scorched places and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail. ~ Isaiah 58:10-11

September 2005 ~ The country was mesmerized by the images: concrete foundations on the Mississippi coastline, littered with broken pieces of boats and trees and Waffle House signs; helicopters with baskets dangling, carrying a man or woman or child to safety; interstates filled with cars and buses and pedestrians all heading north out of the devastated cities spanning from Mobile to Biloxi to New Orleans.  We were saddened and perhaps angered. We wondered why people didn’t leave earlier, or why they didn’t take more people with them when they did leave. We asked all the questions, and watched the nameless faces on CNN ask the questions, as well.

Then, we rallied. Churches and clubs and city councils across the deep South - and the entire country - immediately went into “what can we do? what do they need?” mode. In the midst of the devastation, compassion rose up in us, both individually and corporately, and help was on the way.  Yes, it was also on the way in the form of FEMA trucks and later, temporary housing, but in those first few days, the help was primarily one human to another. 

My husband and brother-in-law headed to south Mississippi to help my aunt and uncle cut down a 100-year old oak tree that had fallen through their ceiling, taking- along with their chainsaws - a truckload of bottled water and peanut butter crackers.

While Anthony was gone, our local news station ran a story about Red Cross efforts in Huntsville.  Many evacuees had come all the way to north Alabama (some even kept going further north) as hotels along I-65 had reached capacity. The Red Cross was asking for local residents with extra bedrooms or living spaces to open their homes to families who were in need of shelter.  Temporary spaces which had been provided by churches and schools were not ideal and these folks were not going to be heading back to the coast quickly.  I started praying.  We had an extra bedroom, kitchenette and bathroom in our basement. Should we offer it to someone?  I called the Red Cross to find out more details, then asked Anthony about it when he got home. He thought and prayed about it for a day or so, then called the Red Cross and we got on the list of host homes, preferably for a couple or family of three. Within hours, we got a call that a young couple from Mobile - Jim and Kim - were looking for a place to stay.  They had been in a church gym for 3 nights, but Kim was in the early stages of pregnancy and not getting much rest in that setup, nor easy access to a restroom, etc. They told the Red Cross they were interested in actually relocating to Huntsville and Jim had already filled out job applications for a local manufacturing facility.  Absolutely, we said.  We would love to have them. 

Anthony called me at school to tell me that they would arrive at 6 PM, and after calling on friends and colleagues, and donations of groceries, meals, and gas cards came flowing in for Jim and Kim. I rushed home after school to spruce the rooms up a bit, just in time for the donated late-80s-model Camaro that had been donated to them (because he had gotten the job at the manufacturing facility earlier in the day, qualifying them for the car donation!) to come chugging down our driveway with a very tired-looking, but smiling, Jim and Kim inside. Our three kids were so excited to meet them and peppered them with questions over a quick spaghetti dinner. Jim described the rising water and pelting winds in Mobile and how he couldn’t even get to his car at work, so a bus had picked him and his coworkers up and taken them home.  He and Kim then hitched a ride to a bus station - with nothing but the clothes on their backs, really - and took the first bus north they could. They slept in a school gym in Montgomery the first night, then continued to Huntsville the next day. Kim almost fell asleep while we were eating and hardly said anything. She smiled hesitantly and said thank you over and over.  We got them settled in their room after dinner and we settled in for a “new normal” that would get less and less “normal” as the days progressed.

Over the next week, Jim and Kim spent their days gathering some donations from local agencies - clothes and a few household items, including a TV that they could watch in their basement bedroom. Jim was very excited about his new job, and he was also very anxious to help out around our house to “pay us back” for letting them stay.  He mowed the yard at least twice while they were there, and one day I turned onto our street as the kids and I were coming home from school and found him mowing the vacant lot at the end of our street… Um, yeah.  I rolled down my window and waved him over… “Um, Jim, Anthony probably doesn’t want our mower out here mowing this lot - it’s really grown up and our mower isn’t the greatest. What a great thing for you to try to do, but yeah, you probably should just take the mower on back to the house…”  

That strange event and a few others started gnawing at me… I had tried to reach out to Kim several times, asking her about how she was feeling and about her pregnancy, etc. She shared little, but seemed uncertain about what was going to happen to them, which was totally understandable.  I asked her if I could make an appointment for her to go to a local pregnancy center so she could get some guidance about prenatal care, etc.  Since Jim hadn’t started his job, they didn’t have any insurance yet and she wasn’t sure about applying for medical coverage in the meantime. I didn’t know much either - but I knew people who did - so I scheduled a couple of appointments for her, anticipating that I might have to take off work to take her to them since she seemed so skittish. She didn’t much want to stay upstairs and talk to me and the kids, but spent hours alone in the basement, watching TV or sleeping. 

As we engaged them in conversation - Anthony was endlessly patient with Jim’s chattering (I was less so, I must admit) - I noticed a few things about their backstory that didn’t add up, a few details that seemed to change slightly over the course of several conversations.  And then there was just a little voice of suspicion that kept nagging at me. I couldn’t put my finger on it and Anthony easily - and calmly - talked me out of my place of distrust by explaining why the inconsistencies weren’t really that inconsistent.  And so we went on that way for about 10 days.

Then, in the middle of his workday one day, Anthony got a frantic call from Jim from a payphone at a restaurant between Huntsville and Madison, where we live. The Camaro had started smoking and had died on the side of the road; he couldn’t get it to restart and he asked Anthony to come pick him up and perhaps call a tow truck for the car. Anthony was in the middle of a meeting, but he told him he’d be there just as soon as he could. He arrived 30 minutes later, but Jim and the Camaro were both gone. He called me at school to see if I knew anything, but I had heard nothing. So he drove home and there was Jim, sitting in the kitchen, eating takeout from Applebee’s.  He had waited about 5 minutes for Anthony, then called a junkyard, who came and towed the Camaro away, giving Jim $200 cash for it on the spot.  He then called a cab (which is extremely expensive where we live) and paid $30 for the cab ride to Applebee’s then to our house, plus $20 for the takeout (we had SO much food in the house, so this was frustrating to me when I found out about it later that day). Anthony - still calm, cool and collected - called to tell me Jim was fine and home; I didn’t find out the rest of the story until later in the day - when I became a bit perplexed to say the least).

The next day - a Tuesday - was to be Jim’s first day on his new job.  He was going to work the night shift (11-7). Anthony called his supervisor to let him know about the car situation. The supervisor said that Jim needed to arrive early to do paperwork and that if Anthony could get him there at 8, he’d bring him home after his shift was over the next morning. This is great, Anthony told Jim, who somewhat reluctantly agreed to the plan. He was very stressed out over not having a car, saying he didn’t want to inconvenience us any further. Kim, meanwhile, was retreating further and further into her shell, although she had agreed to go with me to the pregnancy center later in the week.

We called our church because we had heard that some members had donated vehicles for evacuees, and found out that we could probably get a vehicle for Jim and Kim, but Anthony had to vouch for them and they had to come fill out some paperwork and present a valid Alabama driver’s license. Oops. That was going to be a problem, because Jim’s license had floated away in his wallet, which had been in his vehicle while he was at work the day he was evacuated. So no license.  The work placement program was willing to overlook that for the time being because so many evacuees were in the same situation, but the church - understandably - was not.  No worries, my amazingly patient husband told Jim, I’ll get you to work tonight and then tomorrow I’ll take some time off and we’ll just head down to the DMV and get you a replacement license. Alrighty then. A plan was in place. Well, it was until a few hours later.  As we were sitting on the front porch discussing the situation (outside in case Kim might have ventured upstairs and overheard), I was in the middle of telling Anthony that I thought I would take the day off as well so we could take two cars to the DMV in case Kim got to feeling bad (she had already told us she wanted to go with them), and that I also felt like I needed to go to the Red Cross office and give them an update on everything that had been going on… when a car turned into our driveway.  It was 10 PM. The vehicle was a taxi. Jim got out, slammed the door, and let out a string of profanities. He had not even made it 90 minutes on the job before his refusal to fill out some of the paperwork had forced the manufacturing company to fire him on the spot. I was immediately filled with an anger so intense it was physical. I got up from my chair on the porch, looked at Anthony, shook my head, and went to our bedroom, praying for God to give Anthony wisdom and for us to know what to do. For the first time since Jim and Kim had stepped into our home, I wasn’t just perplexed; I was scared.

Anthony was still on the porch talking to Jim when I finally went to sleep. Bless his trusting and generous heart, he kept on encouraging and reassuring Jim that we would get this all figured out, get them a car, and help him find another job. Jim was restless, but he eventually went to bed as well, and after getting the kids off to school the next morning, the four of us headed to Huntsville - Jim and Kim and Anthony in Anthony’s truck, headed to the DMV, and me in our minivan, headed to the Red Cross office. The eight hours that followed could literally be edited into a riveting hour of reality TV… 

9:00 AM - At the Red Cross office, I met with a case worker and she began the process of digging through Jim and Kim’s records.  Within an hour or two, it became clear that there were discrepancies, the most obvious of which was that the primary address they gave for their residence in Mobile did not even exist. Oops…

10:45 - I called Anthony’s cell phone and found out that the wait at the DMV was quite lengthy (surprise, surprise) and that Jim was very antsy, walking outside every 10 minutes or so to smoke a cigarette and pace. I told him what we had found out. His challenge? To keep a straight face while I told him that the Red Cross was beginning a fraud investigation and would be contacting FEMA.

11:15 - I called my school to confirm that I would NOT be coming in for the afternoon and waited for the Red Cross folks to finish their paperwork to begin the investigation.

12:00 noon - The Red Cross case worker and I drove to the DMV and parked in a corner of the parking lot.  I was in the back seat, and I crouched down (in case Jim or Kim were outside) and called Anthony to find out what was going on (yeah, this is the reality TV part). He indicated that they were about an hour from being served.  We drove to get sandwiches for Anthony, Jim, Kim, and ourselves and headed back to the DMV. I walked the sandwiches and bottled sodas in as casually as I could. Gulp.  We didn’t want Jim and Kim to know anything was going on with the Red Cross, but we wanted to stay close by.

1:15 PM - Jim’s name was finally called at the DMV. After proceeding through the labyrinth of forms and answering questions, a state trooper called him back to an office.  Anthony called me on my cell phone (I was in the car again) to let me know that he was concerned about Jim.  Apparently there were raised voices from the office where he was with the state trooper. He abruptly ended the call:  “I gotta go.” 

1:30 - Anthony walked out of the DMV and told us that there was a problem: Jim’s application for a driver’s license had been flagged and the state trooper was investigating why. He would keep us posted.

1:45 - Anthony called me. The state trooper had left Jim in his office and came out to talk to Anthony, letting him know that Jim had outstanding warrants (in at least two states, for assault and armed robbery, among other things) and at least two aliases. The state of Alabama was contacting the other states to ask about extradition, but meanwhile he wanted us to know. 

2:00 - The Red Cross case worker and myself started making phone calls, she to her supervisor and FEMA contact, me to friends to please pray about what was going to happen. The state trooper met with Anthony again and let him know that neither state was going to extradite Jim at this time, so technically they could not do anything else at the DMV except refuse his application for a driver’s license.

2:15 I-  called a friend to see if she could pick up our kids from school…

2:30 - FEMA called us to let us know that because it was so late in the day (almost 4:00 Eastern time, where their executive offices are, and apparently even during a natural disaster the folks in charge of fraud do not work late…), they would be waiting until the next day to start their investigation of Jim (Kim’s name was not on any official paperwork, so she could not be charged).

2:45 - By this time, Anthony and I knew that Jim and Kim could not come back to our house, but we had to figure out how we could prevent that from happening! I called my friend Kelly, whose brother Dale is a county commissioner and who had known about the car being sold on the side of the road (I had called him to find out if there is any way we could get the car back!). Kelly called Dale and within a few minutes, a Madison County sheriff’s deputy called Anthony to get a statement. Amazingly, even with all the crimes on his record, the only thing that he could be charged with RIGHT THEN was “theft by deception” for selling that donated car (because it didn’t actually belong to him). 

3:15 - A very agitated Jim was led by a state trooper to another office at the back of the DMV, where a Sheriff’s deputy escorted Anthony and Kim.  The deputy arrested Jim, and instructed Anthony to read a statement to Jim, indicating that he could not come within 1000 feet of our property except to retrieve his personal belongings, which would be placed at the property line.  Jim was then led out to the deputy’s vehicle in handcuffs and taken to the county jail.

3:30 - The Red Cross case worker spoke with Kim (who wouldn’t even look Anthony or me in the eye) letting her know that we had found a shelter for her to go to and asking her if there were any items that she wanted me to pack for her.  She shook her head no and just looked down at her feet.  My heart broke for her.

     As the evening progressed, we began to process our shock. And as time went on, we learned more details about "Jim" and "Kim" (not their real names): they were not married, Kim was not pregnant, they were residents of a small town about 80 miles away, and they had both been arrested for methamphetamine possession/production. Which made sense when we found out that their actual ages were several years younger than we had guessed… and when I found a plastic cup full of what I thought was rock salt in our freezer (this actually happened while they were still at our house, and ironically I dumped it down the kitchen drain right in front of Jim, who was sitting at the table drinking a cup of coffee with Anthony).  When I tell people (especially my students) about pouring his meth crystals down the sink, they ask “Did he say anything?” “Umm, no.  What would he have said? ‘Hey, don’t dump my meth down the drain?’” 

Adrienne, Turner, Alec - 2005

   Jim and Kim continued to impact our lives.  A few days after Jim’s arrest, a $5000 check from FEMA arrived for him in our mailbox. Mail continued to arrive for about a year, despite our repeated attempts to get our address removed from his records. We found out that FEMA did press fraud charges against him and he went to federal prison. The only word we got about Kim was that she eventually moved from an emergency shelter to a women’s shelter and was considering either signing up for a local  job training program or moving home with her parents. I cried. We prayed, thanking God for his protection.  We tried to explain to our children (11, 7, and 4 at the time) why Jim and Kim were no longer staying with us without traumatizing them. We took all their belongings to the dump after waiting a week for them to be picked up.  Anthony slept very little for a month or two - sitting in the living room at night watching the driveway. I wrote a strongly worded letter to the Red Cross. :)

   I know this story is really much too long for a blog post. (If you are still reading, thank you!), but it has reverberated in my mind and spirit for the last decade. Every time I think about those two weeks or retell the story to someone, I ask God to help me to better understand the "why." 

   Right now in the U.S. (and around the world), social media and the news is aflutter with questions about the Syrian refugees. Who is offering help, who is not. What are the risks? The rewards? What if someone comes into our country who is not innocent? So many questions that are beyond my scope of understanding or influence. I do not pretend to know the answers or to equate the Katrina evacuation with this situation. 
   However, I know what Anthony and I felt compelled to do. With one heart, we knew we had to help. We knew God was calling us to help and that he would provide the means to do so. Did we hear God's voice wrong? I don't think so. Did he mean for us to put our family at risk? Perhaps. Is this in line with what I know about God? It is. He never called us to comfort or safety. He called us to trust him, and then to go and tell and love with abandon. Even those who don't love back. Even those who deceive us. Even those who are our enemies. In no way do I have the courage of missionaries like Jim and Elisabeth Elliot, but I often think about what my responsibility is when it comes to the concept of sacrificial love. We have put our American spin on sacrifice and count ourselves generous to send $20 to help world hunger or to put our change in the red bucket at Christmastime. Sometimes we dig a bit deeper and give to our churches. And sometimes we really do sacrifice materially - giving up a luxury or two to sponsor a needy child or help a family who is adopting. Are only the wealthy to be philanthropists? As I recall the story of the widow's mite, I think the answer is surely no. Are only those who don't have kids at home to offer an extra bed (or the couch) to those who need shelter? Perhaps, but perhaps not.  

   Would Anthony and I make the same choice again?  I am not sure, but we have talked about it some and have determined that we probably would if we felt led by God to do so. I will admit that I would likely ask the Red Cross more questions...! However, I believe in my heart of hearts that what I have is not mine to keep to myself or to protect. I do not believe we should be reckless or unsafe, and we should steward our resources well, but we should hold onto them very loosely.
   But in the end, what does "safe" really mean? What does "love your enemies" look like? Does that just mean refraining from hitting them when they make you mad? Not talking about them to others (ouch)? Or does it mean broken-and-poured-out, risk-taking love? Even when safety or comfort isn't guaranteed?
   Please hear my heart and know I do not know what God's will is in each and every situation where humans are in need or what each person or family is called to do. But it is my conviction that we are perhaps asking the wrong questions when it comes to helping others. (Do they deserve it? Do they REALLY deserve it? Are they scamming me? Will they use this money to buy drugs? How did they get themselves in this situation? Will this REALLY help them? Who, me, Lord? Even though I have so little and Dave Ramsey says I need to pay off these credit cards? Shouldn't *insert name here* help them instead? Will this be safe? Will they appreciate what I'm doing?)

      Perhaps the questions we should be asking are more subtle and are not ones we can really know how to ask well or comfortably:

To whom should I offer help?  

How can I help them?

To whom can I show love-grace-generosity today without expecting anything in return (perhaps not even thanks)?

Who are "the least of these" in my life (or community, or country, or world)?

Where can I sacrifice a little so someone in need can benefit?

What am I holding in my fist (literally or metaphorically) instead of offering it, open-handed, to others? (money, time, a hot meal, a listening ear)

   As a natural introvert, giving of myself is harder than giving money (it helps that I have never gotten used to having much of the latter, so it's easier to give away!).  God is teaching me - slowly but surely - what his lavish love and grace look like. My good and generous Father modeled this kind of love for me when he gave Jesus - his only, precious, perfect son - for my sin. He didn't protect, hesitate, or hold back, but gave it all. I cannot even begin to comprehend this and know even in my most generous of moments, I cannot even come close to the magnitude of sacrifice that Jesus made for me. I didn't deserve it; I cannot earn it. I can only pray that I am willing to be poured out, even sparingly, for those who might need something I can give.

If you pour yourself out for the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then shall your light rise in the darkness and your gloom be as the noonday. And the Lord will guide you continually and satisfy your desire in scorched places and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail. ~ Isaiah 58:10-11

Lessons From the Road (Part 1)

  Our family of six embarked on an epic (yes, I believe I CAN use that word!) 7000-mile road trip/vacation this summer, traveling from Alabama to Washington state, taking the southern route through Tennessee, Arkansas, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico and Arizona then making our way north through California  and Oregon.  I'm feeling a bit claustrophobic just remembering all the hours in the car...!

Dauma Family Road Trip 2015
Santa Fe ~ Grand Canyon ~ Beaumont/Los Angeles, CA ~ Yosemite
San Francisco ~ Portland/Vancouver ~ Soap Lake, WA ~ Seattle

    Although tempted to write a journal-type blog entry outlining our adventures, I kept returning to the idea of the road itself and how the miles that we put on the car and the things we encountered on the road mirror a few things about this other journey we are all on - the one we call life. I could have titled this blog post "The Chronicles of Stinky Feet" or "The iPad Password Mystery." Let me tell you, traveling with four kids for thousands of miles is not for the faint of heart. For the love of Febreze and Steve Jobs.

Also, just for fun, I've included some cheesy "road song" lyrics for your humming pleasure.

Lesson #1: The best laid plans DO often go awry.

    Well, for all the planners in the room, this one is what we call a "no brainer." The packing, the Google-mapping, the Urbanspoon searching, the online hotel bidding - all the plans. Yep, those plans.  The good ones, the mediocre ones, the best ones.  Or, the ones that never get made because someone (your husband) wants the trip to be "more flexible." Whatever. You all know how those days turned out. Sheesh. 

    My first meltdown (it was minor) was at 9:30 PM on day six, when we pulled up to the cabin we'd rented just outside the entrance to Yosemite and realized that the owners had never texted us with the security code. And we had no cell signal. We drove a bit and got a signal, but they didn't reply to our texts or calls. So after an hour, we said goodbye to our perfect little cabin - complete with a bear carved from a tree on the front porch - and headed to the nearest town with a hotel room that would fit our family of six.  Rather than a lovely evening in a rustic cabin, listening to the whisper of the pines, we unloaded at midnight in a rundown motel (thank you Jesus for disinfecting wipes) with a scintillating view of a truck stop. However, despite the disappointment and anger (mostly at myself for not taking care of the necessary details), our drive to the motel included a glorious view of a full moon over the treetops. A bit of grace to edge out the crazy.

     The final hours of our trip brought the most dramatic derailing moment, however. Because somehow, some way, two reasonably intelligent adults failed to realize the EXACT date of the return flight home for the kids and me.  (My husband and his buddy were continuing the road-trip madness by driving our SUV home over the weekend while we flew home - how THAT plan came to be is a whole 'nother story...!). A few hours before our friend was to drive us to the airport, and in a moment that caused me to literally lose my breath, I realized our mistake. Our flight had already flown. We were in Seattle, with the clothes on our backs, with no plane tickets and a maxed-out credit card. The trip was already about $1000 over budget (Because kids. And Disney.) Yeah, it was not pretty. 

     My friend calmed me down to semi-manic, and she called her hubby (who was in the car with Anthony somewhere in Montana) who told him what I had discovered. Good golly, Molly. For an hour, we prayed, I cried, we searched online ticket hubs, and at the end of the day, Anthony's calm plea to Delta resulted in them getting us on the same red-eye flight as the previous morning. For no charge.  Zero, zip, nada. It was a July miracle! In the security line at Sea-Tac airport a few hours later, another mom snapped this pic of us and said "Say 'red-eye'!" as we grinned. I wanted to say, "Lady, you have NO idea how happy I am to be getting on this plane!" I cried tears of exhaustion and joy as I buckled myself into that dinky seat and looked around to find the kids (we were scattered throughout the plane) and breathed one of the most sincere prayers of thanks I have prayed in a long time.

   So, this lesson features the immortal words of the Scottish poet Robert Burns and reminds me that we as human beings (and careful trip planners) can plan all day long, but sometimes those plans are just not going to work out. And usually, it all turns out okay. There is certainly nothing essentially wrong with having a solid plan in place - for a vacation or for, oh, life. However, as is asked in the book of Luke: "Which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?" The perfect itinerary or a list of perfect photo ops - or a timeline for marriage and kids or a promotion - is just a setup for the disappointment that accompanies unmet expectations.  I do not claim to have figured out the ideal balance between structure and flexibly, but I do know that it's a worthwhile goal!

"Goin' places that I've never been.
Seein' things that I may never see again
And I can't wait to get on the road again."

   

Lesson #2:  Sometimes the view is boring and your progress is slow.

     Just a few things that can get in the way when you are trying to get to your next stop or take a lovely photo out the window: fog, cyclists, slow drivers... Arizona? Yeah, "harsh beauty" is a lovely oxymoronic description, but that harshness looks maddeningly similar for about 200 miles of I-40. 

   I'm an impatient driver. I am not proud of it, but it is what it is. I want to "move on down the road" and get very frustrated at those who seem to just be leisurely poking along at whatever speed floats their boat at the moment. And of course, when those folks come along, there are of course NO passing zones in sight...! Construction projects were thankfully few and far between on this trip, but still caused maddening delays. 

   People and things get in the way. And sometimes the chance to make that photo never recurs.  Missed opportunities, especially those caused by someone else's actions, cause a burning anger down in my soul.  I am not exaggerating. But regardless, sometimes the dream of watching the sun set over the Pacific is foiled by fog that will. not. go. away. And there is nothing - not a darn thing - you can do to change that. Sometimes the view out the window seemed to never change. Some of the miles were monotonous and sometimes the roadside views were downright ugly. 

    Sometimes the roads of life that we travel are like that. And yet, we still can keep going - one moment/hour/day at a time, even amidst regret, repetitiveness, and rancor. And even when the road is cluttered with slowpokes, the majestic mountain can suddenly rise in front of you and somehow the altered arrival time on the GPS doesn't seem to matter as much anymore.

"The road is long.

There are mountains in our way,

But we climb a step every day."

Lesson #3: You will encounter things and people you do not expect.

     From the Mad Hatter and Alice in "Tomorrowland" to the Wigwam Motel to a dead end street at a time when we most definitely were not expecting one, our trip was filled with surprises. 

     Sometimes the surprises were breathtaking, like the rock formation we made a U-turn (twice!) to see and photograph at Yosemite; sometimes they were annoying, like the slow-moving pedestrian in a coastal California town we were trying to navigate quickly. Sometimes they were just downright weird. Like this Santa who was hanging out at a boat ramp on the Columbia River... What the what?!?!

     In this age of review-saturated social media, travelers really do not have to deal with too many surprises. If you want to see the menu of an out-of-the-way diner on Route 66, you can probably pull it up on your phone from 5 - or 500 - miles away and have your order ready when you walk in the door. If you want to plan your day at Disneyland down to the minute, you can read the advice of thousands of Disney fans letting you know how to best do that. Folks are used to knowing what to expect before we experience something. And there is nothing wrong with that, really.  I'm thankful for restaurant reviews and love finding out-of-the-way spots to dine (my rule: no chain restaurants when we travel!) that can hopefully satisfy every member of the family. 

     However, sometimes I think we are missing some of the journey's joy. I know I'm romanticizing the era, but I think about how jaw-droppingly amazing it must have been for early residents and explorers of the American southwest to stand at the edge of the Grand Canyon for the first time, or for the pioneers to walk into the Willamette Valley, having never seen photos of the sights before them.  

  One of the most eerie, yet incredible moments on the trip was when we were on a boat cruising San Francisco Bay. Although mid-afternoon, fog had rolled in and we couldn't see the Golden Gate Bridge until we were right underneath it!  This marvel of engineering and artistry was right in front of us for several minutes and we had no idea it was there because the fog was too thick. 



    How often we wish for the known, the tried and true, the guarantee of success or satisfaction, yet so often it is the unknown that brings us to the "wow" moments in life. The instances that bring us to our knees in gratefulness and even worship are often the ones that completely take us by surprise.  Although there is nothing wrong with having a "Consumer Reports" mentality as we make decisions in life, sometimes even when we THINK we know what we are getting into, the reality ends up being different. For me, this is a chance to demonstrate that I have faith in my Father who knows me, who "knit me in my mother's womb." Do I trust him only in the familiar? Or do I demonstrate a childlike faith, understanding that He loves me and wants what is best for me, surprises and all!

"Back to the howling owl in the woods, 

Hunting the horny-back toad, 

Oh, I've finally decided my future lies

Beyond the yellow brick road."

Lesson #4:  The edges can be scary.

     I am a bit of a scaredy-cat when it comes to heights.  Therefore, I can assure you that I was NOT in close proximity to my children when they made their crazy-people pictures at the Grand Canyon. In fact, my heart was pounding even though I was many yards away when I made the picture of Alec and Adrienne (red shirt and green shirt) standing on the promontory before they made said pictures. And don't even get me started on Turner grabbing the camera and RUNNING around the barricades so he could make pictures of his legs dangling over the side.  I could not breathe. Bless his heart.  It's a good thing I love him because Lord knows he has aged me.

     Although not as drastic, I still have a significant physical reaction to even driving near the edges of roads that hug cliffs or hint at coming dropoffs. And if there is little or no barrier between the roadway and the cliff.  Yeah, eyes are definitely closed. Well, mostly.  I WANT to be brave, so I try to snap some pictures and breathe (in through the nose, out through the mouth) so I can maintain a facade of bravery.

"Goin' back to the well, gonna visit old friends

And feed my soul where the blacktop ends."

    The fact is, life at the edges is a bit dangerous. Beginnings and ends of things are scary. And not just in the physical or tangible ways that typify overprotective moms (which I really am not . . . I didn't stop my children from doing MOST of the risky things they wanted to do, I just didn't want to watch!). The edge of newness is scary.  The edge of the familiar is frightening. The edge of "civilized" seems so risky.          
    Yet as we move toward the edges - perhaps even ON the sharpest of those edges - we feel alive and alert! We have to rely on something other than our prior experiences that brought either comfort or pain and so taught us well. We risk the comfort of the middle for the reward of life on the beautiful edges.

Perhaps we should move more toward the scary edges in our everyday lives, not just in our photo ops.

To be continued..

Upside Down in a Ditch

I've been mulling over this blog post for several months . . . since November 11, actually.  When this happened...

In a split-second, after Anthony misjudged a turn in a pre-dawn, sleet-induced haze, we landed upside-down in a deep ditch alongside a state highway in (very) rural Missouri as we were headed from our hotel to pick up our four kids at his grandmother's house, where they had been staying during our brief visit, so we could get started on our 11-hour road trip home by 5 AM so our oldest daughter could make it to her night class and our youngest daughter could make it to a photo session at 5 PM for a community theater production in which she was performing.

Amazingly, Anthony and I crawled out  with minor scratches and bruises, mainly due to the seat belts, which caused us to hang, bat-like, inside the vehicle as the cold silence enveloped us and we looked over at each other, simultaneously desperately asking "Are you okay?"  Yes, we were okay. 

The car, not so much.  Our travel plans, not so much.  Neither daughter made it to her Tuesday night activity.  Because we needed a large vehicle and we were 3 hours away from the nearest metropolitan area, it took us 6 hours to get on the road. But meanwhile, there were some inconveniences.  And a good bit of frustration, regret, and second-guessing.  Some blame.  Some wistful thinking while vehicle shopping. All because of a moment in time and a decision that was made.

As the days and weeks progressed, God impressed upon my heart some lessons related to this mishap, lessons that I am still mulling over and not even pretending to have truly learned.  

On Thanksgiving, during a round-table family discussion all the adults were having after stuffing ourselves, I attempted to verbalize the beginnings of what God was showing me, declaring that:

"When you are upside down in a ditch, you become very thankful for being right-side-up on the road."

On that fateful day in November, after finally finding a rental minivan, we drove to get our belongings from the place where our SUV was towed; on the way, we saw this glorious golden tree atop a snow-dusted hill.  Our son Alec (who is 13 but an old soul), yelled "Stop dad!  We have to make a picture of that!"  Because in our neck of the woods, the autumnal glory of that tree would never be juxtaposed with the pristine whiteness of snow.  It was beautiful.  But the antithetical elements seemed a bit unnatural.  An unbalanced equation.  

Like life sometimes.  

While hanging upside down in our SUV, the world was topsy-turvy and just didn't make sense.  Down was up.  Up was down. Random junk that normally was crammed into crevices and compartments was now scattered on the ceiling-like windshield, through which smashed blades of grass - rather than the road and horizon ahead - were visible, along with a few inches of ice-cold water that the SUV had displaced and through which we had to wade after we unbuckled our harnesses and crawled out of the only door that we could open.  We were not prepared for freezing weather that morning.  I fortunately did have a coat and gloves, but my flimsy flats were woefully inadequate, as were my Northwest-raised husband's shorts and flip-flops (his usual clothing choices for all days except for a few weeks in the dead of winter)!

After we came to a stop in that ditch, after assessing that Anthony and I were both okay, I started sobbing.  I cried out "God, what else? What else?"

Life gets turned upside down.  

We aren't prepared.  

People - including ourselves - make choices that cause pain.

I began to dwell in the land of disillusionment.  And deferred dreams.  And disappointment. In the worst moments, I pushed aside the gratitude and gave in to the whining. I ignored the comfort of God and other people and gave in to the self-pity.  All of these mental destinations are very easy places for me to feel comfortable. And no, my arrival in those places and decision to "sit and stay awhile" were not only - or even mainly -  about the wreck.  The crash might have been the catalyst, but I'd been looking at travel brochures and standing on the train platform for quite a while.

Devastating decisions made - both by myself and by others - over the last couple of years had caused me to finally buy the ticket and head to this land - a land which seemed to promise that indignant proclamations would right the wrongs and balance the scale and get my life back on the right road, the road I deserved.  After all, aren't we as middle-class Americans taught that if you work hard and pull at those proverbial bootstraps, the world is your oyster, right?!?  Then why, after being a "good girl" (oh, and I was good, just ask my high school classmates who dealt with my self-righteousness for years...), a diligent student, a hard working employee, a loving (though far from perfect) wife, a decent mother, a committed church member, and a stumbling, yet faithful follower of Christ - why after a life well-lived did the pieces not fall into place?  Why?  Why does debt and distrust and disillusionment seem to be the winner more often than not?  

Sometimes life just isn't fair.  Our own bad decisions or the bad decisions of others cause us to be upside down in the metaphorical ditches of life.  Sometimes we know exactly how we got there - a misjudged turn, a patch of ice, a culvert lip a bit too close to the road.  But that knowledge doesn't really help when the world is upside down and we cannot clearly see what lies ahead.  And we're hurting.  Not enough to get in the ambulance, but still hurting.  And sometimes we can't even share the reason why.  There are things that just aren't talked about.  There is a stoicism that is expected, especially when we feel guilty about complaining.  So even if the hurt is socially acceptable, we are loathe to share it. Partially because of our own pride. And partially because, well, there is the friend who has a chronic health problem and the neighbor who lost her grandchild and the fellow church member whose husband lost his job and the couple who is dealing with infertility.  And we mustn't complain. Because that must mean we aren't grateful. 

We are admonished to get out our prayer journals or our thankful lists and watch those worries dissipate and the smiles miraculously conquer the fear.  We are commanded to "pray about everything" and "give thanks in all circumstances."  And in doing so, the world will be set right.

Um, no it won't.

Here's the thing.  I am convinced that you can feel both disillusionment and gratitude in a moment and in life.  You can be both cooperative with and critical of people and institutions and organizations.  Not pointless-whining critical, but critical-thinking critical.  You can see weaknesses and possibilities in the same entity.  You can understand the severity of the car crash, fully living in the instant of heart-pounding fear that accompanies a tumble into a ditch, yet also understand that a car can be replaced and be thankful for safety, even while knowing that the financial and practical impact is going to be huge.  

It's not an all-or-nothing prospect.  We can mourn the lost dream and struggling relationship and the fruitless job interview and the rebellious child, yet still be grateful and ultimately optimistic. Like Langston Hughes' "heavy load," dreams deferred can sag and drag and hurt.  We mess up the trip; others mess up the trip for us.  Do we prance, Pollyanna-like, through those moments?  Some do.  And sometimes I am envious of them.  But I am not one of them.  I've been betrayed and lied to and ignored.  We all have.  Yet I have also betrayed others. I've lied.  I've ignored.

What do we do with the feelings that come as a result of dream-deferring actions?  Those real, raw feelings that we try to move through and push down and minimize with "I'm good, how are you?" responses to people in the hallways and foyers of life. The Sunday School answer is "lay them at the feet of the cross."  "Give them all, give them all, give them all to Jesus and he will turn your sorrows into joy." His yoke is easy and His burden is light.  Right?  Right.  Yet the lies can continue and the abuse can stay hidden and the debt can still crush. Is it okay to grieve?  To sag a bit?  I think it is.  

The amazing thing that God has shown me over the last couple of years is my own weakness and my desperate need for grace. Even though I could crawl out of that SUV, I could not set it aright and make it drive down the road again.  A crashed car has to be fixed by a professional or sold for parts and scrap.  The driver of the car, even with the best intentions, has to recognize his or her own limitations and understand the powerlessness that accompanies them.  The same is true for a crashed or dented life, no matter who is "at fault." And even though I can plan, and study, and work hard, life sometimes still gives lemons.  And sometimes there is no sugar in the pantry for that proverbial lemonade one is admonished to make.  It has to wait for a trip to the store or the neighbor's house.  Or the desire for lemonade just fades away and a drink of water suffices.  

After weeks of scouring of internet sales sites, I got a replacement for my beloved Honda Pilot - almost the exact same make and model - just a couple of days before Christmas. Our insurance paid off our loan and wrote us a $500 check for the difference - enough to pay a little down payment on the "new" vehicle and put us in a loan that we could manage.  And an SUV with 40,000 fewer miles.  But no heated seats or XM radio.  A give and take.  A paltry complaint, comparatively speaking.

So, all in all, I truly am thankful.

The new year has brought some new perspective, but I still struggle in this area and possibly always will.  I'm an Eeyore, not a Tigger.  Does anyone else get this?  Does it mean we love Jesus less?  I know He's with me always.  In the ditch, on the road, walking through icy water, and sitting in the sun.  But sometimes I cry because of the dreams that are gone, the regret of both spoken and unspoken words, the paths taken and not taken. A rut with a myopic view of pain and unfairness (real or perceived) is such an easy place to land, but it's a dangerous place to stay.

My classroom is on the lower floor of the school in which I teach. Sometimes this is a pain - bad cell service, ants, a boring view of a retaining wall outside my window.  A few months ago, though, I was reminded that for the first 14 years (out of the 20) that I've been a teacher, I had no classroom window at all.  One day, I walked over to the window to get a cell signal so I could send a text during lunch and I looked up.  It had been raining for a few days, so what a joy it was to look up to see the sun peeking through the clouds next to the beautiful golden leaves - the second time in the same month that a lesson had come from a tree in its autumnal glory.  

I'm so glad God is the lifter of my head.

The lessons in these two golden trees have been gifts that have touched my soul in places that are awash in memories of the awkwardness and angst of adolescence and of solitary walks in the woods and afternoons of creek-wading and daydreaming and diary-writing in a Mississippi hollow.  Places that are simultaneously bulwarks of stubborn individualism yet also bastions of doubt-ridden self-consciousness.  Places where I am both proud and ashamed.  Places that still pull me in and tempt me to revel in my selfish desires and "goals."  Goals that I have worked toward with focused ambition and ones that I have thwarted with my own mistakes and hurtful words. And yes, some of those places are ones that I did not choose to go myself.  

Yet in all of those places - the ones of my own doing and the ones where others have sent me unwillingly, I am known by my Creator.  And he gently whispers - through golden leaves and laughter with friends and songs that come on the radio just in time - that he loves me, even in my most Eeyore-like moments.  

He knows about the dreams deferred.  And his Father's heart hurts with me and for me.  

And he lovingly picks me up out of the ditch and sets me back on the road.  And I take a step.