Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Soooooo . . .
Trying to save money for the second son in college, we chose to get a trailer hitch, borrow a trailer, and drive from Gainesville/Athens, GA, to Oklahoma City. We chose the less steep route, knowing the minivan would be at its limits. The plan was to take our time and save $500. He's paying the bill, and the fund is dwindling. He's actually headed to OK to work full-time and save money toward starting back to junior year in the fall.
The best-laid plans . . . a little more than a hundred miles from home, near Oxford, AL, the engine overheated. Red line. Not good. We pulled off, let it cool, checked fluids, added coolant & water. It was after 2:00 a.m. [Thursday]. Yeah, we start our trips when we're good & ready, not paying attention to clocks, etc. We paid attention to the tachometer & temperature gauges, though, kept the speed below 60 & mostly below 50, and kept going. It didn't overheat unless RPMs went above 2500, so we kept them to 2000, but hills were a problem. During the night we traded drivers and I had to drive one stretch at 4 mph in the emergency lane to get to water to refill (I'd emptied the jug we had onboard). Red line, slow down, blinkers, pull over, stop, wait, drive slowly, temperature rises, repeat. We were near Hamilton, AL, at that point but I'd passed the little gas station where the nice young man cooks a truly tasty buffet all night. We'd met him on another trip west but I've missed the exit every time since then. Ah, well. We found light and water.
Around daybreak I was driving. Stopped at a big station with all the amenities. Got an Arby's Jr., filled with gas, checked all the fluids, added water and oil (not mixed), checked all six tires and filled up the two on the trailer. I don't know how to do all this! Ah, well. Somebody has to, so figure it out. The college boy drove for six hours and is now unconscious. I need him to rest so he can take over later; not going to wake him. I talked by phone to our mechanic back home to make sure I was doing everything right.
I dropped one of the valve stem caps into the wheel and decided not to see if I could buy a new one inside; drove away from the air machine to wait for the college son who had gone for a pit stop. (Did I mention I've never driven with a trailer before? Ah, well.) While waiting, it occurred to me that the stem cap may have fallen out when I drove off. I looked toward the air machine and sure enough, I could see a tiny green dot on the pavement. Walked over to see if that was my green dot; it was, but the cap was mushed a bit. Guess I ran over it. I put it in my mouth and bit it back round. Yeah, I did that. It's on the valve stem again, good as new. I have grease under my fingernails. This is getting real.
We were driving so slowly we could count the reflectors on the center white line on the interstate & US highways we followed, but we didn't - it would have made us crazy. It felt as if we could walk or at least run as fast as this laden car could drive. Ah, well. Take care of your car, your car will take care of you. So far we hadn't been stranded. Ten hours, four hundred miles. Six hundred to go. The nine-year-old in the back was fine and pleasant, sleeping, listening to music, playing games. There's truly not much scenery on this route, so I didn't force her to look out the windows and be enriched. We noted that the dry grass was a different color from the dry grass at home. Lesson done. The sky was the same gray at mid afternoon as at dawn and dusk. Time seemed to be unrelated to our travel.
Things went on about the same until around 5:00 p.m. Seventeen hours on the road; we would have been unloading the van by now, on a regular trip. This time when the van overheated the engine was chugging, too. Half a mile in the emergency lane, rolled downhill into the Phillips 66 in Alma, AR. Open the hood for a new surprise: steam pouring out of the middle of the engine compartment. That hasn't happened before.
Roadside assistance. I'd gotten the numbers from our mechanic in the morning. Yeah, I thought of that. Planning ahead, you know, even though this whole idea was probably crazy from the start. The college boy called a friend in OKC; the friend called a frat brother, borrowed a truck, and was in the road to Alma within half an hour. Three hours later he picked us and the trailer up while a wrecker towed our van to Dan's Auto Center in Barling. Yay.
Twenty-four hours after our start, we got to sleep on a couch in a college guys' house. Nice. A "bed" that wasn't attached to the van. Yum. Really.
I spent Friday waiting and checking in with Dan. He was very nice and concerned about our plight. I didn't want to leave OKC for the van until he assured me it was ready. We thought that was happening at 5:00 p.m. Friday. The college boy borrowed another friend's car so we could drive to AR and bring the van back (3 hours, over 200 miles) to OKC. The van was still full of boxes destined for college. Dan called at 5:30 and said he wasn't comfortable with the van's running temperature. He suggested a no-extra charge radiator flush, but it would have to be on Saturday morning. We had our Taco Bell dinner in the restaurant, rather than on the road, went back to the college boys' house, and waited for Saturday.
Saturday we left just after daybreak, drove to AR, and brought the van to OKC. 6 hours, 400+ miles. Yeah, we did that. And the van did make the trip to Oklahoma, in roughly 63 hours.
I planned to start home Saturday night after dinner. Might as well start moving while I was awake, I thought. Plans, right. I know about those. The van overheated in town at 1000 RPM, under 15 mph, in 40 degree weather, with nothing inside. I guess, you know, if I'm being logical, I'm not starting out at 10:00 p.m. in that van to drive 1000 miles.
More waiting. Ah, well.
Monday morning, first thing, van to the shop. I said, "I need you to lay healing hands on this vehicle so that I can get it home to Georgia to die." Or I may be donating it to charity and buying a car in Oklahoma. Or I may leave the car for the college boy and fly home with his little sister. Thing is, this all started by trying to save money - of which there is very little - even in times of crisis.
Monday noon: The head gasket is leaking. Re-machine the head. Take apart the engine. You know, stuff. "Is this a one-day job, or two days, or . . ?"
Three. I can plan to have my van by Thursday.
Meanwhile, the college boy has moved into a beautiful house with a couple of roommates who are very gracious. They're treating little sister and me like honored guests. We have washer and dryer and a real bed; one roomie grilled steak, venison & shrimp for dinner Sunday evening. Yeah, we ate that. Ah, well.
And yeah, I guess I'll leave all this on Thursday!
Monday, January 28, 2013
Hitting the road. Pack the essentials. Be prepared.
Ready for anything.
How can I be prepared for the tautness of spirit, the familiar result of the typically unexpected journey?
Map, clock, weather report. Check.
GPS, phone, warm coat. Check.
I've been preparing for my whole life. Listening, watching, noting.
He drove a bus for Young Life, the man I barely knew. He wasn't talking to me, but I was listening to him. He'll never know. No matter. He drove the bus before I knew him. It wasn't my story. The bus overheated, he said, as he rolled downslope in the Colorado Rockies, and it was summertime and the kids were tired but he turned on the heat full, "of course, to take the heat off the engine."
To take the heat off the engine, I heard. This is a lifesaving, carsaving piece of information.
I filed it away in the emergency kit.
Water bottle. Check.
Remember the heater. Check.
"Relax. Focus on your right hand. Make a fist, then feel the muscles relax as you open the fist. Index finger. Middle finger. Ring finger. Little finger. Without moving your hand, make a circle in the air with your thumb. . . ."
Learn to relax, I heard. Pay attention. This could save your life and the lives of others. Because I know when I get angry I see things I must not do, I hear things I must not say, and I may not spew those angry things on another.
Walking shoes. Check.
"Watch a baby breathing. Tummy rises and falls. Shoulders don't move."
Breathe like a baby. This is where I am. I am a baby, an infant in the arms of a loving Father. Infancy lasts a long time, it seems, and my Father has very big arms to hold one as large as I. Head on His chest, ear to His breast, I listen to His beating heart. Life, there, under the skin. Life, poured out for me. I hear the rush of Spirit in and out, air through the lungs, and I match my life breath to His.
Tire pressure gauge. Check.
And when the car engine overheats a few hundred miles from home, I turn on the heat and it doesn't work - no hot air, but still a hot engine - and we stop and cool down and we add coolant and we go some more, slowly, slowly creeping beside the speeding highway, and when we speed up we heat up and when we eventually have to stop, get repairs, make Plan B, I breathe, and breathe, and breathe, and the 16 hour trip becomes 26, and I breathe and I relax and it goes on and on, one part replaced, and another, and another problem, and another part,
and I breathe,
and I relax,
and life is beautiful and difficult and frustrating and so, so real.
This is love: that a man lay down his life for a friend. I lay mine down, and down, and down, and I don't complain, and I keep remembering, and I seek to please, and I help and I serve and I pour and pour and pour and the love wears life thin, so thin that I can see right through me.
Charger. Check. Wait.
Phone charger, iPad charger, iPod charger, DS charger, Mac charger, GPS charger. Check.
What about ME charger?
What about quiet? What about friendship? What about healthy food? What about water, the water I drink and the Living Water, the refreshment of fellowship and familiarity in a strange land?
I need to check on me. I will remember. I do remember.
Thank goodness there's Someone else planning this trip.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
It’s been a week of paradox; I guess that’s nothing new. It seems that God delights in the unexpected. “Just when I think things can’t get any worse,” says the pessimist – but for me, when I walk in faith, the conclusion of that sentence is, “my world explodes in joy.”
It’s been a week of darkness and light, of intense pressure and welcome release. I’ve confronted fear and shame and pride, loneliness and desperation and isolation. And love conquers all, when it’s God’s love, so I’ve also found respite and relief and refreshment, hope and fulfillment and joy.
I have seen love stare into the face of death and walk away, smiling.
I have seen joy dance to the tinkling music of a shattered dream falling to the ground.
I have seen hope plant a flag to claim victory in the middle of a bomb crater.
I have seen peace sing a lullaby during a raging battle.
What have you seen lately?