Julie and I just returned from two weeks in Texas. We were not just in Texas, we were in the Hill Country, just west and north of San Antonio. This area is arguably the most beautiful part of Texas, closely rivaling the Ozarks in Arkansas. The rolling hills and thick woods are different than the coastal plains we lived on for a decade. There is a sense of tranquility that is easily experienced in just a few hours while camping there. New experiences, meeting new people and readjusting to being away from one’s typical schedule feels like being on vacation. But I wasn’t. We were just doing life.
This trip had long been planned but we learned before we left that our grandson, who we have been caring for at least eight hours a day since November (Julie has been caring for him since he was three months old) had been accepted into the Montessori school earlier than expected. This news brought conflicting feelings but we realized it was a life-changing event. Our new freedom brought a new schedule. Since we were not expecting this, we had little time to prepare. With a mixture of sadness and joy, we decided to spend a little more time camping than originally planned. So we packed and headed out to the Hill Country.
Heading down the highway pulling our little Casita, I had much time to reflect. At first I could not shake the feeling that we were going on vacation. We had done this many times over the years but it was April not July. The weather was cool not hot. I wasn’t leaving the busy-ness of work, the challenges of the Church, I was not leaving anything. I was simply doing life.
Life is never without its challenges. What is life without a little drama? Over the years I had hoped, year and year that vacations would go smoothly. Rarely did they but I always wanted it to be different than my regular work life. Now as a freshly freed person from the tyranny of the urgent, what I call working a job from 8 to 5, I gradually came to the realization that I was not seeking relief from that. I was just doing life.
The drama did come. First it was Big Red, my truck. For some reason (which I later discovered) if the gas tank dipped below a half a tank, it would simply stop running. So the auto mechanic in me quickly devised a solution: fill up the tank before it got that low. This brilliant solution worked very well until we drove around Dallas. Now despite the amount of gas in the truck, it would inexplicably stop running. I had to pull off the interstate, wait a moment and then attempt to restart it. Fortunately, that worked. But every 90 minutes or so, I would have to do the same. Anxiety is never completely absent from life. Barreling down the highway, concerned about the truck, I could not help but hum an old song with new words: “hello anxiety my old friend, I’ve come to talk to you again.” I was doing life.
We stopped in a campground in Austin and enjoyed the weirdness of that Texas town. We found a quirky little place to knock the dust off our journey but I continued to keep an eye on Big Red. He didn’t disappoint me and the next morning, our trip (or is it our life) continued.
Most of problems I face are self-inflicted but not all of them. As I hooked up the Casita to Big Red I noticed that the hitch was not quite flush. Thinking that it would settle down to the place it needed to as soon as I began to tow, I moved on to other things. Finally, we jumped into Big Red and headed off to our camping destination, just a short two-hour drive away, hoping that the previous days struggles with the truck stalling would not become a bigger problem.
The first thing I noticed was that the engine light was now lit up brightly like an unwanted lamp turned on in the middle of the night. Was this a new level of problems or just more of the same? Whispering a quick “help me” prayer, we continued on through the edges of the Hill Country almost hoping against the odds that we would eventually arrive safely despite a nagging sense of doom.
Then it happened. Big Red was chugging along like the little engine that could, yet I had an uneasy sense that a final adventure awaited. We were four miles from our camp site, sitting comfortably at a street light that had been placed without a purpose in an unlikely location between small towns. I slowed to a stop as I watched the traffic light gradually cycle through yellow and red. Finally, it turned green and I moved my foot from the brake to the accelerator.
Then without warning I heard a loud metallic sound from behind the truck. I bolted out of my seat and ran back toward the commotion to find that the Casita had fallen off the hitch and now rested awkwardly on the asphalt. My inattention to detail had led to the final challenge or our journey. A self-inflicted injury that I now hoped would not lead to further damage.
I am not sure if God sent two angels to help or if they were real flesh and blood people who happened to witness the mishap but I had help almost immediately getting the Casita back to where it belonged. This time I made sure to get the hitch and ball connected securely and we arrived in one piece.
There was more to our time in Texas, including finding a very fair and honest truck repair garage in Bandera, but our journey was like life. Sometimes problems come out of nowhere and at other times there are people/events that cause the challenges, including onesself. Anxiety seems to be a natural companion to both. But anxiety does not have to have the last word if you can refocus and know that the only thing that is life and death, is, well, life and death.
So this is life and because it is there are lessons to be learned. My lessons through this journey are that while I cannot eliminate problems I can prepare better, slow down, pray, be expectant that God is always with me and find humor in almost anything. And lastly, I can make sure the hitch is flush.
Until next time,
DP