Meandering Moments by Elsi

One slice of bread:

Up about 6, wrote postcards and showered, and headed out about 8:50, leaving my postcards to be mailed by the girl at the exit gate. She hadn’t heard of North Cascades National Park, nor could she read a map, but she pointed the direction I should turn, and I drove away with confidence.

What a beautiful, glorious area! I drove up and up, stopping at a rest area along the way to enjoy the river. No entrance fee for the park, and volunteers at the visitor center. I wandered a 300-yard, boardwalk trail to see the Pickett Range, and found myself humming “Green Cathedral,” which I haven’t sung since probably high school. In the little museum, I sidled behind a woman and her about-seven-year-old son. When she saw me, she cautioned the boy, “Watch out! There’s a person using a mobility aid!”

Filling:

And then I headed back west, aiming for I-5 to go south to my campground. I drove I-5 and I-405 from above Seattle to below Tacoma, about 130 miles in about five hours! Bumper to bumper, slow and go and stop and slow, the entire way. A long and hideous afternoon! I did pull off twice, once to grab a nap because I was falling asleep—that was at a closed weigh station. I woke up when a semi pulled in next to me, effectively blocking me in. So I got out and said to the driver, “Are you staying long?” He stared at me. “No, I’m scaling!” Turns out you can park on the scale and read your weight through the window … The other stop was in Lacey, where I had supper in a Knights of Columbus Hall parking lot. Yawn, moan, whimper, and back on the road again!

Other slice of bread:

Eventually I got on US 101, the Pacific Coast Highway. Beautiful scenery, clear roads, and a wonderful two-hour drive to my KOA campground in Bay Center, which is on a bay (duh) and smells delightfully of salt and clams. 

Oh, my goodness! I just got back from an evening with the Cirque de Soleil. What an evening it was!

Let’s get the negatives out of the way: First, it didn’t start till 8 p.m., ran two-and-a-half hours, and is in Vancouver, an hour from Shannie’s home. So we pulled back in just after midnight, and I’m a bit of a zombie right now. Second, there was an utterly silly and almost incomprehensible plot line, involving a clown who dreamed his funeral, and lots of useless angels swinging around from the ceiling.

Now, set those aside. The music was okay; the costumes were colorful; the staging was fascinating. And the acrobatics—oh, my goodness! Trampolines, balancing, juggling, tumbling, any and every type of acrobatic act you can imagine was done, close to the audience and close to the ground, with skill and aplomb.

I clapped my hands and shoulders sore, shouted and called out in astonishment, was absolutely entranced by the skill shown. It was almost unbelievable.

The midgets were clever, and the giant was impressive … and the acrobats were top quality and memorable. What a sight! What skill! What a wonderful Lord who gave those men and women their abilities!

I plan my trips quite carefully, working with AAA maps, suggestions from friends, and MapQuest in order to have the best route. I type my itinerary and print it out, so I can refer to it as I drive: “North I-25 to Buffalo, WY,” said the first day’s plan. “Camp, Buffalo KOA, exit 299, just past I-25’s joining with I-90.” That way I always know where I am, and where I’m going. Now I’ve added Tomi (my Tom-Tom GPS navigator) to my trip-planning arsenal. I type in the city or address where I’m headed, and she keeps me updated on forthcoming turns, potential concerns along the road (”ahead, stay left; then go straight on”), and how many miles I still have to go. Yesterday, however, I had a new experience. Usually I have precise directions to Sumas, where I generally cross into Canada. However, I hadn’t copied those from last year’s visit, and my instructions from Shannie in Canada started with, “Cross at Sumas as usual and …” So, at a rest stop just south of Bellingham, WA, I looked at the map, shrugged, and asked Tomi to get me to Sumas. Which she did, though not by the route that seemed most sensible on my state map. However, I gritted my teeth, put the map down, and followed her directions. Wending my way along country roads, I had some doubts, I will admit. There was some comfort in having a big semi on my tail; surely he was going to the same place, eh? So I set my doubts and intellect aside and let Tomi tell me where to turn, when to bear to the right, and so forth, until … ta da! I saw the sign that said, “Sumas: Canadian Customs.” We had done it! How similar, I said to myself later, is that experience to walking with the Lord as my guide. Generally, when I know about what I’m going to do, He leads me or helps me along the way.  If I get pig-headed and go off on my own route, He gently guides me back, just like Tomi does. When I’m just trying to do His will and not think about it, I get nervous, have doubts, check for confirmation other places. And yet, the Lord knows what I should be doing. If I would just obediently follow His directions, how much better off I would  be!  In his heart a man plans his course, but the LORD determines his steps. (Proverbs 16:9) 

Tired. Oh, so very tired. I drove about 550 miles today, from Buffalo, WY, to Missoula, MT. I stopped only for meals, bathroom breaks (both me and Lady), and a few power naps to stretch out the back and shoulders.

When I dragged myself into the Missoula KOA office, the woman at the desk asked, “Did you have a long day?” “I drove from Buffalo, Wyoming,” I told her—and watched her face register shock.

But it was a relatively eventless day, and I’m settled in now. At my feet is Dolphin, flat on his back, hind legs spread wide, front paws tucked under his chin. Do you suppose he knows how utterly adorable he is?

Lady’s asleep on the bed. I need to top off my water tank and buy a Montana hatpin at the office before crawling in next to her.

Yawn.

My back is killing me. I’ve been picking things up in the house (bend, twist, lift), carrying them to the RV (don’t let the cat out!), lugging them into the RV (five steps up, with handholds … except my hands are full), putting them away (bend, twist, lift), and going back for more (five steps back down, too). About six trips this morning, as we got everything else taken care of yesterday.

“There’s something wrong with this picture,” I muttered to myself as I poured ibuprofen into my hand. “Aren’t vacations supposed to rest you?”

And then I realized, no, vacations are supposed to be fun! And fun generally takes work. Skiing … mountain climbing … hiking … even building sand castles, if you do a good job. I choose this labor, and this pain, because it opens the gates to an activity I love: traveling, sightseeing, visiting friends, writing.

So I stopped complaining, swallowed my ibu, and decided it’s time to catch the cat and get this show on the road! Thank You, Lord, for this privilege!

with apologies to John Denver and Peter, Paul and Mary …

Well, the RV’s packed; I’m ready to go!
I’m parked right here outside the door.
I will not wake you up to say goodbye!
But the dawn is breakin’ … it’s early morn.
I’ll drive out now, not soundin’ the horn!
And part of me’s so lonesome I could die …

So kiss me and smile for me;
Tell me that you’ll wait for me;
Hold me like you’ll never let me go,
‘Cause I’m leavin’ in an RV!
Next month is when you’ll see me …
Can’t say I really hate to go!

Over the past half week, I’ve participated in three divergent worship services. And I’m fascinated (and pleased) to see God’s love presented strongly through all of them, so that their one-ness is more powerful than their differences.

Thursday was Ray’s funeral. Most of the attendees were Vicki’s friends, or relatives from out of town. We sang some gospel songs, had a sermon about the Christ Ray had come to know, and ate sandwiches, fruit, veggies, and brownies from trays prepared by Chick-fil-A and the grocery store.

This morning I was at Boulder Valley Christian, my own home church, surrounded by friends and acquaintances. We sang some fast worship songs and “No Orphans of God,” which always makes me cry. My friend Paul Williams preached on the story of Zacchaeus, emphasizing Jesus’ personal interaction with the man. And, of course, we celebrated Communion, as we do every Sunday.

From there I drove to the Boulder Chinese Baptist Church (BCBC), where my youth group was doing a brief presentation about the recent retreat. BCBC provides an English interpreter for the first Sunday of each month, which is also when they share in Communion. Other than the translated sermon, which discussed what being a church member means, the rest of the service was in Mandarin. But the “words on the wall” for the old-fashioined Baptist hymns were in both languages, so I sang along in English while they sang in Chinese. (The kids did an excellent job, by the way!)

Three churches … three approaches … three fellowship meals … one holy and uniting God!

My family was big on patriotism. We had a flag on the house for national holidays, knew all the words to the patriotic songs, and fired a little “Bang-Shot” cannon on the front steps for the 4th of July. I learned flag etiquette in Scouts, including that you never write or attach anything to a flag—no name, no fringe, nothing.

We went to band concerts and sing-alongs on Memorial Day and 4th of July whenever we could, and loyally taped all the TV firework shows on the 4th, watching them on into the night—the Boston Pops, the rockets’ red glare over the St. Louis Arch … we loved them all.

So it was nothing new that I turned on the TV last night (first time in a year it was on) to watch “Capitol 4th,” public television’s presentation of the concert and fireworks show on the mall in Washington, D.C. I noticed I watch it like my father did: critiquing the MC (not very good), going to the bathroom during the “stupid” rock-and-roll numbers, singing enthusiastically, and vocalizing the cannon shots during the “1812 Overture.” Fun!

But TV fireworks are no substitute for the real thing, so I stayed up, accomplishing nothing, till 10 p.m. Boulder has a traditional fireworks show at Folsom Field, up at the university. Through a gap in the trees, I can see the aerial display from my front yard. So there I was, happily crooning, “Ooooh!” and “Aaaah!” for each colorful burst.

I’m proud to be an American for all sorts of reasons. And each summer that pride comes blasting out in vibrant color and excitement!

So much to celebrate … and in so many different ways!

Sundays at church I celebrate the living Lord and what He has done—and is doing, and will continue to do—in my life! I sing to Him, talk to Him, and am lifted out of my depression during the group worship time.

During the week, as I listen to Christian radio (KPOF) and CDs, I continue to celebrate His day-to-day work in my life. No way I could do this without Him!

Yesterday we celebrated the life and salvation of Vicki’s brother Ray. Family came in from Wyoming, and we gathered to talk about memories of Ray and our joy that he is with Christ now. Many of Vicki’s friends came to the service, to honor her: a celebration of hearts united.

This weekend I work to load the RV, so I can leave Friday. I’m heading for the northwest: friends in British Columbia, Oregon Christian Writers summer conference outside Portland. It’s hard for me physically to carry everything out and put it away, but I celebrate my continued ability to do this, and to be able to enjoy traveling. And, this summer, I celebrate my Lady’s sticking with me; she’s such an old beagle, and I had my doubts as to her ability to make the trip with me. So far, so good!

And today, of course, the nation celebrates its 232nd birthday. I will watch the patriotic concerts on public television—”Pops Goes the Fourth” and “Capitol Fourth”—as I did with my parents every 4th of July. And I’ll stand in my yard and see the end of the public fireworks display, visible through a gap in the trees above Folsom Field at the university.

Singing patriotic songs … singing songs of Christ … working and resting … truly, I have much to celebrate!

I settled into “my” seat at church Sunday, looked around with a smile, and reflected, “Oh, it’s good to be here with my support group again!”

After all, I just got back from an RV trip. Cathy Howe is back, my pastor and friend—the Lord does know how much I need her. Paul and Ruth Williams are back from their trip to Europe—Paul taught Sunday school this week; Ruth’s back in Bible study; we had a summer house church meeting. Tim Schoeneweiss, our worship leader, was on the same European tour; it’s so good to have his encouraging spirit in our service.

So I was feeling pretty comfortable, secure … and suddenly realized, NO! My comfort, security, support—these should come from Jesus, not the people He’s given me!

God says quite clearly (Deuteronomy31:6 and 8, and quoted in Hebrews 13:5) that He will never leave us nor forsake us. In the words of Matt Redman’s song, “Oh, no! He’ll never let go!”

Psalm 68:6 says, “God sets the lonely in families.” And that means more than Paul and Ruth, who make me part of their family for Thanksgiving and Easter. It’s more than my Bible study family, or house church, or even “big church.” It’s the family of God, wherever I am across the nation.

And that’s a piece of the power of Communion, I think: believers all over the world are celebrating our Lord and Savior’s vile death and glorious Resurrection right along with us. We need to remember … I need to remember … to give thanks for His Spirit, His love and His family. I need to remember what He did … what I’ve done that made His sacrifice necessary … how He conquered death and sin and fear by rising agian … what I can do in gratitude in all this!

Oh, yes, thank You, Lord! Never let go of me! Thank You!