Sequel

For those of you who hate sequels, please accept my apologies.  For the Crow family, the story of our trip from the upper Midwest to the Southeast concluded in with a flurry of activity.

Our last update ended with a mechanic staying open late on a Saturday to help us get back on the road.  We did get on the road at 12:45 Sunday morning, driving until 4:45 to get to our intended parking spot.  Fearing lest we would not be able to awaken if we lay down to sleep, we simply stayed up all night long and were on time to Sunday school at 9:00.

The Lord gave us very good services and really knit our hearts with the people.  For a brief summary of our travels, I have included the following graphic for reference.  Each letter represents a stop in our journey from SD to SC.  These stopping points do not include the TN breakdown point, but they do give a general idea.

The sequel to the story involves a breakdown in SC.  While on our way to see my brother and sister-in-law last night, the drive shaft broke again.  Currently, we are without transportation until we can get this issue resolved.  Some of our acquaintance have expressed a desire that we no longer contact them at all, since all we seem to have to report lately is bad news.  If you would like to join those of that persuasion, I understand.  My ministry is not responsible for possible fits of depression brought on by reading our updates.

Please know that we live from day to day in confidence that our Sovereign God is in control and at work.  He knows what is going on and we, by the grace of God, continue to trust in Him.

Northern Adventure, Part 3

Upon returning to Madison, where the trailer was parked, we made a very unwelcome discovery.  Although we had left the trailer plugged in with the express intent of keeping our food cool, there was a failure in the system somewhere.  Apparently, during the nearly two weeks we had been gone, the ground fault breaker had tripped, leaving the refrigerator and freezer without power.  It must not be forgotten that temperatures were in the 80’s and 90’s during that time.  So as I opened the refrigerator door, I was assaulted by a combination of spoiled milk, lunchmeat, and several leftovers, not to mention half a dozen condiments, along with the distinct aroma of mildew.  The freezer was worse, with spoiled chicken, sausage, fruit, and vegetables, most of which had combined their juices and run out the front of the door, down the wall and onto the floor in a rather disgusting puddle that was by this time mostly congealed.  It was horrific.  It wasn’t just the smell, but the fact that all hope of having a decent meal was gone.  All that food was really gone.

I found myself at midnight Thursday, washing down the walls, floor, and cleaning out the refrigerator with a strong cleaner.  All of the drawers had to be washed, and all the food thrown into the garbage.  Anyone who has ever had to throw out an entire freezer and refrigerator’s worth of food knows the sick feeling that I experienced that night. 

We unpacked all of our borrowed luggage, thankful to be back in our own abode once more, and hopeful that the next day would bring us closer to our destination.  Friday morning, we picked up the truck, which had a brand new transmission, and dropped off the rental car we had been using.  Excited, and in somewhat of a hurry, we hooked up the trailer and proceeded to “get outta Dodge” as quickly as possible, knowing that we had to make it to South Carolina by Saturday evening.  We parked in Indianapolis that evening, and were hopeful that we would make the nine hour drive to our final destination with no problems. 

All was going along swimmingly as we tooled down the highway, our new transmission shifting effortlessly as we navigated the hills of Kentucky and Tennessee.  About thirty miles from Knoxville, there was a terrible clunk, followed by a tremendous scraping, banging, and other assorted and sundry noises that you never want to hear emanating from any vehicle, let alone the one you are driving.  We lost all momentum as we climbed the hill, and Paul quickly pulled over to the side of the road.  The drill was all too familiar.  Being on the off-road side, I jumped out of the truck and looked under the truck, where I saw the drive shaft hanging down.  This really did not look like an easy-to fix problem.  To make a long story short, our universal joint had broken, allowing the rear drive shaft to fall, alternately scraping the pavement and banging the underside of the truck as the rear wheels continued to turn during our ascent up the hill.

We found ourselves for the second time in about three weeks calling a huge tow truck to pull our truck and trailer to the nearest service station.  In the providence of God, the mechanic’s shop was actually open on Saturday afternoon, and he began working to find the needed parts before we even arrived at the shop. 

Do we know why God has allowed this string of events to take place in our lives?  No.  Do we always look at these things with the eye of faith? No – to be honest, sometimes the sense of sight wants to take over, and tries to muffle that still, small voice that promises, “My God shall supply all your need according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus.”  Sometimes the fact that all things are not good overshadows the truth that “all things work together for good to them that love God, to them that are the called according to His purpose.”  But we know that ultimately, God is still in control of everything that comes into our lives, and we must allow Him to display His glory through our lives, no matter how difficult the circumstances.  Brethren, pray for us!  We know that the thousands of miles we drive each year are cushioned by the fervent prayers of God’s people, and we have seen his protection in each of these very dangerous situations.  We thank each one of you for your unfailing remembrance of our family before the throne of grace.

Northern Adventure, Part 2

Because of our unplanned vacation from our truck and trailer, we were thrown upon the hospitality of the pastor and his family in Minnesota.  They were exceedingly gracious, though, and gave us a room and several spaces on the floor for the kids, and we crashed at their house for the interim.  The men left almost immediately for the scheduled sportsman’s retreat, which is just a way of saying they will escape all civilization and live, if only for a few days, the unrestrained life of which they all dream – fishing, eating, hunting, eating, playing games, eating, and well, you get the picture.  Josiah is proud to be included in these masculine forays into the remote wilderness of the lake country, and it is he who became the star of the next adventure.

During one of the eating episodes of this trip, the men and boys, about forty in number, went to a fish fry and buffet about twenty miles distant from the retreat site.  Josiah, having blown out his tennis shoes during the week, had bound them with voluminous swaths of duct tape, giving himself the appearance of something between an astronaut and the Tin Man of Oz.  In the melee that followed an all-you-can-eat meal, the men began to depart in their caravan of vehicles.  In a quintessential act of bad timing, Josiah decided to answer the call of nature at this point.  Since he had not ridden to the restaurant with Paul, his absence was not noted by that observant person, and in the food-induced coma state of the others, they neglected to see that one of their passengers was missing.  Hence, our son unwittingly became the poster child for the political agenda, “No Child Left Behind.” 

Due to the nature of the activity schedule and the relative chaos of a large group, his absence continued to go unnoticed.  Meanwhile, back at the restaurant, Josiah, having witnessed to the wait staff, waited in vain for his ride to return.  After some time, he asked if his all-you-can-eat buffet was still in effect, and upon being told that it was, went back inside and happily helped himself to another plate.  Upon further reflection, the thought crossed our minds that perhaps this was his goal all along, but it cannot be unequivocally proven.  Apparently, after watching him consume more food, the restaurant staff became worried about losing their day’s profit, and after the space of about two hours, decided to call the local authorities to report this poor foundling that had been left, quite literally, on their doorstep. 

I would be remiss if I did not add that Josiah had tried to call his dad, but because of the remote locale, the cell phone signal was not adequate.  He did not know the land line number to the cabin, and the ensuing confusion was epic.  In a typical junior-high style, he never even thought about calling his mother, who DID know the cabin number, but all in all, he acted with surprising  clarity of mind. 

By this time, Paul was beginning to wonder why he had not seen Josiah in the teeming mass of campers, but assumed that he was asleep in the cabin.  When the call rang out through the camp that the sheriff was looking for Paul, he assumed it was just another practical joke, the kind that men enjoy playing on one another.  However, it became readily apparent that the sheriff was indeed looking for the shiftless lout who had left his son sitting at the restaurant for two hours without noticing he was even gone.  Doubtless, the duct tape shoes only added to the suspicious train of thought that was already speeding through this man’s head.  After a severe lecture on the evils of bad parenting skills, the arm of the law told Paul that he could expect a visit from Social Services, known for their especially aggressive tactics in that part of the country.

Suffice it to say, we went to great lengths to ensure that this undesired and unnecessary encounter never took place.  The following Sunday, our son was showered with shoes of all kinds, and made out like the proverbial bandit with six (some new, some new-to-him) pair of shoes. I’ve been thinking of how to utilize duct tape to my advantage when my shoe choices become somewhat limited, but haven’t quite figured it out yet.

Meanwhile, back in Madison, Wisconsin, the truck was still not ready.  The delay gave us time to visit a church in South Dakota where some of our dearest friends hold their membership.  After that mid-week service, we reasoned that we would head back to Madison, get our truck and continue on with life.  Little did we know what was in store for us in Madison.

Northern Adventure, Part 1

It was a dark and stormy night.  Not literally but figuratively.  A lone candle flickered at the end of the proverbial tunnel. 

It all began benignly enough with a routine 1,500 mile drive to Minnesota.  Things were going along quite nicely when the engine began to race a little more than usual.  Then, on an upgrade, we lost all power.  The first episode of the waiting game began.  Note to self: people in Madison, Wisconsin are not in any hurry to help stranded motorists along the road.  They are in a hurry, though—so much so that they don’t have time to change lanes to give a stranded guy a little space.  After what seemed an eternity of screeching at the children to stay out of the oncoming Interstate traffic, infinite Indian circle trips, and numerous denied requests for water, we finally greeted the tow truck driver.  Then proceeded a wild goose chase on the Information Superhighway.  Phones smoked, batteries panted, Internet connections strained, and voicemails clogged as we endeavored to find places, not only for a broken-down truck, but also for a 36-foot trailer.  Apparently it is a matter of set doctrine in Wisconsin for pastors to ignore their phones on Friday afternoon.  Fortunately, we were able to contact one pastor who had strayed from this tenet of church policy, and regaled him with our dilemma.  He was quick to respond that we could not park at his church because they had just finished paving the parking lot and it was not cured yet because of the recent rains.  When asked for other possible locations, he gave us the name of another area pastor that might allow us to park.  We called this pastor, but he did not come to the phone.  His wife answered, and told us that he was on sabbatical (no joke), and could we please call one of the deacons.  Three deacons later, we ran out of phone numbers and still had no answers.  So, we called the pastor back.  His wife continued to field his calls, and after several more calls, we finally got in touch with someone willing to help.  We discovered that when one is on sabbatical, it is a breach of ethics to drive two blocks to the church to deliver an extension cord.  Who knew? 

A deacon and his wife brought us some luggage, and we began packing to be gone for about two weeks.  Let me hasten to add that packing on the spur of the moment is never my favorite thing to do.  It is only worse when all the clothes that need to be packed are in the dirty clothes hamper.  It has been said that haste makes waste, but, whether or not this is true, we can empirically state that haste makes forgetfulness.  For instance, Paul remembered his cuff links, but forgot to bring his shirt.  This was a considerable oversight considering the lower temperatures of Minnesota.  In addition, the wild gesticulations during his preaching made the use of paper towels inside his suit jacket somewhat impractical.  We considered asking the pastor for an extra shirt, but decided that his 19-inch collar would lend an cowl-like effect to the outfit and would probably distract church members with the sight of overmuch chest hair.  We opted instead for a fitted neck and three-quarter length sleeves from another church member.  It was quite the fashion statement.

Despite the faux pas in apparel, the services went surprisingly well.  However, this chain of unfortunate events was only a harbinger of things to come.