God Drives a Tow Truck (9 page)

Years later, studying the Ten Commandments, my daughter and I were eagerly reading Romans 14:9 - “The commandments….are summed up in this one rule: Love your neighbor as yourself.” As we discussed what that meant practically, I remembered Chris. How ironic that a child with a disability exemplified by the inability to relate to others, was the best teacher I ever had about “loving thy neighbor.” What I deserved that day from that child was tears, judgment, disgust, and hatred. Instead, what I received was forgiveness and love. Without speaking a word, an autistic child had been the gentle hand of God, giving me an eloquent lesson about mercy and grace.

Chapter Twelve

Safety in the Storm

1 Timothy 6: 6-7

⁶
But godliness with contentment is great gain.
⁷
For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it.

Lightning was striking around us like cosmic popcorn. Hail was pelting our bare arms. This was summer, yet we were in danger of freezing to death or being electrocuted. A third option was the very strong possibility of a tornado, thus we might also die by having our bodies sucked up hundreds of feet and then smacked back down to earth. We had no place to hide. My husband and I were on bicycles in the middle of Nowhere, USA.

I have done many nutty things, exhausting things, dangerous things even…. but nothing was quite as extraordinary as bicycling across the country. I was much younger and even more foolish then, and not yet a Christ-follower. That is a dangerous recipe of traits. It had long been a dream of mine to bicycle from coast to coast. When I finished graduate school and had worked a year, Arvo and I decided it was time to risk the loss of comfort and civilization. We both quit our jobs, and ventured across the continent with sleeping bags and supplies strapped to the back of our bikes.

We were somewhere east of Missoula, Montana, having finally catapulted downhill for a glorious one hundred miles out of the Rockies. The land was flat in the open plains we were biking through, and fields stretched endlessly to both sides of the deserted road. For several hours, we had not passed any evidence of human existence, save the road beneath our wheels. As the tremendous storm brewed overhead, we did not see a single ditch or tree, or building to hide in. All we could do was pedal as fast as possible, and pray that we could outrun the imminent tornado. The sky darkened; the wind churned more violently; and the clouds overhead boiled and bubbled. The thin bicycle rubber tires were probably not enough insulation to protect us from the cosmic voltage crashing all around us. It did not look good in terms of survival.

On the distant horizon, we saw a huge house. Arvo pointed to it, as we bent our soaked heads against the freezing rain and the punishing hail. I did not have strength to speak or even to wonder what that magnificent house was doing out there in the middle of nowhere. We pedaled as fast as our weary and cold legs could manage, and finally came to a stumbling halt at the mansion perched in solitary splendor at the end of an enormous driveway. We tumbled off our bicycles, and huddled on the front porch. Cringing with sidelong peeks at the violent sky, we wearily knocked.

A woman thrust open the door and peered out at us.

“You poor things!” she cried, “Come in! You must be frozen half to death!”

She ushered us in to an enormous entry way, with cathedral ceilings that stretched three stories high, buttressed with solid pine log beams. A blazing fire was crackling in a huge stone fireplace. Plate glass windows, also twenty feet tall, faced out on the distant mountains. It was the most palatial home I had ever entered. She brought us robes and begged us to change out of our soaked clothes, which she threw in the dryer. Then she brought us hot tea, and settled us in deep, soft armchairs in front of the blessedly hot fire.

By now, her husband appeared. He was dressed like a cowboy, complete with bowed legs, a cowboy hat, and pearl buttons on his plaid shirt. They were both delighted to see us, almost as if they expected us. It appeared that only the two of them resided in that enormous home. They brought us warm blueberry muffins, and kept adding hot water to our cups of tea. Like most of the people we met along the 3,000 miles of our cross country trek, they were amazed by our tales and what we were doing. As we thawed out, and the storm spectacularly raged outside the huge window, they told us their story.

The man had been a rancher. He had owned a vast spread of land, and cattle as far as the eye could see. In Montana, that was a “fur piece of land.” A few years back, a developer approached him. The land was prime development property, and he was offered millions for his ranch. His hard life of early mornings and late nights, constant riding the range, repairing fences, branding and watching over the young cows, and the limitless responsibilities in caring for his ranch were suddenly exchanged for a life of luxury.

He had the palace built that we now rested in. It had every modern convenience he had ever dreamt of. His wife had the latest flat top stove, and most modern, gleaming washing machine, and fancy cabinets with hand carved scroll work. The floors were the finest hardwood. The house was designed and built to his specification. They lacked nothing they desired.

“Except something to
do
…,” he said, “Some reason for living.”

The storm dissipated as suddenly as it had arisen. Our clothes were dry. The couple begged us to stay the night, but we were anxious to move on. We had a half day of daylight left and we hoped to reach a campground thirty miles down the road. We thanked them for their kindness, and pedaled onward, the empty road and endless fields glistening with evaporating rain drops.

The rancher told us he would see us down the road, and followed us in his truck briefly before waving goodbye. We biked on, and an hour later, reached a small town, with one convenience store and a Western saloon. As we biked by, our new friend, the ex-rancher, came stumbling out of the saloon, and called out to us, his speech slurred. We waved, and continued on. A bit further down the road, he passed us in his truck, waving and honking.

We waved again, and biked on. Miles later, another small town rose out of the emptiness. As we passed the dilapidated bar in that town, the rancher fell out of the door, and again called his greeting. He could barely stand up with drunkenness.

It all struck me as pathetically sad. I didn’t believe in God at that time, and had no spiritual focus in my life. Nonetheless, I wondered how someone could have every material desire he had ever dreamed of, and still be so lost.

“Vanity, vanity, all is vanity,” lamented King Solomon, touted in the Bible as the richest man who ever lived. He had stables filled with the finest horses, several beautiful wives, a gorgeous palace, a wonderful peaceful kingdom, all the delectable foods and exotic spices available from afar, and the most glorious clothes made by the most accomplished seamstress. Despite all this, he said, “I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are
meaningless
, a
chasing
after the
wind
.” (Ecclesiastes 1:13-15)

At that time in my life, I thought if I could just bicycle forever, I might find the fulfillment that I was sure was just around the next bend in the road. I was literally “chasing after the wind” that summer. I think God was trying to show me that everything I thought might bring happiness was emptiness, a palace in the middle of nowhere, with no purpose or meaning. I was riding thousands of miles and coming to understand it was bringing me no closer to contentment than millions of dollars had brought our poor rancher friend. It would be several years before I began to find the peace I now searched for on the road beyond the storm. But I think God was preparing my heart even then.

Sometimes, we must gain everything we thought we wanted, before we can understand what it is we most need. Sometimes when God allows us to clutch the world, we discover our hands have closed around a puff of vapor. Sometimes we can ride three thousand miles and not understand that the journey takes us no closer to the one thing worth traveling towards. Wanderlust filled my heart not because I yearned to travel
from
home, but to
find
Home. I didn’t scorn the rancher- I pitied him, a kindred sufferer. I understood filling one’s life with everything except the one thing that would take away the emptiness.

Chapter Thirteen

The Cover Up

Numbers 32: 23

²³
“But if you fail to do this, you will be sinning against the LORD; and you may be sure that your sin will find you out.

I thought I had gotten away with it. The cover up had been perfect. No one ever suspected. Even I had forgotten about this grievous sin. However, now we stood, piling our belongings to be wrapped by the movers and my husband’s accusing finger pointed at the wall, with a hole ominously shaped in the perfect size and outline of my bottom.

It had started innocently enough. I was forever moving furniture. Our house was decorated in Early Garage Sale style, and I believed that if I could just arrange it all more perfectly, I would be a contender for a Better Homes and Garden award. Some of my finer pieces had been snagged from the curb right before trash collection.

My favorite piece of furniture had been built by my husband, Arvo. Our dining room table was constructed from a huge pickle barrel with a large round slab of wood on it. It was too short for barstools, but too tall for regular chairs, so Arvo built a slab to put the barrel on. Seated on barstools, now we could rest our feet on the bottom slab. We had gotten the pickle barrel for $5 at a garage sale. We were frugal and creative adventurers in our home furnishing exploits.

When I was pregnant with Anders, the much anticipated first baby, we bought one of the few new pieces of furniture -- an inexpensive crib. Everything else we owned was garage sale hodge podge. The nursery, however, was to be beautiful. I painted a mural on the wall with all kinds of creatures holding flags of the various countries the grandparents and great grandparents were from. There was a heavy dresser in the room. It was a dark and foreboding piece, not at all what I hoped for in this fairy tale room. However, it had been handed down to us, and we didn’t have the money to buy new furniture at this early stage of marriage. I wanted it out of there, but barring that, at least transferred to a less conspicuous corner of the room.

Arvo was working countless hours during his brief foray into the Stock Brokerage business. He hated the work, and it was much more time consuming than he had imagined it would be. He didn’t have the time, or the emotional energy to help me move furniture, nor honestly did he have the inclination during his few leisure hours. He didn’t share my nesting instinct. The room looked fine to him. However, he warned me, “You are pregnant, and should not be hauling furniture around.” He knew, of course, that the moment he was out of sight, I would be shoving furniture from one corner of the house to another.

It isn’t that I disagreed with him. I knew he was right, but I was preparing my nest for my precious little bundle soon to arrive. So one day, while he was safely off to work and I could plot unimpeded, I had a brainstorm. While I should not be
lifting
heavy objects, I decided no one had ever suggested I not be
pushing
heavy objects.