January
20, 2017
A
misty, gray winter day. Foggy, 34 degrees. Basically flat, straight
road. I80 West through Iowa. 36 miles to Des Moines. Listening to
the presidential inauguration on satellite radio.
Slept,
when I did, at a rest area west of Chicago. Wishing I had brought
the comforter I decided against in favor of a less bulky blanket.
Heater for the cab that works on “off” and on “high.” Long
day of driving, but good to be through Chicago before morning.
Praying for C---. Will God heal him? Take him home? Praying for
endurance for his parents, his siblings. No one can really
understand unless they’ve experienced the same thing.
Stopped
at Walcott, Iowa, the world’s largest truck stop. Many hundreds of
trucks passing through in a day. Huge building, with multiple levels
of shopping, restaurants, displays. Each level has at least one full
size truck on display. Found a Choice Books rack; most likely there
are more in this complex.
Thinking
constantly of our children, wondering what will become of our family.
Such much lost, so many broken dreams; pieces with nothing left to
do but bury them and let them decay. Thinking about why God allows
suffering. The suggestion that giving us the ability to exercise
free will is of more value to god than avoiding suffering. Even so,
He hurts with us, and will walk beside us through that hurt. He will
allow others to exercise free will against us, and give us the choice
how we respond to it.
Wondering
what our daughters are thinking. Especially DD#1. Does she agree
that her parents do not love her, do not care what happens to her?
Is she secretly afraid of what she has done, where she is now, but
doesn’t know how to break free? Is she truly happy now? Is our
silence and the fact that we are not pursuing her confirmation in her
mind that we do not love her? Or is it telling her that we love her
enough to give her space and freedom?
Will
DD#2 ever be mature enough to take responsibility for herself, her
own choices? Will she always expect others to care for her, do the
work? Will she ever see that she has control issues, is manipulating
others for her own security?
2PM
A quick stop at McD’s. On the road again, and trying to keep
hopeful thoughts. Remembering F. M.’s comment at the volleyball
tournament, “Your daughters’ choices in no way reflect your value
as a person or as a parent in the sight of those who know and love
you.” Remembering S. B.’s email, “You were good and loving
parents. She knows that, which is why she was so torn up about
leaving. If not, she would have run long ago.”
Thinking
about page 107 in Dee Henderson’s book Taken. In spite of
knowing the horror of evil, there was something so precious and
beautiful about free will, that God was willing to risk us making the
wrong choice, just to give us one. God could have intervened in the
garden. He could at any time step in and halt evil and suffering.
But He allows the exercise of free will. And, He walks beside us and
carries our hurt and pain with us.
The
evening was peppered with quick stops...tummy cramps and upset
afflicted me. My dear hubby was so patient. Not sure what it was –
maybe that non-dairy milkshake? That didn’t taste very good
anyway?
January
21, 2017
A
quiet night, as usual. Woke early in the early hours, cold. Slept
again, and when I woke the Trucker had turned on the heater, making the bunk toasty. Really wanted to continue sleeping, but needed
to take the chance at a restroom; was reaching the point of no
return. Took my bedhead into the truck stop restroom and made
repairs.
Then
more quiet driving across empty Nebraska and to a shower stop on the
state line. First, breakfast in the truck. Got the routine down
now. Kneel, open the little fridge, extract a plastic box labeled
“eggs, sausage, hash browns,” precooked at home. Pop the lid,
reach into a box on the shelf for the microwave turntable, stand on
the bed to situate it. Set the breakfast container in, mic for 3
minutes. Hand box and fork to the Trucker, pray together, and he
eats. This morning I am having some chicken rice casserole and an
apple, what I can use to approximate the BRATT diet, to be sure my
tummy is totally settled. (Bananas, Rice, Tea, and Toast)
Then
into the building for showers – yay! The Trucker gets free showers
from the chain he also buys fuel from. He slides his card in the
machine, which spits out a paper telling which shower room to use,
and his code to punch in to unlock the door. The screen on the wall
informs us our shower room will be ready in six minutes. OK then.
The room is small, but very clean, and warm, including the towels.
We’ve had practice making this work. The water is wonderful. I
could have stayed a while, but that seemed wasteful. I decided not
to do my hair, only later noticing the hairdryer attached to the wall
by the sink. Oh well. My hair would still have been dampish, and
it’s 14 degrees outside. As this will be the coldest day of our
trip, I don fleece leggings, turtleneck and sweater, topped by a long skirt
and boots. Leggings and skirt being decidedly warmer than knee socks
and jeans.
Still
on Route 80 west, into Wyoming. A stop at the port authority, where
The Trucker goes into the office to verify he has all the permits to
drive in this state. I place a quick call to daddy, surprising him.
The cats are still hiding in the haymow; he hasn’t seen a whisker
yet, and nothing important in the mail except insurance papers.
Up
into the snow covered mountains. The very occasional herd of cattle,
mile upon mile of fencing. A rancher bringing out a large round bale
of hay to the cattle. The words vast, and empty, come to mind. Down
Sherman’s Pass – wheee! - and on toward Flaming Gorge. The Trucker comforts me, relatively speaking, by saying the downhill is no worry –
it’s not snow covered this time! Learned to take photos of the
distant snow capped mountains with his smart phone. And took a
few of him too!
It
is true that a trucker sees everything, and yet not anything, because
the schedule dictates all. The Trucker’s been within miles of the
Grand Canyon a few hundred times, but never saw the Canyon, for
instance.
Just
passed a sign warning of black ice, and a truck taking its
half out of the middle of the road just as we went by. Whew –
makes me feel like I need to “sit skinny” as Grandma used to say.
Not easy to do when you generally “sit wide.”
Miles
of snow fencing are staggered across the hills like brown snakes, to
trap blowing snow way from the road. Nothing else to break the wind
in a blizzard. Reflectors line the roads to guide in low visibility
times. The Trucker hasn’t driven out here regularly for years,
having adjusted his work to be nearer family and home more often, but
many memories come back. I still am amazed that he ran these roads
alone, as a nineteen year old...boy, really. Much was different in
those days: no internet, no cell phones. You hit on bad times, you
depended on your CB radio to reach another trucker who could take
your message into the nearest town. Much lonelier then, at least a
much great sense of aloneness.
The
area we are in now is called Elk Mountain. A long mountain to our
right is sloped like a ramp. Doesn’t look that large, until you
notice the trees on it are just dots. On a snowmobile you could run
for days here, except for the tumbleweeds that peek up from the snow
cover.
Stopped
this afternoon at Little America, in McKinnon, Wyoming. The Trucker
remembers stopping there with his dad as a boy, and that ice cream
cones cost 25 cents then. Beginning to snow, 20 degrees. Trees
covered with frost – fog frozen on from last night. Snow beginning
to lay on trees and icy parking lot. Sooo very beautiful. Plenty of
time to get to our delivery point, but The Trucker wasn’t
interested in a romantic walk in the snow. He was concerned about
how the roads would be further on. We did get cones, though. They
are 75 cents now. Walking back across the snowy paring lot with our
cones was all the romantic walk in the snow I was going to get. The
snowflakes landed on the ice cream but didn’t melt. A fun topping!
And it’s the first soft ice cream cone I’ve had in about two
years.
Winding
through and around the mountains, hard downhills, then uphills. The
Trucker pointed out a section of road that wound around a mountain
with a sheer drop off to the left as we traveled it. A mile later
was flat land again with a wide median strip. He told me that wide
flat area just after the drop off was the place where he passed out
while driving some years ago. He got a hard coughing fit, passed
out, and came to, in the median just before he ran up into oncoming
traffic. God’s hand was on him, because he was able to steer back,
cross his westbound lanes, and stop on the shoulder without rolling.
I think that was when he became willing to accept medication for his
asthma. Oh my.
After
about an hour, the snow stopped, and the sun broke through
occasionally. Roads are wet, a struggle to keep windshield clear.
Am sitting in the bunk at the drop down desk, charging the laptop by
the inverter under the bed. The keyboard is lit by the skylight
above me. We are now in Utah. The traffic has suddenly increased.
We are 30 mph in the slow lane, approaching a brake check area.
Snowing again, and the car traffic has suddenly increased greatly.
Skiers, probably. The Trucker stopping to clean his windows also; he
cannot see well enough to pass. The next ten miles will be a six
percent grade, 40 mph maximum for loaded trucks, never mind the snow.
Maybe I will stay in the bunk. Such beauty, even as The Trucker
keeps careful hold on the wheel. They still have runaway truck ramps
here. God willing he will never have to use one.
January
22, 2017
It
was after midnight til the delivery was made and we got to a truck
stop that had a parking space open. We were both tired, and just
numb. After sitting for hours and listening to music, I was hurting.
Something about music has always been hard for me, stirs emotions, I
guess. And now I can hardly bear music, it brings on so much pain.
Yet there’s nothing wrong with the music, and The Trucker enjoys
it. To him it represents routine, and the security in it.
Our
coldest night yet – in the teens. The Trucker woke me around 7AM;
we were on the road about an hour later. It was still black dark,
clear, and cold. Such a quiet, still time. The road nearly empty,
snow covered land on either side, empty as well but for dry grasses
and shrubs. In the still darkness, tears flowed. When will this
burden be lifted? It is squeezing the life out of us. We go through
the motions of living, but it’s a shell of what it once was. We
can trace back to a few comments – curses, actually – put on us
years back. Neither knew what the other took away from that time,
how it guided our attitudes and actions, and why. We spent our
married life thus far reacting to the symptoms, but not understanding
or able to break through each others’ defenses. Now that we know,
what what can we do with that knowledge? We cannot share with our
daughters – they most need to know and will not hear us. The
Trucker has already talked to our sons, and they have understood as
well as they can.
Driving
down I15 through Utah. Beautiful in a colorless way. Snow covered
mountains, the very occasional cattle herd pawing up the snow. One
herd of mustangs doing the same. A few shacks in the shelter of the
mountains. I thought of DD#1. Would love to text her about the
mustangs, and tell her they made me think of her. I’m told not to.
But how can I reach her if I stay in my world and she in hers?
Further
down, the temperature is rising, along with the wind. Snow begins,
blowing across the road. The snow changes to rain, lightly rinsing
some of the crud off the truck. Abruptly, the snow is gone. The red
earth shows in layers between the scrubby bushes. The road winds
between the high hills, which look sculptured. From a distance, the
bushes look like mold on a piece of bread in my cupboard. (Did I
remember to put the bread in the freezer before we left?)
We
pull of at the port authority on the Nevada border, but no one
signals, so we continue. Gullies at the bottom are filled with loose
rocks. The further south we drive, the less vegetation, and the more
the rock lightens to a brown/orange color. The hills become
mountains again, the road is steep downhill, curves between mountains
and steep drop offs, a bit uphill then sharply downward again. Words
are insufficient to describe the view. Our Master Sculptor carved it
all, and maintains it for us.
Further
down, and the mountains get higher, the temperature rises more.
Light rain continues. More small vegetation on the carved, layered
mountainsides, though on our left the rocks are burned black.
Sharper curves, deeper drops, to ravines filled with rushing brown
water, and suddenly we are on flat land! The suddenness of it makes
us catch our breath. And we are on the high desert, mountains
jutting up sharply on the left. Random clusters of small shacks and
trailers huddle together.
