Texas Trip
February 16 - 21, 2013
The decision to ride with the Trucker was difficult. It had been over a year since I’d last traveled with him. My work load for the week was lighter than usual. The children were more than capable of caring for themselves and maintaining the house.
My struggle? Leaving. Letting go. Missing out on their lives. In particular, the Quiz-A-Thon involving the 14 and 16 year old on Thursday. The 18 year old had already arranged her work schedule to attend the quiz, however; she could drive them.
The Trucker remained quiet, and did not pressure. The struggle raged inside for a few days. I grumbled at God. Why does it have to be this way? Why, in order to spend time with my husband, do I have to say goodbye to my children? Why, in order to spend time with my children, do I have to say goodbye to my husband? It wasn’t fair.
Friday, fixing lunch, I prayed. “God, if you want me to go with the Trucker, please have the 20 year old tell me I should go when he comes in today.” Not living at home at the time, he was not aware that I was considering going, and he didn’t yet know what the Trucker's load was for the week. Lunchtime came. I sat down with the children who were at home. In the course of casual conversation, the 20 year old said, “Mom, you should go with Dad this week.” I was sunk.
Still I fought with myself. If I stayed home, I could go to the Quiz. I could watch the 18 year old ride. I could attend volleyball games. I could get more painting done. I could do the mending and finish sewing projects. I could catch up on sleep as opposed to losing more. But I had committed to traveling with the Trucker at least once a year. And I had a direct answer to my lunch time prayer. (Notice how often the pronoun “I” is used?)
One hour before time for to pull out, in the aisles of the grocery store, the decision was finally made. I would go. Less than an hour to finish shopping, put away groceries, pack. Clothes, food, bedding, things to do while driving. I said goodbye to our home schoolers, phoned the two in the working world my plans, and walked out of the house, tears streaming down my cheeks. Why was this so hard? Was I really that selfish? The Trucker graciously gave me space to adjust. Had I known what all would happen that week, I could not have gone. But God wanted me in the truck, as did my husband.
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Tuesday morning, a message came from the 20 year old. He was very sick with the flu. Independence and your own apartment tend to lose their flavor when this sort of thing happens. Could he stagger home and be cared for?
But I wasn't there. I was so very far away. How desperate, nearly frantic I felt inside. Is this how a mother bird feels when her baby falls from the nest, she hears it calling, but she cannot save it? For reasons best not explained here, I very much wished to be home to show love in this practical way.
On the heels of that, came another message. The son of friends, a young man ours had grown up with, was dead. A patch of ice, and a tree. Such a shock, such overwhelming grief. Tears flowed for the mother. For reasons best left unsaid again, "There go I but for the grace of God".
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Tuesday was the day to deliver and reload in Laredo, Texas. It was a long day of sitting in dry, windy parking lots, breathing dust. Seven hours of waiting, with a heavy heart. For a load of avocados. Who needs avocados??
My hopes of arriving home in time to be at the Thursday Quiz dwindled away. We had only the snacks and water kept in the truck - sufficient, but not very appealing. The only bathroom was in a supply closet off the worker’s lunchroom. It was embarrassing to walk into the lunchroom filled with Spanish speaking men. Courteously, all would jump to their feet at my appearance, nodding, smiling, and gesturing to the bathroom door. Sigh.
Once loaded and through the border check, the Trucker drove til after midnight, in order to get back through Houston before the morning rush hour. Finally on the city’s east side, we rolled through two truck stops and found them full. There was no room at the inn - every parking space was taken, and some that were not parking spaces. We were so tired! Farther on was a small truck stop, not part of a national chain the Trucker normally frequents. It was quiet and dark. There was plenty of room. How glad we were for a place to sleep.
As we got out of the truck, I felt a check in my spirit. Something was not right. I waited for the feeling to go away. It did not.
The fuel pumps were dimly lit, the store entrance not at all. Bullet holes punctured the front window. Instead of the clerk’s cheery greeting and the easy camaraderie among the truckers normally experienced at such places, there was foreboding silence. The men at the counter stared at us out of what seemed to me hard and empty eyes.
Although well lit inside, the building's atmosphere was dark and oppressive; it was almost a physical sensation. Something I have not felt for years. Not fear exactly, but extreme heaviness. It took effort to raise my head and look around.
Just inside the door sat a very young woman, her appearance and mannerisms immediately marking her as a lady of the night. My mother heart reached toward her though my hands could not.
Wordlessly, the Trucker guided me to the questionable restrooms along the back wall. He waited just outside the women’s door, then took me quickly back outside. Walking back to the truck, we discussed what to do. My heart said flee. Yet the Trucker was out of hours, and exhausted. We locked doors and settled in the bunk. I was fully expecting a disturbance during the night. But there was none. God provided the rest we needed.
My thoughts have returned to that young woman frequently. Who was she? Why was she in that situation? Could we have helped her somehow? I could not cry for her; it was one of those times that the hurt goes too deep for tears. If only I could have put my arms around her, taken her away from that awful place, told her about God and His agape love. But most of all, I think, “There go I but for the grace of God".
Why am I blessed with a loving husband who protects me, a safe home, all of my needs met, and even most of my wants? What did I ever do to deserve these blessings? And why do I grumble when things don’t go my way? Lord, forgive me. And please, keep Your hand on that young woman. May she come to know Your redeeming love, somehow, some way.
