I have joked that we should drive north sometime for nine hours just to see where we end up. We are very familiar with that distance on the other three points of the compass.
While rereading the blog I posted previous to this one I suddenly had a funny memory of the trip to Dordt that Sam and I made when he was a senior in high school still deciding on colleges. We chose a non-interstate route through Iowa that resulted in many long straight flat stretches. On one of these stretches of highway the horizon was broken by a one story motel at a crossroads proudly displaying a sign just like this one:
Sam broke the companionable silence we had been enjoying with the incredulous question, "Mom, are there any other kinds?"
While on the topic of travels I need to give an update on where we were for the sixth Sunday of our Sabbatical Weekends of Travel. Seventh Reformed Church in Grand Rapids was one of the ones we wanted to attend, and it was reachable without an overnight. We missed hearing Joel Beeke, the professor that taught Rev.'s class, by one week and heard a colleague of his instead. I felt like an Iowan in a Michigan church. Which, in fact, I am and it was. The sermon was laced with nautical illustrations that used words not in my vocabulary. I nearly got lost in the part about the bit and the bitter end of the rope. Isn't "bitter end" a movie with a sad ending? I caught back up in the talk about the anchor. I understand anchor.
We drove around Grand Rapids to look for the three houses we had once lived in. We also got the urge to see Calvin College and the other places we had worked. Rev. worked on the grounds crew at Calvin in the summer. The florist I worked at on 28th street looks exactly the same. The rest of that area does not. We used to take a back way from where we lived to the Seminary that we could not find this time. And yes we drove around the seminary. I suddenly remembered the spot where we met the Smiths (name change), a young couple with a 6 month old baby that were essentially living out of their car. I remember the moment we saw them and realized they needed friends. As we got to know them we found out that they had driven all the way from California to attend Calvin Seminary because "God had told them to." They did not have a place to live, much to live on, or a church back home helping them so they were off to a shaky start. We helped as much as we could, mostly in the way of encouragement as they learned that they had apparently not heard God mention that a pre-seminary program of study at college was needed before classes could be taken at a master's level in seminary. They left after a year with their guitars and their carrot juicer and their daughter wearing mostly Emily hand-me-downs to go back to California.
All those memories along with the relief that swept over me upon hearing that Megan had arrived safely back in Lookout Mountain brought a great weariness upon me. Rev. was already back in his boot for his heel pain, and my blood clot medicine numbers had been bobbing around a little too much. The resting part of the Sabbatical was not happening. I was so tired that I finally said, "Can we just go home?" I needed a good meal and then my bed. I don't like skipping evening church, and I don't like eating in restaurants on Sundays unless travel makes it necessary. And here we were doing both of these at exactly the same time. Yet God had a surprise for us there! A waiter outside on his break at Cracker Barrel struck up a conversation with Rev. while I was still inside. He is a Christian and wants to go into the ministry! Encouragement was given (none of this God Told Me To Do This stuff) in the form of practical advice, a friendship was formed, future contacts will be made (already have been), and a prayer was shared right there by the military versions of the Cracker Barrel Rocking chairs.
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