My Grampa (Daniel's great-grampa) can no longer drive his car, so he very kindly sold it to us (at such a low price it was practically GIVING it to us). It passed all the tests at the mechanics, so we flew to Texas one way with the intent of roadtripping back to Arizona in the Dodge - which we decided to name "Frank". (Grampa's name is Franklin.)
So. We loaded up snacks, toys, kids and car seats and headed West.
All went well for the first leg of the trip - overnight. Mid-morning found us an hour out of El Paso and needing a rest stop. We loaded back up and realized... the car wouldn't start. We called AAA (who couldn't find our card number in the system) and then our mechanically-inclined brother-in-law who offered a possible solution. Thankfully, the car started again after about 30 minutes.
We kept trucking across Texas... then New Mexico... then pulled into a gas stop in Tucson, Arizona. We filled up, piled back in and... nothing. Frank decided he wasn't ready to go anywhere.
We shared a chocolate shake and fries at the burger joint across the street (not a bad way to pass another half an hour) and tried that thing again. Success.
Holding our breath, we headed in for the final stretch. Realizing that Frank didn't like coming to a complete stop, we chose an "out of the way'' route to get back home to avoid the stop and go of rush hour in Phoenix. We vowed NOT to turn off the engine and just keep on going no matter what.
Thirty minutes later... in the middle of NO WHERE... Daniel's little voice piped up. "Mommy... I need to go pee-pee." Contemplating our options, we pulled over but kept the motor running. I ran around to his door, helping him... go... on the side of the road. We all hopped back in and... nothing. The motor died. Bad Frank.
This time it was serious. A swarm of flies filled the car as the motor died, crawling all over us - especially the kids. The heat was pushing 110 degrees, and the surrounding desert was barren and hostile. The motorists sped by, not even bothering to stop or even slow down. Best of all... we had no cell phone reception.
We opened the trunk so we'd have shade, and sat in a huddle behind the car (on five layers of clothing to keep our backsides from burning). I beat the kids with clothing to keep the flies off, and attempted to change a really nasty diaper (thanks, Violet) in the middle of sweat, flies and dirt. Fernando paced, looking for reception to make a call.
Panic started to set in as the minutes ticked away. We sang worship songs to Jesus, and thanked Him for the answer we trusted was coming. Daniel called out a prayer - "Jesus - please take the flies away!" And kept telling me that God was going to help us. There is a certain kind of desperation about sitting on the side of a desert highway holding your two babies that just puts things into perspective: You suddenly know exactly who you are and what really matters to you.
That sun was setting fast, and no one was stopping to help us.
I'm not sure how much time passed, but Fernando found a 6 inch square of reception and was able to make a call letting someone know where we were in case we weren't home in a few hours. At the same time, Daniel turned to me and said, "Mommy - the car works now - it's time to go home." I dismissed it the first time as wishful thinking. But then more insistently, Daniel said, "Mommy - the car works. We need to go home."
I flagged Fernando down, who hopped in and sure enough - the car started. We have NEVER moved so fast, flinging kids into the backseat as fast as possible. We took off and didn't look back.
The short version is that we made it home without stopping. But those final 90 minutes of roadtrip were the 90 most stressful minutes we have ever spent together. There was no AC and it was over 110 by this point. All the water was left in the trunk in our hurry, so we had half a bottle to share. All four of us were drenched in sweat and still covered in flies (who didn't leave the car until we got home). I tried to give them snacks, but it only made the flies even more interested in my babies' faces. The kids cried out of discomfort and over-heating and we did everything possible to keep them distracted and entertained. I think I remember something about a boogar-song we made up to keep them laughing.
We prayed like maniacs, outloud and boldly. Daniel, too. For whatever reason, God kept using him to speak to the family. He was the calm voice of reason letting us know the car was working again. He kept telling us Bible stories about Jesus fixing problems - and would recite Jesus' parts: "Be still!!" ... to the storm that would have killed the disciples. We managed to avoid every red light all the way home and coasted into the driveway. As we stopped the car, the tears finally hit and we tried to pull it together long enough to get everyone inside. We stripped the kids out of drenched and filthy clothing, soaked them in the tub, and kept giving them a salt/sugar/water mixture to rehydrate.
Frank is working fine now. Turns out he had never made a long trip and can't handle the pressure on the engine. He's fine as a city car... but he won't be taken past state lines again.
As dramatic and awful as that evening was, it brought us closer together. I will never forget the desperation, but also the peace. God's hand was on us - our identity as a family is in Him. Even when it feels scary, He is in control and knows what we need.
And together as a family, we will praise Him!
Even in the midst of flies, sweat and dirt. ESPECIALLY in the midst of flies, sweat and dirt.
No comments:
Post a Comment