Hemmed In, From Texas to Wisconsin

Today’s entry is a recap of my adventurous trip to Dallas to see my son’s college graduation. We’ll wait and see how the Lord will tie it in with this choir blog!

What a whirlwind week! In addition to my normal workweek, we had two dress rehearsals (each took around 5 hrs of our day) and the final homeschool choir concert. Got home at 10 p.m and packed, ready to leave at 1:30 a.m. for Minneapolis, and my first flight ever. I landed deaf at Dallas/Fort Worth airport (something wrong with the air pressure in the jet) and somehow connected with my son’s friends who picked me up and dropped me off at the correct building of Christ For the Nations Institute, only 15 minutes late for graduation. I walked into the packed auditorium (still mostly deaf), saw my son playing percussion up on stage with the rest of the praise band, his face lifted to the heavens, his heart fully engaged in worship, doing what he was created to do—doing what we all were created to do (Ephesians 1:11,12—we were created for the praise of His glory). He had reserved a seat for me down front, and I finally found it among the worshipers standing with hands lifted. In the midst of joyful tears (I often weep when supremely happy) at seeing my son again after 4 months, I was able to bask in my Lord’s presence, too.

For a short while there at commencement, time was suspended.

It resumed afterward when David introduced me to many friends I’d heard of and prayed for but never met. A reception in the cafeteria allowed me my first meal since peanut butter and jelly the day before. At 7 p.m. we headed north into a huge electric storm over the south of Oklahoma. Got a motel room somewhere (!) at midnight, then off the next morning.

Just past Kansas City around 1:45, we had barely rounded a corner and BAM! The left front tire blew out. Such a rumble and jostling—David couldn’t steer. By God’s grace we were already in the left lane, and the car wanted to veer left. There was not more than a 2 foot shoulder, with a fence and tall grass hindering us from getting all the way off the road. Picking off the dozens of spiders living in the grass, we unloaded David’s worldly goods from his trunk to try and find the jack and spare. I watched cars race past, barely missing us, and it began to dawn on me (filtering through a bit of shock) that this was dangerous. As I shrank from the speeding traffic, a pickup was forced off into the ditch just opposite us. I called Tom, who told me to call 911, and three squad cars ended up there to protect us, the officers standing in harm’s way so we wouldn’t be hit. They called in a tow truck. By 5:30 we had a proper idea of the close call we’d had. That corner, where Hwy 69 crosses over I35 at Liberty, Missouri, is the most hazardous around. There are daily wrecks. There are deaths. Others don’t stop. They don’t even slow down!

We found a motel late that night and made it home around 2:00 on Mother’s Day.

Interesting how a person can experience such contrasts in a short two days. From ground level to 37,000 feet. From hearing to not hearing. From 50 degrees to 94 degrees. From North to South. From harried rushing to timeless worship. From steady, driven activity to sitting still for 17 hours. From the safety of an enclosed vehicle to the vulnerability of standing a couple of feet from hurtling metal.

“You hem me in—behind and before; You have laid Your hand upon me… Where can I go from Your Spirit? Where can I flee from Your presence? If I go up to the heavens, You are there; if I make my bed in the depths, You are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there Your hand will guide me, Your right hand will hold me fast.” (Psalm 139:5, 7-10)