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I am about to open my journal once again. This was recorded over a two-day period back in November. The words of a man searching and journeying to far-reaching, never before visited lands. Please be careful. Fasten your seat belt. And please keep your feet inside this blog at all times. Here goes...
11/8/09
Dear Papa,
Sometime after 11am. Sitting at a rest stop, basking in the sunny skies above. Beautiful day for a drive, but that is not why I am here. I have traveled 150 miles so far, in my forest green Saturn wagon. My destination is not the point, but I do hope to make it to El Dorado, Kansas, sometime before the sun begins its trek downward to its resting place for the evening.
A good breeze blows its imaginary tricks against tree limbs laid bare from unconditionally cold days past. It has been a cold Fall, and today may be the last chance to sit at a picnic table with no jacket and feel the sun hard against my back and neck. The freeway behind me roars and growls as semi's, fancy sports cars out for one final "Hooraaay!," minivans chucked full of antsy kids on their way to visit Grandma for Sunday lunch, and any other wayward travelers pound hard against its concrete and asphalt veins. And I am here to breathe. To step away from the little country house where I live with my family. I need to get away from those four walls and from such noisy inventions as TV and computers. I have been crumbling these past few months. Like this road behind me, so much mental traffic has destroyed my once smooth, quiet ability to think straight. I am confused about everything it seems. And I want to hear Your voice. To listen loudly to what You've been trying to say. I need help opening my heart to whatever You want to say and do.
I intend to drive to Kansas, spend the evening seeing the Flint Hills, quieting myself while surrounded by new beauty, begin heading back yet tonight, and sleeping at a rest stop in my car. I have never done so before. Tomorrow I finish my drive back to Iowa and work at 5pm.
Let me hear You, please. Help me make sense of the mess. Keep me safe. Fill me with joy!
Every moment, if we're seeing, words on invisible pages are being written down, filled with every thought, every sight which You have ordained before creation for us.
My journey continues...
12:32pm. I have made it to Missouri! Never been here before. South of Des Moines and Hwy-80, the land in Iowa shifts to rolling hills of corn fields and pasture. The freeway winds its way up and down and around the little hills. Now here in Missouri, the rolling continues, but the bed has changed from farmland to livestock pasture. Beautiful hues of green climb their way around the hills, like two lovers enjoying a night of God-designed passion on their honeymoon.
The temp continues to inch up the thermometer. A warm breeze now moves along, tickling the grass and brush. These jeans may prove to be too much by the time I lay hold of Kansas. However, they will come in handy tonight sleeping in the car.
My mind still does not comprehend this trip. The radio has remained off since leaving Grundy County, IA. My thoughts seem stuck in hiding, as if to say they do not yet trust to come out - like a young boy hiding from a thunderstorm, not yet ready to accept its passing. It is still cloudy up there (talking about my mind). Still my soul feels grasping for air.
But I will continue...
3:36pm. I have been driving now through Kansas for over an hour. I am sitting at a rest area near Ottawa, KS, along Hwy-35. Clouds have moved in, and a chilly breeze sweeps along the prairie. That is all I have seen so far - prairies with cattle grazing. So far little to write home about. The sun is going down and soon I will lose any ability to see the land around. I still hope to catch a glimpse of the Tallgrass Flint Hills. We'll see...
Not sure the time. Nor do I care. I am sitting on a stone wall, overlooking a sunset preceded in beauty by only the hills which roll, rise, and dip, playing tag with one another. Browned Tallgrass surrounds me. It is peaceful here. The only sounds coming from the occasional car passing behind me, a tempered wind blowing in from the Gulf, and crickets... singing their praises to the One who created them. Thanking Him for making them. It had become dreary for much of the drive through Kansas. But as I approached these hills, it was as if the sky opened up only to show off the beauty! As if to say: "Hey, look what I can do!"
To think... I was in Iowa this morning! Never before have I driven so far west. Or south.
There is much yet for me to do. I have made it to my destination, yet still there are thoughts to wrestle with. I am in awe of where I sit. But that is the extent of what I know right now.
How did I get to this point? Where have I been and where am I going?
Papa, help me to make sense of this mess. Do whatever it takes. Meet me here, on this trip. Why do I not feel You? How can I know You?
The sun chases away the coldness during its peak hours of the day. And now... the coldness fights its way back, with each passing moment of the sun's journey downward. You have your paintbrush out! This sunset is breathtaking! Purples, pinks, blues, oranges - all stretch themselves across a light blue backdrop. It is amazing how a few clouds enhance the beauty of the scene! Like fire in the sky, that is what I am seeing! It is getting colder. My nose begins to water. Yet even this coolness is refreshing.
Sometime around 7pm. Sitting in a Subway Restaurant in El Dorado, KS. I made it. Wasn't sure I would. With the creeping darkness, hides lurking animals ready to pounce into your path. It is a scary thing - hitting a deer. I wish not to experience it again - not here, not now. I am eating a Buffalo Ranch Chicken footlong sub. Food tastes good. From here, I head back - back onto 54 and, turning north, the long journey along 177. 177 is the route which cuts its way through the Flint Hills. The route which makes the little hairs on the backside of my neck stand on end. El Dorado is a cute town. They have a whole line of places to eat and seem rooted in some sort of history.
From here on out, I don't feel rushed. I am no longer in a race against the sun. However far I can make it yet tonight will, Lord willing, put me that much closer to home. As I sit in this green booth, looking out a pane of glass at the traffic moving aimlessly about, I begin to ask myself why I came? Why did I leave this morning? What has it gained me? Why do we always have to ask that question? I have seen two new states. I looked upon a most beautiful horizon, full of color and wordless-cut hills, bouncing about like a child with too much energy.
Papa, the thoughts are not coming. The clear-headedness not arriving as scheduled. I need to feel at peace. To rest in You. Help me to do that. To make sense of all the thoughts which have been. To understand who I am. To know You. To feel You. To move beyond all the comforts, into a realm of the unknown life lived in the Known. So again, why am I here? What did I drive all the way to Kansas to learn?
I am excited to sleep in my car tonight. To make bed and sleep. And to wake up, finding myself yet on the road, on a journey.
And so I am off - back to Iowa. It is now, at 7:19pm, that I begin. Please keep me safe.
11:10pm. I have stopped for the night. I am in Holt, MO. At a rest stop along 35N, exit 33. I am more than half way home, or at least I should be. I should only have around four and a half hours tomorrow. This is a nice little set up. I laid the back seat down, unrolled a sleeping bag for exact padding and hung a shirt from the handle above the leftside, rear door to block one parking lot light shining right into my face. One red Ford Contour is parked about 5 spaces to the north of me. I think they intend to sleep tonight as well. I feel a bit jumpy, having never done this before. For the longest time I did not even realize people did this - sleeping at a rest stop. I think it will take awhile for me to trust that any cars parked around me for an extended period of time are nothing more than fellow travelers on their own great adventure. A cell phone (void of minutes and good for only a call to 911) and a jackknife lay next to me. It is really warm in here. That may change, but for now it is bearable.
This drive home has gone much faster than the trip down. My mind distracted by staying alert and watching for those pesky deer. I had one close call back in Kansas. A deer jumped out only nearly 15 feet in front of my car. But all is well.
It has struck me, having been to various parts of the country now, just how alike people are. This really is a small world. I remember when I used to believe that people living in different states would seem so strange to me if I ever met one. That they would smell different, wear different types of clothing, even their faces starkly deformed from my own and those others blessed to call Michigan home. So I thought. So I was wrong. People are people. No matter where they call home. Even street names repeat from state to state. I drove by a Burlingame Rd. in Kansas this afternoon. You wouldn't think this to be a common name, yet a road near my Grandmother's house in Grandville, MI, is spelled the exact same way. Strange. Who copied whom, I wonder?
Kansas City smells like coffee grounds. I'm not kidding! Both times driving through, filled the car with the aroma of coffee. How hip is that? Makes me want to live there, just so I can small coffee all the time.
I will rest now. I intend to wake up and write more. Perhaps read some too from my Bible. I don't want to rush off in the morning. Goodnight.
11/9/09
Dear Papa,
7:20am. Just waking up. Definitely cooled in the night and made waking up that much harder. Everything inside you just wants to stay there, cocooned in the blanket, head nuzzled deeply into the pillow. My eyes bounced about like a child on a po-go stick. There is movement outside, as cars and trucks awaken from their slumber. I laid here with my feet pressed against the tailgate, laying somewhat sideways, and my head reaching to the back of the driver's seat. It took a few hours for my body to adjust to a base of a trunk space never designed for such an activity as sleeping - at least not for a man who extends to 6' 2''. Looking out the windshield, only one trucker remains from the night along with me. He drives a Volvo cab with a trailer reading Koch Transportation. I hope he slept well. When I woke up only a few minutes ago, the sky looked pissed - grey clouds moved about everywhere I could see. But now, they are easing back, opening up to reveal a sun also just climbing from bed, pushing back his covers, and stretching his back. Partial blue skies fill my panoramic view out 5 of the windows. It will be another great day for driving and finishing my trip. For only the second time since leaving home, the other came overlooking the Flint Hills last night, I feel a very slight peace. I feel in no hurry to leave this 33rd exit from the Kansas-Missouri border. It almost doesn't seem real that I was in Kansas yesterday. Where is Toto when you need him?
Looking out the rear window, over my legs, I see a house just past a thin line of trees. They have a couple barns and what appears to be a lot of land, all covered in a deep green grass. Livestock probably begin their daily routine of chomping on some tasty, dewy grass. That house has probably stood there long before this highway or rest area were even imagined. I wonder to myself how the family must have liked when the state bought up the land in their front yard and opened the door for careening cars and noisy trucks to barrel by their peaceful little crescent of a homestead. I wonder if their small children awoke each morning to the sound of a rooster, only to see large yellow machines destroying their playground and thinking to themselves: "Mommy is not gonna like letting us outside to play today!" I feel a bit sad for whoever must live there. Peace disrupted is annoying.
The sun is finding itself and shining bright, like a police officer's flash light, through the tailgate window. It has rewon the battle of dominance with the clouds, at least for right now. That Koch truck still remains. I hope he is dreaming sweet!
9:19am. Still sitting here at the stop. Enjoying the morning. The sun is out in full now. Beautiful day. The Koch truck yet remains. I wonder to myself: "Has this trip been a distraction from the trip?" I wonder if I focused too much on "getting there," that I paid no attention to why I left. I left to listen. To escape, although I now wonder if that is possible, and if it is, if that was my problem? I needed to clear my thoughts. I do think it has helped in those regards. I do not feel so heavy - my mind is no longer sounding as if it were the old van from Donald Miller's book, Through Painted Deserts, trying to climb a hill with a clothes-hanger holding its transmission together. I do think, however, that I had been too focused on arriving in Kansas yesterday. I have not taken time to slow down. To just be. To breathe. Isn't that how it goes though? We work and work to get somewhere. We hurry. We rush. We make bonehead mistakes. We end up stopped at a railcrossing, which we never would have had to deal with had we not missed our turnoff and had to double back, now forced to slow down, yet still in a race with an imaginary opponent. Do we even understand why we are in such a hurry? What was the point of "getting there" last night? What did I miss out on elsewhere because I was so set on seeing my destination through? Life truly is about the journey to the destination. If we cannot learn to enjoy the journey, will we ever possibly enjoy the destination? How could we, if we were rushed to arrive? If we can learn to slow down, enjoy the adventure - every little step, road, trial, sunset, sunrise, hill, annoying deer, sleeping in the backs of station wagons, coffee-smelling hip towns - then all the more glorious will the destination be. All the richer the color and hues. This is why I left. To learn this for real. I drove 500 miles to learn this truth. And also this... one needs more than just a journal for these journeys. One needs also his Bible. It felt good to read this morning. First three chapters of John. "In the beginning was the Word... the Word became flesh and lived among us." The servants at the wedding staked their life on a faith in Jesus' words - that the water WOULD become wine for the master of the banquet. What would have happened to them if they handed the man a ladle, he sips and tastes only water? What would he have done to them?
All a man needs in this life: food, water, shelter, journal, Bible, a companion, and complete trust in a living God whom he will never fully understand. One last thing a man needs: a journey to enjoy.
I continue and finish mine now.
