Never Too Early, But Never Too Late

I sometimes wonder what the world might look like from a purely spiritual perspective— what the scenes of my life would reveal if the physical constraints were removed and I could see the movements of God’s hand at work in my world. These wonderings often occur when I am anxious  about circumstances beyond my control and I am straining ahead to see the outcome. What is God up to? Will things work out okay? What if they don’t? What then?

Many hard lessons over the years have taught me that control is an illusion, that I have no power to control the events and circumstances of my life or the lives of others. I have learned to surrender my anxious thoughts to God daily, asking for his peace as I trust in him. Even so, some things are really hard for me to release, even though God has given me every reason to trust him.

After fifteen months of hunkering down under the weight of a global pandemic, my husband Greg and I busted out on a two-month, cross-country road trip in our truck and travel trailer exploring many beautiful and magnificent places that we have always longed to visit. We routed an adventurous journey that would take us from our home in California through the Grand Tetons, Yellowstone, Cody Wyoming, and Mt. Rushmore. The remainder of our 6,000-mile trip would go as far east as northern Wisconsin, south through Tennessee and, then head west through Missouri and Colorado to visit many dear friends and family we have missed seeing over the years.

This is where the rubber meets the road on one of my deepest fears.

I have developed a nerve-jangling, chest-tightening aversion for two-lane roads—the ones on which 80,000 pounds of steel hurtles towards you at seventy miles per hour with only six feet between your vehicle and the double yellow line to your left.

Now Greg is as seasoned a driver as you could hope for, having run heavy equipment for over twenty-five years, hauling cranes and 40-foot trailers over rougher and more dangerous terrain than we would ever encounter on a public highway. I have watched him maneuver in and out of more tight spaces and precarious roads than I care to recount. But his expert driving abilities give me little comfort. I close my eyes and stomp the imaginary brake on the passenger side of the truck as the whoosh of wind from passing vehicles jostles our rig while the theatre of my very busy mind envisions wreckage and mayhem.

It hasn’t helped that at least eighty percent of our trip thus far has been on secondary roads, two-lane shortcuts between interstate highways that shaved miles off our trip. These narrow, winding routes traveled through barren places with no shoulder or cell service to rely upon. I prayed often on these travel days and God has grown my faith, not in road conditions or even the skills of my remarkable husband, but in his provision and protection over my life.

Which leads us to our trek over Big Horn Mountain in northern Wyoming.

Rising 13,000 feet from the plains, the Big Horn Mountains are breathtakingly beautiful with wide alpine vistas, snowy peaks, and lush green meadows. They are also incredibly steep in both directions, covering sixty miles of winding, two-lane road. As we began the climb, I sensed, as I always do, the beauty and majesty of God’s creation. Our ’97 Ford F250 diesel, a workhorse of a truck that we have named “The Beast,” chugged along like the proverbial Little Engine That Could all the way to the top of this magnificent mountain range. But that wasn’t the hard part. It was the downhill on the other side that accelerated all my senses to full alert as Greg did the tricky work of downshifting, tapping the brakes, and keeping us between the lines on a road that fell away in front of us.

The good people of the State of Wyoming thoughtfully notify drivers of eight percent downhill grades before they appear, and even number them for you. “Five downhill grades ahead.”  “Four downhill grades ahead.” I began to count them as I scrunched my toes under my feet and practiced all my yoga deep breathing skills.

On the final grade, the longest of them all, Wyoming offered trucks with trailers and RVs a mandatory brake check area. Wasn’t that thoughtful? Especially since the runaway truck ramp was now behind us and we would be very much on our own from there to the bottom.

Greg brought our truck and trailer to a slow stop, set the parking brake, and proceeded on his routine safety walkaround of the truck and trailer. He lifted the hood and then stepped back to the open driver door. “We have a problem,” he said, a solemn tone to his voice. “It’s happened before and I know how to fix it, but the master brake cylinder booster pump is going out on the truck.”

“What exactly does that do?” I asked, quelling a strong desire to panic.

“It’s the brake booster that allows you to use your power brakes,” he said.

A brake problem on a downhill grade with a 14,000-pound trailer bearing down from behind?  Is that all?  Well, who needs brakes anyway….

 Greg strode to the front of the truck and dropped the hood. He hopped back into the driver’s seat, released the emergency brake, and eased our rig back onto the highway. “It’s still working, but I can tell it’s getting ready to quit.”

With eyes wide open, I breathed a prayer. “Lord Jesus we ask for your sovereign protection as we descend this hill. Dispatch your angels and guide us through this danger. We trust you God. We are in your hands.”

I am happy to report that I didn’t descend into a full-on panic attack as Greg expertly drove the final five miles into Buffalo Wyoming. As we approached the I94 interstate, I observed a sign that stated there were no services for 67 miles. Nearing the onramp, Greg lurched forward and stomped on the brake pedal. “We just lost it! I got no power brakes!” A wide shoulder allowed Greg to gear down and bring the truck and trailer to a stop. My hands trembled but I kept my cool.

“Okay, okay now. We got down that mountain. God will show us what to do next.” I said, softening  my voice to ease the thrumming of my heart and tightness in my chest.

Greg adjusted his ball cap and rubbed his forehead. “I gotta get another brake pump!”

After all the desolate towns behind us, how fortuitous that we landed in lovely Buffalo, a city large enough to allow internet service. I googled “Napa Auto Parts near me” on my smart phone and pulled up a map to a store a mile and a half from our location. Greg gingerly turned our rig around and headed that way.

Five minutes later we were in the Napa Auto Parts parking lot, a spacious gravel yard with a stand of cottonwood trees under which we could park to avoid the 104-degree heat (yes, the western states were all under a heat advisory that week). Finding parts for a 24-year-old truck is always iffy. “I really hope they have this pump. Otherwise we just might be spending the night in this parking lot,” Greg said as we walked towards the front door.

And wouldn’t you just know, after a few taps on his computer, the Napa Auto Parts guy went behind a wall and returned with a small cardboard box that contained a brand-new master brake booster pump. Tears of relief filled my eyes.

It was quite an ordeal for Greg to dig his hands inside a blistering hot engine to remove and replace the pump. I said little as I stood alongside him, handed him wrenches, and brought him ice water. A steady wind blew dust and cottonwood puffs through the hot air. As I looked across the parking lot, I spotted the white steeple of a small church that wavered behind the heat waves that rose from the ground.

This was you God, showing up for us so that we could glimpse the unseen world that you command every moment of our lives.

It dawned on me that God allowed this mechanical failure to appear at precisely the right time, just so he could reveal his loving protection for us, even in moments when we can’t perceive it.

• Twenty thousand pounds of vehicle hurtling down a two-lane mountain road.
• Brakes that held until we got to the bottom of the hill.
• Brakes that failed right before we were about to enter a 67 mile stretch of desolate road.
• An auto parts store in the middle of nowhere that had the exact part we needed.
• Greg’s ability to wrench the broken part off and expertly install the new one.
• The ability to travel without incident the remainder of our journey.

Do not be afraid any more dear daughter. I am always with you.

And then this verse appeared in my evening devotion:

Because he loves me,” says the Lord, “I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name. He will call on me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him. With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation.  Psalm 91:14—16

Two lane highways, treacherous downhills, worn-out equipment, and the faithful hand of God that materialized right in front of me. I am not always aware of God’s presence in my world, but he is teaching me in powerful ways how to trust in the unseen.