The Oregon Trail

We are currently sitting in the van driving west on I-90, listening to a story on our CD player. The baby is sleeping. The children are quiet. It is peaceful. The scenery is beautiful. It is an illusion. To be completely truthful it is not an illusion, but only half the story. Here is the other half.

Thirty plus hours driving across the country with small children can be a challenge. My husband, Eric, told us at the start of the trip, "Today we are going to be happy because we choose to be."

First, there is the problem of getting out on the road. It is amazing how many things need to be done in the morning. Things like changing diapers three times for one child. Cleaning out the van before we get started for the day. That took me over an hour and a half one day. Not surprising considering that we have the contents of seven backpacks emptied all over the floor; as well as blankets, pillows, coats, a diaper bag, food and two book bags of mine. Yes, it's a little full.
Surely we could get started sooner if we cut out eating. Do we really need to eat? Today Eric came back to the hotel room after taking the boys to breakfast and said, "Remember those parents we've seen in the grocery store with crying kids throwing a fit? Today that was me."
I guess Caden doesn't think we should cut out eating because he had a meltdown when Eric ended his breakfast early.
I have actually had a cashier in a grocery store comment that she wanted to video tape how well-behaved my children were in the store and post it on YouTube because otherwise no one would believe her. Never put too much stock in those comments. The meltdown may be coming.
Eric remains optimistic. "We're getting out in good time today," he says. We left at 10AM, again.

Next, there is the problem of getting everyone to the bathroom in time. Seconds after the exit for the rest area Shiloh tells us he needs to go. He is immediately desperate and begins crying. He can't wait. We either have to pull over to the side of the road or have him wet his pants. We decided to do both.
Not wanting to repeat the mistake we had just made, when I saw a sign for a rest area in two miles I asked the boys if anyone needed to stop. At the rest area parking lot Eric checked on the bike rack and realized it was not secure. One of the bikes was hanging by the chain with the handle bars toward the ground. He took all the bikes off, unfastened the bike rack and began unloading our luggage into the parking lot in search of his tool box.
Seemed to me like this would be a long process, but that worked out well because it gave me plenty of time to clean up after a sick child in the bathroom. Caden started coughing and then throwing up all over the bathroom floor. I am glad it wasn't in the van like the day before. Those antibacterial wipes my mom bought for our trip sure came in handy.
I sent another child back to Dad for a diaper and Caden's pajamas (the only clean clothing of his left in the suitcase).
While I was cleaning up the mess and changing Caden the cleaning lady came into the restroom with her little arsenal of cleaning bottles. Her arsenal didn't seem strong enough to match the enemy lurking in those stalls. I watched as she quickly sprayed the sinks and toilets. In a few minutes she was done. It just didn't appear long enough to sterilize and kill all the germs. Made me wonder why we ever use public restrooms.
I emerged from the bathroom to find my six month old baby riding on a bike. Well, being pushed around on it. Never to early to start, right?
They call this place Crazy Mountains. The story says that a woman on the wagon trains went insane and ran off into the mountains. They used to call it Crazy Woman Mountains, but then shortened it to just Crazy Mountains. Maybe she wasn't crazy at all. Maybe she just had a small child vomiting in the wagon, a baby trotting off into the woods on the ox, and a husband spreading out all their belongings in a 100 foot radius around the wagon muttering, "I know I put that bundle of horse hair somewhere, then I'll fix that broken axle." The mountains started looking really good -- quiet and peaceful.

Then there's the problem of keeping five boys quiet in a hotel room after they have been in a vehicle all day. Fun.
"I'll work hard to keep them quiet," Eric promised the hesitant hotel receptionist.
Why does he make promises?
"Don't worry," Eric reassures me. "We have our secret weapon -- NyQuil."
Yes, desperate times call for desperate measures. The night before we didn't sleep much. One boy woke up wet and needed to be changed. Caden's coughing made it hard for him to sleep, and Judah, who also isn't feeling well, woke up and wouldn't be pacified. He cried and cried. He was happy if we stood up holding him. I think that must be one of the rules in the Secret Handbook of Babyhood -- Never let anyone sit while comforting you. Needless to say we didn't get much sleep.
The next day after we left the hotel at 10AM we headed to Walmart to buy some cough syrup. So many choices. Then I saw it. NyQuil! After that I could see nothing else. I couldn't stop my hand from grabbing it off the shelf. With a new skip in my tired feet I headed to the checkout.
At the van again Eric asked if that was all I got. If I was planning to give them NyQuil during the day too. I clutched my bottle of promised peace and sleep. Yes, most definitely yes -- they were going to drink it in their water bottles. Kool-aid, anyone?
It's been a long trip; and between the rest stops, the repairs, the late starts and the sick children we haven't got much driving done. But Eric, always the optimist encourages us on, "At least we are faster than the Mormons when they walked over with their hand carts."
Today is a new day. I think today we will make it to Oregon.

Something Better

My Grandma always wanted to live in Utah. She thought it was one of the most beautiful states. Smart woman. She also wanted to build her own house. But throughout her life, she never lived in Utah and she always lived in houses that wouldn't have even been considered nice by many American families. Her husband served most of their married life as a pastor in small churches and they gave sacrificially from the small income they had.

Our pastor and his family recently left our church to serve as Wycliffe Bible translators in Tanzania. It is hard to give up your friends, ministry, or the home you have know for years -- not to mention living in a different culture.

They lived their lives in faith, trusting and waiting for the promises of God. They embraced God's truth and believed that they were strangers and pilgrims on this earth. They declare plainly that they seek a homeland, but not here. They desire something better, that is, a heavenly country. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He has prepared a city for them. (Heb.11)

If my Grandma can give up Utah, so can I. If my friends can give up their church and friends, so can I. And perhaps this sounds strange, but if my friends can go, I can be willing to stay. We all give up different things. God has a different place for each of us. But ultimately, the question is... Are we seeking something better?

His Name is John

We had been giving money to Gospel for Asia, and were very interested in their native missionary program; but were hesitant to actually support a missionary because our finances are so uncertain. A native missionary is someone who is working full-time within unreached areas of his or her own culture or one very similar. Because they already know the customs and dialect of the people, they can begin working with people immediately and will not be considered an outsider. Also they can be accepted into areas where Westerners are typically not allowed to share the Gospel. I think it also helps people to know that God is not the foreigners' God, but also the God of their people.

I started to think what we could give up each month so that we could support a missionary. Then I thought, if I put aside the same amount each month that it is costing me for dental, I can give that to missions instead.
The dentist said I need to come every three months to keep the problems with my teeth under control. Is it really necessary? I don't know, but I prayed to God and said that we would give that money to missions, if He would protect my teeth. I asked my hygienist if i could try a six month schedule instead and we did. At my checkup she said my teeth were looking fine.

So now we support a national missionary. His name is John. I liked the name because I can actually pronounce it. When he became a Christian, his Hindu family kicked him out of home and he faced severe opposition. Through the urging of a pastor in his life, he eventually went on to Bible school and is now serving the Lord as a pastor and evangelist in India with his wife and three children.