Life Is A Highway

In Tennessee, the summers can be brutal! This is why we prefer spring and fall.

When the white flowers have fallen off the Bradford Pears in our yard, we start finding ways to be outside. We may set on our small deck in the back and talk or perhaps read. Very likely, we’ll plant some flowers and vegetables that we will soon neglect once the summer heat makes being outdoors uncomfortable. We will also begin to think about road trips.

Every so often Gerrie and I will take Saturday drives. It doesn’t matter what the price of gas is, we simply say we’re getting out and we go. We call these drives, “Two-Lane Tennessee”. We pull out a map of the state and think of which direction we want to go and then we set out. Our only real rule of the road is that entire journey must begin and end using on two and four lane roads; no interstates. William Least Heat-Moon’s called these, blue highways. In his book titled Blue Highways, he relates his journey through America using only backroads. He writes,

“On the old highway maps of America, the main routes were red and the back roads blue. Now even the colors are changing. But in those brevities just before dawn and a little after dusk - times neither day nor night - the old roads return to the sky some of its color. Then, in truth, they carry a mysterious cast of blue, and it’s that time when the pull of the blue highway is strongest, when the open road is a beckoning, a strangeness, a place where a man can lose himself.”

While our day drives can't compare to Heat-Moon’s epic journey, they do allow us to experience the personality of the highway. The countryside is more immediate and the character of the towns is there for discovery. There is no fast food on these roads. You search for a local diner or corner market to find your meal.

Our journey’s are usually not about the destination. Traveling east we discovered that many of the storefronts on the town square in Lebanon now trade in antiques and curios. I very nearly started collecting old suitcase during that drive. A turn towards the south will take us to Bell Buckle. There we found a wonderful variety of shops along the front street and a great lunch at the Bell Buckle Cafe. We never know what we’ll find, but we know we wouldn’t find it staying on an interstate.

Though most of our outings are in-state, we are not limited by this. One weekend we set our sites on Louisville, Kentucky. It was Gerrie’s birthday. As a surprise, I booked us into the Brown Hotel and arranged a dinner reservation at the English Grill Restaurant. That morning we drove north along U.S. Highway 31 W, known as the “Dixie Highway.” Our only goal was to arrive early enough in the afternoon to enjoy the surrounding of a grand hotel. This meant we could take our time.

Along the way we stopped at Cave City to walk around the Sleep in a Wigwam Motor Lodge. We found a used book store on Water Street in Horse Cave and spent time browsing through the shelves. In Elizabethtown we found a bench on the square and sat for while. We then saw the cannonball lodged in a building on the town square; a reminder of General John Hunt Morgan’s 1862 attack on the town. I also discovered the State Theater and took a photograph to add to my small collection of old movie house photographs.

Yes, spring weather makes us want to get out on the road. Soon we will pack up some snacks, put the cameras in the truck and queue up the music. We’ll unfold the map and one of us will close our eyes and point to a spot. That will be our destination. For a few hours we’ll leave behind the busyness of life and embrace the peace of an open road.  

I don’t know, perhaps I have a romanticized vision of what life was like when these roads were the Main Streets of America. I do know that taking a trip along these “blue highways” is one way that we break from the pace of this age. They are our portals to what we imagine was a simpler, less complicated time. It is a way for us to slow down and experience things that have all but been forgotten. We give ourselves the opportunity to see a marvelous countryside and have wonderful conversations. For these hours, we can forget ourselves and simply enjoy breathing in and breathing out together on the highway.

“And if I were a painter I do not which I’d paint.

The calling of the ancient stars or assembling of the saints.

And there’s so much beauty around us, for just two eyes to see.

But everywhere I go, I’m looking.”

                                        ~ Rich Mullins

                                           Here In America

Greg

Winter

Spring began this morning at 12:14 a.m. (CDT). As we look at all the beauty, the blue sky, the green grass and the colorful shrubs and flowers bring, let's pause and remember just a few images of winter.

The Scents of My Hometown

There is something I wish I had. 

Among the thousands of photographs I have stuffed in boxes, envelops and hard drives, I wish I had more photographs of my hometown from 40 to 50 years ago. I have some family photographs taken from that time and the intervening years since, but I don’t have many of the town itself. As my years increase, it is sad to have only memories of what something looked like.

I was born in Sikeston, Missouri. Sikeston is north of the boot heel in southeast Missouri, and is nearly half way between St. Louis and Memphis. While it may be known for a few things, it is largely just a spot on the map as one drives north or south on Interstate 55.  It has not grown much in the years since I was born and like most other towns the years have brought change. I suppose some of this is good, but for one looking nostalgically to his past, change can be an enemy. Even so, it is still my hometown.

It was where my grandparents lived and where I’d go for visits as a child, a teenager and an adult. It was where my mother graduated from high school and where father got his first job as newspaper writer. It is where my family would spend their holidays and where I learned what homemade ice cream was. I learned to climb trees there and how to get soaking wet playing in great puddles of water after a rain. Looking back I feel that it was a simpler and freer place.

It was also where I learned about aromas. My grandparents house was filled with aroma. Whether it was mothballs coming from the large box of quilts and blankets in the back bedroom or the smell of the white vinegar my grandmother would use to rinse our hair, there was never a time that you’d step into their house and not be greeted with something interesting. In the kitchen there would be the smell of bacon or sausage cooking in the morning, just beside a big pot of simmering oatmeal. The steam escaping from the pressure cooker told you what was for dinner that night. The back porch harbored smells of laundry detergent and pickling lime sprinkled on potatoes laid out on newspaper. The living room air was hung with the smell of my grandfather’s pipe tobacco and cheap aftershave. I even think his transistor radio gave off a slight hint of something as he tuned in to the Cardinals ballgames. My grandparents house was a playground of competing aromas. 

There were also aromas to be experienced outdoors. If the paper mills just over the state line in Kentucky were operating and if the winds were just right, the smell was enough to drive you back indoors. But there were pleasant scents as well. A nice breeze from the southwest would bring with it the smell of fresh baked bread from the Sunbeam Bakery on South Main. When there was no breeze, I could walk to end of the sidewalk. Beside the sidewalk leading up to my grandparents house were two large Japanese Boxwoods. I loved the aroma they gave off. Sometimes I would bend my head down just so that my nose was right on the shrub and then I’d breathe deeply for a moment or two. 

One particular aroma lingers in my memory. It is the one aroma I miss most and wish that I could rediscover. It is the one I most associate with my childhood. Just three blocks from my grandparents house was the Sikeston Cotton Oil Mill. The mill produced cottonseed oil that was used in cooking. It was probably not the best oil to use, but back in those days we didn’t care as much about those things. Not like we do now. When the oil was being produced it gave out a strangely sweet aroma that filled the neighborhood. 

As I got older my trips back home became fewer and fewer and I wasn’t there to appreciate the smell. In time the mill, like many landmarks of my younger years, was closed and demolished. I suppose this is what change does. Yet the mill closing was just that; a mill closing. It didn’t stop the memory of those pleasant summer afternoons of breathing deeply and enjoying the fragrance of the air.

These many years later I still search for the aroma. It is very illusive. Once I was walking down the hallway of an office building and just the right amount of scents combined to give me a brief hint of the mill. Then too, there have been times when my wife and I would be driving east on Interstate 40. Near the overpass of US Highway 231 at Lebanon I could almost smell the oil in the air. When this happened, I’d slow down, wishing the  moment to last.

I went looking for a photograph of the oil mill, but couldn’t find one. As I said, I wish I had some pictures of the old places; the oil mill, Barkett’s Big Star, the Malone Theater, or even the Cotton Carnival when it was downtown on the square. But I don’t and that is a little sad.

My hometown is a place of many wonderful memories! The aroma of cottonseed oil is one. Along the way, I will share others.

Greg

How We Got There: Part III

Today we come to the third installment, the conclusion, of How We Got There. 

"Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains

and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord,

but the Lord was not in the wind;

and after the wind an earthquake,

but the Lord was not in the earthquake,

and after the earthquake a fire, 

but the Lord was not in the fire;

and after the fire a sound of sheer silence.

When Elijah hear it,

he wrapped his face in his mantle

and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave."

                                                  I Kings 19:11-13a (NRSV)

What continues is a conversation where the Lord instructs Elijah. 

Is it possible that our culture places certain stereotypes on God. We have come to accept that the certainty of God’s will comes only in large ways. The claps of thunder or the bolts of lightening is how God gets our attention. Or so we think. While these profound signs would be wonderful and very helpful in discernment, they are not often the case. I know that in my life I have experienced very few of these types of revelation.

While I believe that God can reveal Himself in ways that we read about in I Kings, I also believe He reveals Himself by simply allowing us to proceed along a given path. By this, I mean, Gerrie and I did not have this grand revelation the we were to go to England. Admittedly, having been to England, we knew that if our journey took to us there, we would not be unhappy. But while setting in a classroom in Lausanne, all we really knew was that we planned to continue in a foreign locale after our school and outreach.

From our small room in the chalet, we continued praying and talking. We were learning of other mission locations almost weekly. Some of these were quite interesting. But still, we kept coming back to England.  We found two mission operations in the United Kingdom that had performing arts ministries that looked interesting. With my background in theater and music both of these seemed like logical places for us to consider. One was in Edinburgh, Scotland and the other in Nuneaton, England at a place called The King’s Lodge. Edinburgh we had heard of. Nuneaton has us looking for a map. 

Still, no thunder clap or rolling thunder.

We kept talking about and praying about both these locations. The King’s Lodge was in need of additional staff for their Creative Arts Evangelism Ministry. There were also other staff positions that Gerrie could be involved in until she could join a school staff.  There was also a place there we could live. We learned that the leader of our school had once served on staff at the Lodge and didn’t seem to mind our thousands of questions. She, along with a few others began praying with us about this direction for our lives. 

Before leaving on the Reconciliation Walk we made our application to The King’s Lodge and continued praying. It was while we were somewhere in Italy that we received word that we were accepted. We were welcome to join the staff at the conclusion of our outreach! Great news!

This meant now we would need to apply to the British Consultant in Geneva for missionary visas to the United Kingdom. We had heard this could be a painstaking and quite lengthy process. Once we finished the Walk and were back in Lausanne, we asked our friend, Marie-Franciośe, to drive us to Geneva. Our plan was to submit our paperwork and come back Lausanne to wait. As it turned out, we visited the Consultant, went out for lunch and a bit of shopping. Before the drive back, we went back to the Consultant and, picked up our approved visas! All this in the course of about four hours. Unheard of?

Still not a thunderclap, but a bit more than a whisper.

After a few days of packing we traveled to France. We spent a week visiting with friends in a small village east of Paris. We also spent an overcast day in Paris; Gerrie and the ladies visiting the Louvre, while I rummaged the stacks at Shakespeare and Company. Then in the early morning of December 13, 1996, we boarded a coach in Paris and began the trip to Nuneaton. We crossed the Channel at Calais and went through customs at Dover, before traveling on to London. Arriving in London late, we made our way to our hotel in Kensington, grabbed a bite to eat and settled in for a much needed nights sleep.

The next morning, December 14, we took a taxi to London’s Euston Station and with all our luggage, made the roughly hour and a half train trip through the English countryside to Nuneaton. Once we arrived, we were met at the station, driven to The King’s Lodge, welcomed and shown to our room. We were given a tour of mission, had tea and were introduced to more people. Through it all we felt completely assured that we were where we were meant to be. That evening, sitting in a small room on the second floor, I pulled out my journal and started to write.

14 December 1996

     Today begins our journey to The King’s Lodge, Nuneaton. It is a journey to our new home away from home, a new work in and for the Kingdom of God, a new extended family, and of new growth and new experiences. It is a journey we have been eager to take to a life we look forward to living.

"After the fire came a sound of sheer silence."

The journey that led us from our quiet living room in Old Hickory, Tennessee to this quiet little room in Nuneaton was not one of splitting mountains and breaking rocks, of wind, earthquakes or fire. It was a journey that was prayerfully and thoughtfully presented to our Lord and one that He confirmed in us through day-to-day confirmations and assurances. He made the way when a way needed to be made and He opened doors when the doors needed to be opened. His provisions were daily. Some were profound while others were a simple reminder to keep doing what you’re doing. Through it all, He was there.

He still is. 

As time goes on I will share more of our life in the Lord. More of our life in England and the places and adventures that we had through making a decision and following God’s call to missions. Being on the mission field was one of the most fulfilling and happiest times of our lives. Being on the mission field is something we would embrace again if that is how God leads.

We have wrapped our faces in our mantles and are now standing at the entrance of the cave. 

Greg

How We Got There: Part II

If I had to come up with a title for the months between Kansas and England, it would be Consideration, Confirmation and Commitment.

Gerrie returned home from Kansas and for the next several weeks we talked about her experiences, the things she did, the things she felt, and the difference it made in her life. It was obvious that she came back a different person from the one that left for the mission trip. What she experienced, and what I experienced vicariously through her, was something more than what we were currently living through our church life. True, we were very much involved in our church and I feel that we were making a contribution   there. But the Kansas trip and our introduction to Youth With A Mission taught us that there was more that we could be doing and that we were not so old that we couldn’t consider it.

So we began praying and praying a lot. We knew that if going out as missionaries was something we were to do, then two major concerns would have to be dealt with. These were employment and finances. 

The first concern was the easier of the two.  I had already resigned my corporate job and was happily working in the stock room of a local Christian bookstore. Gerrie, on the other hand, was settled in a career with a major non-profit and thought of leaving was a new idea for her. My having already taken the step a few years earlier paved the way, but it was still a hard decision to make. It is scary to go from making a reasonable living to making no living at all, with no sizable savings account to draw from. It took coming to a place in life where feeling called to go out far outweighed the need to stay home. In a short time we had reached a point where it was time to begin downsizing and planning for the next step. This led us to the financial considerations.

I don’t like to talk about money. In fact, I tend to steer clear of any discussions on money, politics and religion. I have my views and leave others to theirs. But, for  this moment I will discuss money.  To serve with Youth With A Mission is to serve as a self-employed, or self-supporting, missionary. You do not get paid. This meant that we had to raise our own support. We would need to share our calling to leave our home, jobs and families with family and friends, and then add, “Say, would you consider supporting financially while we’re away.” This was a foreign concept to some but not to others. To some it seemed absurd while to others it is simply an extension of their faith. We talked  and prayed about it and trusted that if we were hearing God correctly He would make a way for us to go. We came up with an amount we felt we needed to take this new journey in Christ. Without sharing the figure, we simply spoke and wrote to people asking them to think and pray about supporting us.

It didn’t happen overnight, but before we left to begin our training in Europe, we had far exceeded the goal we had set. To us, this was another way God was giving us confirmation! We felt that we were doing what He had called us to for this season in our lives.

We also considered our commitment; we didn’t see this as one to two week or three to six month commitment. It was a lifestyle choice. We intended to leave our home and be gone for quite some time. Early on we hoped and prayed that our desire to serve would lead us to England. But our road would take us first through Switzerland. In Switzerland we enrolled in the Crossroads Discipleship Training School; a discipleship course designed for people 35 years and older.

The school is located in the old Golf Hotel in Chalet a Gobet, north of Lausanne, in the French speaking area of the country. It was the first training location for YWAM founded in 1969. For three months Gerrie and I lived in a very small room on the top floor and attended classes and took meals in the basement. Between the two were between 90 and 100 stair steps. I forget the exact number. In a sense we were getting in shape both spiritually and physically.

The Crossroads school was an exciting and enlightening time for us. Coming from a fairly conservative denominational background, we were exposed to new thoughts, new ways of looking at scripture, and new expressions of worship. These were not contrary to our beliefs but simply areas that were not often explored or indulged. The school lasted 12 weeks and each week focused on a topic promoting spiritual growth while encouraging and challenging us to go deeper in our relationship with God. I like what one YWAM school calls it, “a honeymoon with God.”

From the classroom session we then participated in an outreach. The outreach can be  a whole class or smaller groups and journey to places all over the world. For our outreach, the whole class participated in the Reconciliation Walk. I want to write in more detail about later so I will not say much on this now. I will say that it meant being part of a group that walked over 1,000 miles through Europe, between Dijon, France and Bari, Italy. An incredible experience! 

So back to Consideration, Confirmation and Commitment. It could be summed with the word, time. We needed time. We needed all the time that it took between Gerrie stepping off the bus from Kansas in the summer of ’95 to us arriving in Bari on a windy 24 November 1996. We needed time to consider what life could be, apart from what we had known life to be. We needed time to completely press into God, to discover and have Him confirm what He wanted us to do for Him with our lives. We needed the time to go from hearing, to stepping out in faith to see what God can do. We needed the time to hear Him speak to us, to expand our view of the world, to encourage us, and to walk with us in our commitment to serve.  

We needed the time to begin an incredible journey! Next week the journey leads us to a  week in Le Gault la Foret, France and a day in Paris. Then we cross the English Channel to begin life our life in England.

Greg

An aside:  I can not begin to tell you how much grief we took for making Switzerland our first stop. Honestly, it was a compromise location. We both had different first and second choices on where we wanted to take our school. Switzerland was the third choice for  each of us. We simply learned to make fun of the situation about how we were roughing it and so forth. People understood, I think.