27 October 2010
As it had been with most other places I stayed, the walls lacked sufficient insulation to muffle the noises from adjacent rooms. And as it happened throughout my trip, at just the moment I climbed into bed and pulled the covers to my throat, someone next door was just traipsing in from a night of heaven knows what. First it was the family to my left. About an hour later, the room above me was astir. After eating, though, my head had stopped throbbing, so at least I wasn't so hungover from the journey anymore. And it seemed that I would be grounded anyway. In light of all the hubbub, I couldn't guess at which time I fell asleep. I suspect, and so I include it in this post, it was past midnight.
Around 3:00 a.m. I was roused by a hissing sound that reminded me of sleet. Being from Nova Scotia, where precipitation is abundant and the temperature is quite fluctual, the sound of wet snow is a familiar one. Frustrated, I got out of bed and pulled back the curtain which faced the swimming pool (my room was a short walk from the parking lot). I was pleasantly surprised to see that it was rain. Legit rain. At 3:00? I had thought for certain it would have been below freezing at that hour. I got back in bed and the little gears in my head began to move. "If it's warm enough to rain outside, maybe Idaho is being unaffected, at least for now, by the cold front that has littered much of the midwest with snow."
I emancipated myself from the bondage of sterile motel sheets and darted to the washroom. Within seconds, I had a toothbrush in my mouth and was spelunking through the room, gathering all my belongings and placing them on the bed. I set aside my map and a few food and drink items, and by 3:30 I was sitting in my car waiting for the windows to defrost. My key card was locked away in my hotel room, which could have been mind for another eight hours or so. But not anymore. There was no turning back. Uncertain how far I might get that day, how soon it would be that the mighty hand of Yahweh would unleash some flurries upon me and ground me somewhere I didn't want to bunk up, I was hightailin' it outta Twin Falls, Idaho. Hadn't really seen the place; didn't want to know if the casinos looked any better in daylight. Nay, my heart was already in Caronport, just as the Lord had convicted me. Stubborn though I was, I was intent on getting there. No matter what. Maybe the Lord wouldn't change the weather for me, but maybe He'd have some mercy on ole James. It's not good to test Him, but I suppose it quite a stretch to assert I was thinking clearly.
I followed the signs to the interstate, but because of the darkness I didn't notice that there was a rural road a few car lengths before the ramp. It could very well be that it was clearly marked, but I just didn't see it. I assumed, also, in light of the fact that no one seemed to be heading in the same direction as me, that all the traffic I was seeing to my left was elevated because the highway was divided. But then I started to notice transports going in the same direction as I was, and it occurred to me that I had made a wrong turn. I had only driven for ten minutes, but it was mildly discouraging to retrace my steps and take the real freeway toward Pocatello. I flipped out again, uttering at one point some idle statements to the effect that God really didn't like me. In my journal that night I recorded the following quote: "Praise be to chaos." Nevertheless, I made it back to town and took the real freeway entrance.
The roads were clear, and there was hardly any traffic, so this was quite luxurious as far as freeway driving was concerned. I met a convoy of transport trucks at one point, and getting through them was a little cumbersome. They have a tendency of passing one another at a fraction of the time it would take me, and they do it at times that would be opportune for me to make some gains on them. In any case, I think their presence kept me from dozing off, seeing as I had more in the way of visual stimuli than signs and paint. I did, however, have to variously turn the heat up and down, crack the window, and drink some Red Bulls. This plan I had hatched with little thought was starting to seem like a fool's errand, being that I had barely rested from a very productive travel day that ended a few hours prior. Nevertheless, I was probably going to hit the storm systems and halt my journey by the time I could become a real hazard to myself or others. I do think, mind you, that if I had been travelling with anyone else I never would have tried this. At least then I could have had someone to chat with. Spending most of my time in the car and hotel rooms just left me cold, lonely, and cabin feverish.
I did at one point ask the Lord why He always have me do these things alone. Most of the significant events in my life had been solo. Let's see. There was conversion. Going to Briercrest. Anyway, I soon discerned that this wasn't a healthy mental pursuit, so I tried to focus on other things.
At one point I saw a billboard that cited Ephesians 2:8-9 just as the song "Your Grace is Enough" started to play on one of the CDs my friends had given me. I had received many confirmations in the days leading up to the trip, and it was encouraging, in light of the post-Shasta experience, to receive another in this context.
Pocatello has a bunch of industrial plants just outside the main city, so the first thing that greeted me as I approached was the scent of sulfur. I continued on to Idaho Falls, and from there I headed north toward Butte. The sun was finally starting to illuminate the sky, and I was starting to run out of plains. And there it was. The terrain was starting to rise again, and a big, honkin' purple cloud hovered above the mountains ahead. The temperature was ripe for snow. This was it.
At this point I need to pause and make a disclaimer. I could spend the rest of my days trying to describe the signficance or the power of what happened, but I'd never capture it. Even in telling the story in person, it seems that listeners inevitably miss the force of it, or at least their expressions seem this way. I'm not writing this to suggest I've shared it and no one has cared. Nor do I think anyone has doubted what happened. But there is a sense in which everything that happened to me since my conversion culminated in the moment I'm about to depict. Every thought, every trial, every blessing, every failure, the things I'd spoken to the Lord throughout my trip, especially in Reno and in Twin Falls--it all just melted inside me. I have described this incident as the defining moment of the journey. It is on account of this incident that I said, upon my arrival in Caronport, and I reiterate now, that 27 October 2010 was the second most significant day of my life. (Nonbelievers may need the further clarification that my Christian birthday was and will forever remain the most important.)
So I drove into the weather system. Ahead it was dark. The clouds were so thick. A few miles west I could see some precipitation falling. I was driving into what seemed to be the same system. I had no snow tires. The roads were steep and curvy. I looked up as if to petition the Lord for His help, but I beheld something that, as I already mentioned, words can't capture. Directly above me, the clouds began to part. It was as if Jesus had told them, "I curse any one of you who casts a shadow on James." I looked ahead, and they split open before I could get to them. For the next hour and a half, I could predict which way the road would veer, because it was directly above the freeway that the clouds were parting. If there was a hill or trees or some obstruction to block my view of the freeway, I could uncannily anticipate the route because the clouds were parting above it. A wave of comfort passed through me and I wept as I drove. God said He couldn't cater the weather to me, but He did it anyway. I could belabour this point, but it's too precious to taint with many words. I guess you probably had to be there, and perhaps you had to be me, but it's an event I will never forget.
With my faith built to new levels, I reached the city of Helena to discover that a fair bit of snow had fallen and the roads hadn't been cleared yet. It seemed the Lord was giving me an opportunity to trust Him, being that I felt led to continue north. I found myself driving in precisely the conditions I had dreaded, going up and down slopes, rounding 40 degree turns, and yet the car never hinted that it might skid out my lane. I was patient, and many others, presumably with appropriate tires and/or chains, passed me, but for all the drifting I could feel the car doing, I felt as safe as I would in my dorm room on a sunny day. The Lord spoke to me then, saying that I should not think myself safe because of what my eyes see, but that I need Him just as much at the library as I do in treacherous weather. And as I've been told by many older disciples, the safest place to be is within His will. Before long, I was past the snow, and the temperature started to rise to about 6C as I approached Great Falls.
I drove past Great Falls, and it rose as high as 12C. I listened to worship music, singing my vocal chords raw and praying throughout the journey. I suddenly came upon a bunch of trucks lined up in the road. I was at the border!
Because there were so many oversized vehicles, the customs agents were preoccupied with getting them through, so there was only one lane for smaller vehicles. It seemed like such a long wait, but I was in good spirits. I made it through customs and drove past Coutts, stopping at a railway crossing to allow dozens and dozens and dozens of train cars to pass by. I was boxed in by some big vehicles, including one that was carrying one of those moveable houses as its cargo, so my vision was quite limited.
I had to watch my speed in Alberta, since the posted limits were significantly lower than they had been in Montana. As I headed north toward Lethbridge, I saw this mist that filled the entire sky. I'm not exaggerating here. It wasn't just horizontal. Its vertical reach was like a mushroom clouds that just impregnated the entire flippin' sky. This is no small feat in the prairies. I drove into it and discovered that it was akin to fog, but I didn't know that it was fog. It was this strange mist that I imagine had spawned from the warmer weather that evaporated all the melted snow I'd been hearing about.
I had perfect roads all the way to Swift Current. The sun was setting, and there didn't seem to be any convenient places to get a sandwich right on the highway (unless I wanted to cross the median, which I couldn't!). So I pressed on toward Caronport and was pleasantly surprised to discover that the roads were still clear... until I reached all places familiar. I had no sooner driven past Mortlach, which is about 20 km from Caronport, when I hit solid black ice. Parts of the road were under construction, and nothing had been cleared! My car fishtailed about three times before I finally crawled into the Sundbo parking lot, having been passed by many vehicles who clearly had much better traction than Isobel's tires. I pulled into my parking spot, turned off the engine, unbuckled, opened the door, and fell to my knees just outside the car. I gathered all the items I cared to bring in with me that night, and struggled to my room. I hugged a bunch of friends, observed many of them play Apples to Apples in a stupor, and went to bed shortly thereafter.
Mileage: 5376 km
Monday, November 8, 2010
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
The Road to Caronport (Day 5)
26 October 2010
I left Mount Shasta at 6:30 a.m., taking the 89 (the route my new friends had shown me the night before). It was dark outside, and the headlights created a glare on the roads. Seemed to be a lot of black ice, and the temperature was ripe for the stuff, but I could feel good traction in my tires and I knew the Lord was with me. As expected, the road cut through the mountains, so I would often see signs indicating that my altitude was so many thousand feet (usually between 3-5). The sun started to creep up from somewhere, as a faint glow seemed to cause the sky to blush a bit, but it seems that daybreak never comes in the mountains because they shield a person's view of the sunrise. The scenery seemed like a navy silhouette after a while, and it was kind of creepy and beautiful at once.
I had to stop a few times for road construction, but the delays weren't that bad. Normally there would have been an extra lane to use at reduced speeds, but I could understand why mountain passes would only exist as two-lane, undivided roads. Finally the sun breached the treetops, and it was a bit frustrating at times because I was driving east and it was directly in front of me for extended stretches. At times I had to cover it with my open hands because it was blinding. The terrain slowly tapered into hills instead of steeper slopes, into fields instead of hills, and by the time morning was expiring I was almost to Reno.
Reno. How many times had I thought to myself on the way that, if there was any city on the entire trip that I didn't want to contend with, it was Reno? How many times had I thought it on the outskirts. I think I even told the Lord I wanted to just slink by the thing like it didn't exist. I had never been there. I knew it had a certain reputation of being the awkward cousin to Las Vegas. But I just had a hunch that it would be a real behemoth to drive. But I was quite calm when I reached the one sign I saw the entire time I was there that indicated I needed to be two lanes closer to my turn-off just as I was zipping past it. Instead of immediately retreating to that exit, I assumed there would be other opportunities to get to the I-80 down the road. There were not. I wound up on the other end of town, got back on the freeway, and tried to return to where I had come from so I could make quick use of some overpass and be on my way. I wound up on some rural road that seemed to lead nowhere. In the distance I could see what looked like the freeway, and I was not making gains to draw near to it. Again, I backtracked and somehow ended up on a road that went up a mountain slope. I deduced that I was in some swank neighbourhood and that I was only prolonging my stay in Reno. Backtrack again. Twenty minutes later, I was at the core of the downtown, surrounded by hotels and sidewalks with pedestrians and franchises of every imaginable sort. Oh yeah, and I was hopping mad. I started to address the Lord with an irreverent posture, asking Him if He would please just lead me out of this chaotic place. When another 20 minutes had passed, I took an even worse tone with Him and my diction started to reflect it. This was not contributing to an efficient use of my time on this trip, and the goal was to get as far as possible. Or so I thought. But, after a while, He allowed me to weasel my way out of Reno, and I was on the I-80 heading east through the desert. It wasn't the adventure the previous travel days had been. I had just spoken a few dozen idle statements, and the Spirit in me felt a bit snuffed out and grieved at my conduct. And so, for the first segment of the desert portion of my journey, I was silent and didn't really say anything to the Lord. He hadn't left me, of course, but there seemed to be a silence I had wanted and He was honouring. I didn't want to end this journey on a sour note, but I was so fed up with having lost an hour wandering a city that seemed to bring out the worst in me. I told myself it had bigger demons than Mount Shasta and didn't give it a second thought until that evening. But I must say, even now, it's hard not to hate Reno.
The desert was a new experience for me, so it was easy to get lost in the scenery again. Also, the freeway that connects Reno to Salt Lake City is just so easy to drive. The road was well-kept, visibility was ideal, and the posted speed limits were high as a result, so I made good time all the way to Wells. I had decided to head north from Wells, Nevada to Twin Falls, Idaho. It seemed like a good place to bunk up for the night, and it was within striking distance of the 15 to Lethbridge. En route to Wells I listened to some worship CDs my friends in Mount Shasta had given me, and the Lord was gracious in making His presence strong in the car. It was a very fruitful time, during which I talked to Him about a lot of things.
The Lord communicated a lot of things to me as I headed east. Yes, He had released me from Mount Shasta. But as soon as He did, I immediately switched gears and decided in my heart that I was going to get home to Caronport as soon as possible. I had no concern for any other stops He might have planned. He pointed out that, instead of praying over Reno, I spent the better part of an hour cursing it. And this was unacceptable. Who was I to assume that He didn't have divine appointments for me? But, seeing as I refused to stop and ask for directions, seeing as nothing would evidently get me out of the car except He let me run out of gas, He gave up wrestling with me and just put me back on the freeway. My heart sunk imagining what kinds of opportunities He might have had for me, but I decided not to dwell on it. It had also occurred to me, though, that He sometimes allows me to be blind to selective things, and I still wonder if the freeway that runs through Reno is just littered with signs to the interstate, but that I wasn't allowed to see them while I was there as a means of testing me or steering me into the city. Nevertheless, what's done is done.
I got to Wells and it was flippin' freezing outside. I shivered as I put some gas into my car, after which I bought a bunch of energy drinks and a few food items for the journey. I asked an employee at the convenience store if the 93 was a decent road to take, whether it was mountainous compared to heading to Salt Lake and continuing along the interstate. He said it wasn't bad, so I decided to keep with my intended route for that day. For a while it was great. The only concern were the signs that read "Xtreme Deer Xing" (or something to that effect), but I never saw any. What was extremely frustrating was that, about halfway to Twin Falls the road starting to rise higher and higher. The cars that began to pass me heading south had snow on them. The temperature dipped to freezing. Suddenly, I found myself at 5000 feet again, and the sky was just givin' 'er like snow was going out of fashion. I had no snow tires, and I hadn't driven in snow in over a year, seeing as my car had no insurance on it when I went home for Christmas break my first year at Briercrest. The roads did a roller coaster sort of thing, but God kept me safe. By the time I got through this mess and onto decent roads again, I had passed by many a motel and casino. That's the thing I often noticed in these states; there was gambling just about everywhere. I was proud to learn, after returning to Saskatchewan, that it's illegal in many places.
Anyway, I drove to Twin Falls and pulled into the first gas station I could find. I filled my tank for the following morning and bought a sandwich. My head was just throbbing, probably from the stress of driving and the fact that, yet again, I had missed some meals that day. Sure, I had eaten some trail mix in California, and some apricots in Nevada, but my body was pretty taxed at that point.
As I was unloading my luggage from the car, I walked past this couple who were emerging from there room. The man kind of startled me by saying something to the effect of "What's up?" I became aware that I was being looked at before I knew I'd been addressed, and my mind did that thing where it processes something it was just about to discard into my mental recycle bin.
"Not much," I replied. "How are you guys doing?"
"Not bad," he said, "but we'd be better if we could find some pot. Got any?"
A wave of anxiety passed through me. I didn't have any. I wouldn't have any. And I had no desire to ever see the stuff again, but I was so dang paranoid that someone would see me talking with them and assume I was doing more than being polite. "No, I've been sober for over two years."
"Really?" the girl asked. "Well, if we find some bud, we'll have to end your streak." She laughed. "Just kidding."
I wasn't impressed. "Anyway, you guys have a good one."
They headed toward the street and I put the rest of my belongings in my room. I locked the door behind me, but it wasn't long before I started to have paranoid images scroll through my head about them getting in trouble and someone wanting to ask me questions as if I knew them. I moved my car to the other side of the motel, just in case they had seen which one I drove. I hoped they wouldn't make any effort to look for me or knock on my door, and it turned out they didn't (thank the Lord!). But my stress levels were maxing out and I just didn't need Satan sending his agents after me, especially when my head felt like a wrung-out washcloth and my stomach was doing cartwheels.
I turned on the mobile network option on my cell phone (kept it off during the day so as not to accrue any roaming fees) and a bunch of texts came through staccato. Steve had sent me the following: "Hey buddy! Just wanted you to know im thinking and praying for you." Sweet. Another message from him: "Oh! And its snowing here." [!&@#.]
I turned on the television in the room to see if they had the Weather Channel. I watched image after image of grounded passenger interviews, toppled trees, snow storms, just about any nasty weather you could name. Seems that the entire country was getting dummied. The forecast showed a band of storms that seemed to trace the border north of Idaho and stretching as far as Ontario. There were patches of storm systems between me and the border. It seemed, all of a sudden, that I would not be getting home as quickly as I had gotten to Mount Shasta. It was as if, and sure felt like, God was blocking my entry into Canada. Heck, He might even have been blocking my safe passage out of this state. My thoughts turned quite sour, on par with the same evil sentiments I had harboured back in Reno. No, Reno was a picnic compared to this mess. After a while I just shut off the television and, for the second time on day 5, tore a verbal strip into God.
"Seriously, Lord, You ask me to leave my country and go to Mount Shasta. I do. You have some things for me to do, some people to meet, and you make it all happen. You've taught me so many things and put to death so many doubts and fears and bondage and things I'd been clinging to. Can't I just go home? Why are you throwing these hurdles in my path? It doesn't make any sense!"
His response was something like this, "I receive more glory if I deliver you from danger than if I deliver you from security. Also, you have no right to assume that you are already free to return to Canada. As it was in Reno, so it is now, you have set your heart on leaving, and it is not sufficient for you to be obedient one day and independent the next. You have accepted no instruction or direction from Me today, and look how anxious you are in spirit! You must trust me, James; I will continue to deliver you. But you also need to understand that I have millions of lives in my care throughout the affected areas, and I never promised to cater the weather to your plans. It is narcissistic of you to think I ever would. Now you must trust me."
I didn't care for His reply, so I contemplated my options. Should I plan on staying in Twin Falls a few days? Should I leave right then? My imagination was quite fertile that night. I had some horrible visions, probably a shared effort between the enemy and me. I was miserable, and my attitude was worse. I posted some pretty pointed statements on Facebook using my cell phone. I went to bed angry. Midnight came and went. I hadn't fallen asleep yet. Not sure what hour I did, but it was short lived. I would later describe the following day, 27 October 2010, as the second most significant in my life. Only the day I was saved had been more impacting. But I had no sense of that yet. No, for now I wanted nothing to do with God. I wanted, as I said on Facebook, to hit the proverbial delete key on this whole trip. I felt duped and deceived. But I am, after all, a sinner. Not proud by any means. And yet, sometimes the best lessons about grace are given to us when we couldn't even conceive of deserving it. God had authored a pretty cool story and was about to show Himself to me in a way I never would have dreamed to ask for.
Mileage: 3850 km
I left Mount Shasta at 6:30 a.m., taking the 89 (the route my new friends had shown me the night before). It was dark outside, and the headlights created a glare on the roads. Seemed to be a lot of black ice, and the temperature was ripe for the stuff, but I could feel good traction in my tires and I knew the Lord was with me. As expected, the road cut through the mountains, so I would often see signs indicating that my altitude was so many thousand feet (usually between 3-5). The sun started to creep up from somewhere, as a faint glow seemed to cause the sky to blush a bit, but it seems that daybreak never comes in the mountains because they shield a person's view of the sunrise. The scenery seemed like a navy silhouette after a while, and it was kind of creepy and beautiful at once.
I had to stop a few times for road construction, but the delays weren't that bad. Normally there would have been an extra lane to use at reduced speeds, but I could understand why mountain passes would only exist as two-lane, undivided roads. Finally the sun breached the treetops, and it was a bit frustrating at times because I was driving east and it was directly in front of me for extended stretches. At times I had to cover it with my open hands because it was blinding. The terrain slowly tapered into hills instead of steeper slopes, into fields instead of hills, and by the time morning was expiring I was almost to Reno.
Reno. How many times had I thought to myself on the way that, if there was any city on the entire trip that I didn't want to contend with, it was Reno? How many times had I thought it on the outskirts. I think I even told the Lord I wanted to just slink by the thing like it didn't exist. I had never been there. I knew it had a certain reputation of being the awkward cousin to Las Vegas. But I just had a hunch that it would be a real behemoth to drive. But I was quite calm when I reached the one sign I saw the entire time I was there that indicated I needed to be two lanes closer to my turn-off just as I was zipping past it. Instead of immediately retreating to that exit, I assumed there would be other opportunities to get to the I-80 down the road. There were not. I wound up on the other end of town, got back on the freeway, and tried to return to where I had come from so I could make quick use of some overpass and be on my way. I wound up on some rural road that seemed to lead nowhere. In the distance I could see what looked like the freeway, and I was not making gains to draw near to it. Again, I backtracked and somehow ended up on a road that went up a mountain slope. I deduced that I was in some swank neighbourhood and that I was only prolonging my stay in Reno. Backtrack again. Twenty minutes later, I was at the core of the downtown, surrounded by hotels and sidewalks with pedestrians and franchises of every imaginable sort. Oh yeah, and I was hopping mad. I started to address the Lord with an irreverent posture, asking Him if He would please just lead me out of this chaotic place. When another 20 minutes had passed, I took an even worse tone with Him and my diction started to reflect it. This was not contributing to an efficient use of my time on this trip, and the goal was to get as far as possible. Or so I thought. But, after a while, He allowed me to weasel my way out of Reno, and I was on the I-80 heading east through the desert. It wasn't the adventure the previous travel days had been. I had just spoken a few dozen idle statements, and the Spirit in me felt a bit snuffed out and grieved at my conduct. And so, for the first segment of the desert portion of my journey, I was silent and didn't really say anything to the Lord. He hadn't left me, of course, but there seemed to be a silence I had wanted and He was honouring. I didn't want to end this journey on a sour note, but I was so fed up with having lost an hour wandering a city that seemed to bring out the worst in me. I told myself it had bigger demons than Mount Shasta and didn't give it a second thought until that evening. But I must say, even now, it's hard not to hate Reno.
The desert was a new experience for me, so it was easy to get lost in the scenery again. Also, the freeway that connects Reno to Salt Lake City is just so easy to drive. The road was well-kept, visibility was ideal, and the posted speed limits were high as a result, so I made good time all the way to Wells. I had decided to head north from Wells, Nevada to Twin Falls, Idaho. It seemed like a good place to bunk up for the night, and it was within striking distance of the 15 to Lethbridge. En route to Wells I listened to some worship CDs my friends in Mount Shasta had given me, and the Lord was gracious in making His presence strong in the car. It was a very fruitful time, during which I talked to Him about a lot of things.
The Lord communicated a lot of things to me as I headed east. Yes, He had released me from Mount Shasta. But as soon as He did, I immediately switched gears and decided in my heart that I was going to get home to Caronport as soon as possible. I had no concern for any other stops He might have planned. He pointed out that, instead of praying over Reno, I spent the better part of an hour cursing it. And this was unacceptable. Who was I to assume that He didn't have divine appointments for me? But, seeing as I refused to stop and ask for directions, seeing as nothing would evidently get me out of the car except He let me run out of gas, He gave up wrestling with me and just put me back on the freeway. My heart sunk imagining what kinds of opportunities He might have had for me, but I decided not to dwell on it. It had also occurred to me, though, that He sometimes allows me to be blind to selective things, and I still wonder if the freeway that runs through Reno is just littered with signs to the interstate, but that I wasn't allowed to see them while I was there as a means of testing me or steering me into the city. Nevertheless, what's done is done.
I got to Wells and it was flippin' freezing outside. I shivered as I put some gas into my car, after which I bought a bunch of energy drinks and a few food items for the journey. I asked an employee at the convenience store if the 93 was a decent road to take, whether it was mountainous compared to heading to Salt Lake and continuing along the interstate. He said it wasn't bad, so I decided to keep with my intended route for that day. For a while it was great. The only concern were the signs that read "Xtreme Deer Xing" (or something to that effect), but I never saw any. What was extremely frustrating was that, about halfway to Twin Falls the road starting to rise higher and higher. The cars that began to pass me heading south had snow on them. The temperature dipped to freezing. Suddenly, I found myself at 5000 feet again, and the sky was just givin' 'er like snow was going out of fashion. I had no snow tires, and I hadn't driven in snow in over a year, seeing as my car had no insurance on it when I went home for Christmas break my first year at Briercrest. The roads did a roller coaster sort of thing, but God kept me safe. By the time I got through this mess and onto decent roads again, I had passed by many a motel and casino. That's the thing I often noticed in these states; there was gambling just about everywhere. I was proud to learn, after returning to Saskatchewan, that it's illegal in many places.
Anyway, I drove to Twin Falls and pulled into the first gas station I could find. I filled my tank for the following morning and bought a sandwich. My head was just throbbing, probably from the stress of driving and the fact that, yet again, I had missed some meals that day. Sure, I had eaten some trail mix in California, and some apricots in Nevada, but my body was pretty taxed at that point.
As I was unloading my luggage from the car, I walked past this couple who were emerging from there room. The man kind of startled me by saying something to the effect of "What's up?" I became aware that I was being looked at before I knew I'd been addressed, and my mind did that thing where it processes something it was just about to discard into my mental recycle bin.
"Not much," I replied. "How are you guys doing?"
"Not bad," he said, "but we'd be better if we could find some pot. Got any?"
A wave of anxiety passed through me. I didn't have any. I wouldn't have any. And I had no desire to ever see the stuff again, but I was so dang paranoid that someone would see me talking with them and assume I was doing more than being polite. "No, I've been sober for over two years."
"Really?" the girl asked. "Well, if we find some bud, we'll have to end your streak." She laughed. "Just kidding."
I wasn't impressed. "Anyway, you guys have a good one."
They headed toward the street and I put the rest of my belongings in my room. I locked the door behind me, but it wasn't long before I started to have paranoid images scroll through my head about them getting in trouble and someone wanting to ask me questions as if I knew them. I moved my car to the other side of the motel, just in case they had seen which one I drove. I hoped they wouldn't make any effort to look for me or knock on my door, and it turned out they didn't (thank the Lord!). But my stress levels were maxing out and I just didn't need Satan sending his agents after me, especially when my head felt like a wrung-out washcloth and my stomach was doing cartwheels.
I turned on the mobile network option on my cell phone (kept it off during the day so as not to accrue any roaming fees) and a bunch of texts came through staccato. Steve had sent me the following: "Hey buddy! Just wanted you to know im thinking and praying for you." Sweet. Another message from him: "Oh! And its snowing here." [!&@#.]
I turned on the television in the room to see if they had the Weather Channel. I watched image after image of grounded passenger interviews, toppled trees, snow storms, just about any nasty weather you could name. Seems that the entire country was getting dummied. The forecast showed a band of storms that seemed to trace the border north of Idaho and stretching as far as Ontario. There were patches of storm systems between me and the border. It seemed, all of a sudden, that I would not be getting home as quickly as I had gotten to Mount Shasta. It was as if, and sure felt like, God was blocking my entry into Canada. Heck, He might even have been blocking my safe passage out of this state. My thoughts turned quite sour, on par with the same evil sentiments I had harboured back in Reno. No, Reno was a picnic compared to this mess. After a while I just shut off the television and, for the second time on day 5, tore a verbal strip into God.
"Seriously, Lord, You ask me to leave my country and go to Mount Shasta. I do. You have some things for me to do, some people to meet, and you make it all happen. You've taught me so many things and put to death so many doubts and fears and bondage and things I'd been clinging to. Can't I just go home? Why are you throwing these hurdles in my path? It doesn't make any sense!"
His response was something like this, "I receive more glory if I deliver you from danger than if I deliver you from security. Also, you have no right to assume that you are already free to return to Canada. As it was in Reno, so it is now, you have set your heart on leaving, and it is not sufficient for you to be obedient one day and independent the next. You have accepted no instruction or direction from Me today, and look how anxious you are in spirit! You must trust me, James; I will continue to deliver you. But you also need to understand that I have millions of lives in my care throughout the affected areas, and I never promised to cater the weather to your plans. It is narcissistic of you to think I ever would. Now you must trust me."
I didn't care for His reply, so I contemplated my options. Should I plan on staying in Twin Falls a few days? Should I leave right then? My imagination was quite fertile that night. I had some horrible visions, probably a shared effort between the enemy and me. I was miserable, and my attitude was worse. I posted some pretty pointed statements on Facebook using my cell phone. I went to bed angry. Midnight came and went. I hadn't fallen asleep yet. Not sure what hour I did, but it was short lived. I would later describe the following day, 27 October 2010, as the second most significant in my life. Only the day I was saved had been more impacting. But I had no sense of that yet. No, for now I wanted nothing to do with God. I wanted, as I said on Facebook, to hit the proverbial delete key on this whole trip. I felt duped and deceived. But I am, after all, a sinner. Not proud by any means. And yet, sometimes the best lessons about grace are given to us when we couldn't even conceive of deserving it. God had authored a pretty cool story and was about to show Himself to me in a way I never would have dreamed to ask for.
Mileage: 3850 km
Monday, November 1, 2010
Mount Shasta (Day 4)
25 October 2010
I slept in. It was a nice change of pace. I had averaged about 843 km a day since leaving Caronport, had missed meals, had struggled to sleep, and I no longer felt the urgency to be somewhere else. I woke up at 9:30 a.m. and got ready at my leisure. It was kind of strange to wake up in Mount Shasta, which had become something of an enigma to me. But isn't it always that way with foreign or unknown things that God freely chooses to stitch to our hearts? (Why Mount Shasta, Lord?) Digress.
I decided to wear some of the thermal gear I had brought in a second backpack. It snowed the day before and patches of white dust still dotted the ground in various places near the city.
I left the motel and decided I would pray over the mountain first. Based on all my investigations, the mountain seemed to be the object of misplaced faith, if not the culprit. I drove out of town toward the mountain and accidentally wound up on the freeway. In the process of backtracking I turned onto a road that chanced to lead to the mountain itself, so God was evidently still guiding me (when I'd pay attention). Unfortunately, I found the gravel road to the mountain pass fenced off. People had been talking about road closures on account of the snow, so that probably accounted for the fact that I couldn't really draw near to it. In any case, it was hunting season and I had no orange vest, so maybe the Lord did me a solid in not allowing me to get too close. For all I knew I would have entered a demonic stronghold there, too. So I prayed from afar that people would stop reverencing the mountain, towering and beautiful as it was. I asked Jesus to equip the local residents to glorify its Creator, Jesus Christ. I also prayed that any demons that had been deluding people would be bound in the name of Christ and cast into the same abyss we read about in the New Testament. With that accomplished, I took a few photos and returned to town.
I parked on Mount Shasta Blvd and walked around the town, praying that God would release it from bondage. It turned out that I was perhaps a little overdressed because the temperature rose higher than expected, broaching 10C, so I was wearing at least one layer too much. And the sun was still rising. I prayed over businesses and residences, hoping that the extraordinary circumstance of my presence would touch God's heart in a unique way. I suppose I should censor myself on this point, but I don't think I'm boasting here. Sometimes there is no rhyme or reason behind actions except for the fact that God chooses particular agents for particular tasks (cf. Acts 9:10-19). And how pleased would I be with my place in the metanarrative of God if I never do anything worth writing down again, if only the scales would fall from the eyes of the deceived in Mount Shasta! I usually just walked, but I felt particularly compelled to kneel down and pray for God's corrective rod to fall on one enterprise in particular, which seemed as syncretistic as my research has unearthed: the I Am Reading Room. I realize that it might be taboo to name drop, but the spiritual war needs to be directly engaged against demons that have made so many inroads in the hearts and minds of people deluded enough to dig such pits. In the case of this building, the proponents had been audacious enough to borrow a common name the Lord uses to describe Himself, so I am going to exercise my freedom in Christ and ask any willing reader to pray for the release of these people. And if not that, an abrupt end of this false teaching. I was tempted to attend one of their meetings, but they weren't open when I was there. But I repeat, anyone who has a burden for this town needs to pray against all the neo-paganism, mysticism, and new age syncretism.
After my prayer walk, I felt very exhausted. It was getting hard to formulate a coherent thought. I had intended to fast completely, but my vision was getting blurry, so I indulged in some water. I parked on Alma Street and found a bench on Mount Shasta Blvd. I was perplexed as to where to go next. Praying over the town seemed an obvious move, but the Lord had been silent about how long I was to stay there or what else to do. I assumed, based on my lack of fear or temptation or discouragement, that He had been shielding me from spiritual attacks, but I hardly had any clarity about how to serve Him. I people-watched for a stint and finally asked Him bluntly, "Lord, I need a sign. What should I do? Am I dismissed from this place? I'm finding it hard to stay awake." In response, He had this vehicle park right in front of where I was seated, and three gentlemen emerged. They disappeared into some storefront down the street, but not before He had put on their lips a brief conversation that, as best as I could discern, released me from Mount Shasta.
I wasn't there on vacation, nor did I desire to be in my lonesome, so I thanked Him for His faithfulness and decided to leave that day. Before braving the freeway again, I thought I'd best get a good meal in my system to sustain me for the drive. I walked back toward Alma Street and considered my lunch options. I was hesitant, but I felt led to go to this certain place near the bench I had occupied. I walked in and had some unrest about breaking my fast, but after taking a seat and speaking with a greeter I felt that it would be a chump move to walk out. The waitress brought me a menu and gave me a few moments to myself. It was hard to decide what to order because all the items seemed the same, no doubt a symptom of my fatigue. I ordered a pasta dish. Felt like I was in a movie because I was so tired I could have been standing beside myself without noticing the relative displacement of my point of view. She asked if I wanted something other than water to drink. I asked what my options were, to which she replied, "We have beer, wine, Italian soda..."
"Italian soda sounds great," I said.
"Which flavour would you like?"
Even though I always get lime, again I inquired about my options. It was hard to be assertive after three days of driving and a day of fasting.
"Well, we have lime and--"
"That's it!" I said. "You read my mind."
To this she replied, "That's been happening a lot lately. The Lord has really been working on me."
Of course, this caught my attention. I was so tempted to ask her if she could help me discern what the Lord wanted me to do, but I balked. She brought me a salad, and I said nothing. Then came my soda, and I was silent. Meal, nothing. She checked to see how I was doing a few times, and what did I do? Bupkis. Then the bill came, and I reached for my wallet. By this time, the Holy Spirit's conviction was too strong to ignore, so I asked her if she could suffer a question on my behalf. She conceded and I told her that I was from Nova Scotia and had only come to Mount Shasta because the Lord asked me to some fourteen months ago. I told her that I had been fasting and praying over the town since the night before, but I couldn't discern if He wanted me to do anything else and I was kind of anxious to get back to my friends in Saskatchewan. Seeing as she knew the Lord, I was curious if she could see if she wouldn't mind inquiring of Him to ascertain whether I was indeed free to go. I also pointed out that, obviously, I had broken my fast (else I wouldn't have been in the restaurant) but was open to the possibility that even this had been an act of disobedience. Having come this far, I didn't want to botch the mission, but how was I, in my diminished state, to trust my own sensibilities? Quite a heavy thing to drop onto a stranger's shoulders, but I guess there are no faux-pas when it comes to serving God.
For the sake of keeping things in confidence, I will say little in terms of content at this point of the testimony. I do feel free, however, to relate that she had someone with whom she wanted me to speak, and that I wound up spending the next six hours with her and her boyfriend, fellowshipping and sharing stories about things God had done for us. She confirmed, however, that she had felt my prayers consoling her the night before and throughout that morning, which was a pretty powerful thing to discover. A lot of things were addressed on both sides, and I am certain these two will be life-long friends and siblings in the Lord. We prayed for each other at the close of the evening, and we all had a peace about me being free to leave the next morning. There was a chill in the air that filled us with a sense of urgency about getting me home safely, and there were thick clouds that hung over the town like an ominous sign that I would have some nasty weather to contend with. They helped me map out a route to bypass the town of Redding, and it was decided that I would cut through the Nevada desert and then head up through the 15 (the same route I had taken into the U.S.). We parted company, though I suspect I will see them both again some day. (If not in this world, certainly in the kingdom.)
I found a place to stay for the night and then went grocery shopping, purchasing some protein bars, appricot slices, trail mix, a few energy drinks (cursed things!), and some other sundries. I went to bed that night with a sense of purpose. God had done something powerful for me, something that is so intimate and personal that it just can't be written here in great detail. And yeah, I'm the guy who gushed a graphic depiction of humiliating circumstances surrounding my illness, but I did that so God would receive full credit for having healed my digestive issues. But since this concerns others, I just have to steady my proverbial pen. Anyway, discipleship is a two-way process, and it is one that is close to my heart. If you understand it, you will appreciate the need for a gag order here. If you don't, I should point out that God had a few miracles in His pocket for the following days, and I trust they will suffice in validating the events that happened on this day. His deliverance would be made known to me in new and powerful ways. But not until I had been put through the ringer...
Mileage: 2560 km
I slept in. It was a nice change of pace. I had averaged about 843 km a day since leaving Caronport, had missed meals, had struggled to sleep, and I no longer felt the urgency to be somewhere else. I woke up at 9:30 a.m. and got ready at my leisure. It was kind of strange to wake up in Mount Shasta, which had become something of an enigma to me. But isn't it always that way with foreign or unknown things that God freely chooses to stitch to our hearts? (Why Mount Shasta, Lord?) Digress.
I decided to wear some of the thermal gear I had brought in a second backpack. It snowed the day before and patches of white dust still dotted the ground in various places near the city.
I left the motel and decided I would pray over the mountain first. Based on all my investigations, the mountain seemed to be the object of misplaced faith, if not the culprit. I drove out of town toward the mountain and accidentally wound up on the freeway. In the process of backtracking I turned onto a road that chanced to lead to the mountain itself, so God was evidently still guiding me (when I'd pay attention). Unfortunately, I found the gravel road to the mountain pass fenced off. People had been talking about road closures on account of the snow, so that probably accounted for the fact that I couldn't really draw near to it. In any case, it was hunting season and I had no orange vest, so maybe the Lord did me a solid in not allowing me to get too close. For all I knew I would have entered a demonic stronghold there, too. So I prayed from afar that people would stop reverencing the mountain, towering and beautiful as it was. I asked Jesus to equip the local residents to glorify its Creator, Jesus Christ. I also prayed that any demons that had been deluding people would be bound in the name of Christ and cast into the same abyss we read about in the New Testament. With that accomplished, I took a few photos and returned to town.
I parked on Mount Shasta Blvd and walked around the town, praying that God would release it from bondage. It turned out that I was perhaps a little overdressed because the temperature rose higher than expected, broaching 10C, so I was wearing at least one layer too much. And the sun was still rising. I prayed over businesses and residences, hoping that the extraordinary circumstance of my presence would touch God's heart in a unique way. I suppose I should censor myself on this point, but I don't think I'm boasting here. Sometimes there is no rhyme or reason behind actions except for the fact that God chooses particular agents for particular tasks (cf. Acts 9:10-19). And how pleased would I be with my place in the metanarrative of God if I never do anything worth writing down again, if only the scales would fall from the eyes of the deceived in Mount Shasta! I usually just walked, but I felt particularly compelled to kneel down and pray for God's corrective rod to fall on one enterprise in particular, which seemed as syncretistic as my research has unearthed: the I Am Reading Room. I realize that it might be taboo to name drop, but the spiritual war needs to be directly engaged against demons that have made so many inroads in the hearts and minds of people deluded enough to dig such pits. In the case of this building, the proponents had been audacious enough to borrow a common name the Lord uses to describe Himself, so I am going to exercise my freedom in Christ and ask any willing reader to pray for the release of these people. And if not that, an abrupt end of this false teaching. I was tempted to attend one of their meetings, but they weren't open when I was there. But I repeat, anyone who has a burden for this town needs to pray against all the neo-paganism, mysticism, and new age syncretism.
After my prayer walk, I felt very exhausted. It was getting hard to formulate a coherent thought. I had intended to fast completely, but my vision was getting blurry, so I indulged in some water. I parked on Alma Street and found a bench on Mount Shasta Blvd. I was perplexed as to where to go next. Praying over the town seemed an obvious move, but the Lord had been silent about how long I was to stay there or what else to do. I assumed, based on my lack of fear or temptation or discouragement, that He had been shielding me from spiritual attacks, but I hardly had any clarity about how to serve Him. I people-watched for a stint and finally asked Him bluntly, "Lord, I need a sign. What should I do? Am I dismissed from this place? I'm finding it hard to stay awake." In response, He had this vehicle park right in front of where I was seated, and three gentlemen emerged. They disappeared into some storefront down the street, but not before He had put on their lips a brief conversation that, as best as I could discern, released me from Mount Shasta.
I wasn't there on vacation, nor did I desire to be in my lonesome, so I thanked Him for His faithfulness and decided to leave that day. Before braving the freeway again, I thought I'd best get a good meal in my system to sustain me for the drive. I walked back toward Alma Street and considered my lunch options. I was hesitant, but I felt led to go to this certain place near the bench I had occupied. I walked in and had some unrest about breaking my fast, but after taking a seat and speaking with a greeter I felt that it would be a chump move to walk out. The waitress brought me a menu and gave me a few moments to myself. It was hard to decide what to order because all the items seemed the same, no doubt a symptom of my fatigue. I ordered a pasta dish. Felt like I was in a movie because I was so tired I could have been standing beside myself without noticing the relative displacement of my point of view. She asked if I wanted something other than water to drink. I asked what my options were, to which she replied, "We have beer, wine, Italian soda..."
"Italian soda sounds great," I said.
"Which flavour would you like?"
Even though I always get lime, again I inquired about my options. It was hard to be assertive after three days of driving and a day of fasting.
"Well, we have lime and--"
"That's it!" I said. "You read my mind."
To this she replied, "That's been happening a lot lately. The Lord has really been working on me."
Of course, this caught my attention. I was so tempted to ask her if she could help me discern what the Lord wanted me to do, but I balked. She brought me a salad, and I said nothing. Then came my soda, and I was silent. Meal, nothing. She checked to see how I was doing a few times, and what did I do? Bupkis. Then the bill came, and I reached for my wallet. By this time, the Holy Spirit's conviction was too strong to ignore, so I asked her if she could suffer a question on my behalf. She conceded and I told her that I was from Nova Scotia and had only come to Mount Shasta because the Lord asked me to some fourteen months ago. I told her that I had been fasting and praying over the town since the night before, but I couldn't discern if He wanted me to do anything else and I was kind of anxious to get back to my friends in Saskatchewan. Seeing as she knew the Lord, I was curious if she could see if she wouldn't mind inquiring of Him to ascertain whether I was indeed free to go. I also pointed out that, obviously, I had broken my fast (else I wouldn't have been in the restaurant) but was open to the possibility that even this had been an act of disobedience. Having come this far, I didn't want to botch the mission, but how was I, in my diminished state, to trust my own sensibilities? Quite a heavy thing to drop onto a stranger's shoulders, but I guess there are no faux-pas when it comes to serving God.
For the sake of keeping things in confidence, I will say little in terms of content at this point of the testimony. I do feel free, however, to relate that she had someone with whom she wanted me to speak, and that I wound up spending the next six hours with her and her boyfriend, fellowshipping and sharing stories about things God had done for us. She confirmed, however, that she had felt my prayers consoling her the night before and throughout that morning, which was a pretty powerful thing to discover. A lot of things were addressed on both sides, and I am certain these two will be life-long friends and siblings in the Lord. We prayed for each other at the close of the evening, and we all had a peace about me being free to leave the next morning. There was a chill in the air that filled us with a sense of urgency about getting me home safely, and there were thick clouds that hung over the town like an ominous sign that I would have some nasty weather to contend with. They helped me map out a route to bypass the town of Redding, and it was decided that I would cut through the Nevada desert and then head up through the 15 (the same route I had taken into the U.S.). We parted company, though I suspect I will see them both again some day. (If not in this world, certainly in the kingdom.)
I found a place to stay for the night and then went grocery shopping, purchasing some protein bars, appricot slices, trail mix, a few energy drinks (cursed things!), and some other sundries. I went to bed that night with a sense of purpose. God had done something powerful for me, something that is so intimate and personal that it just can't be written here in great detail. And yeah, I'm the guy who gushed a graphic depiction of humiliating circumstances surrounding my illness, but I did that so God would receive full credit for having healed my digestive issues. But since this concerns others, I just have to steady my proverbial pen. Anyway, discipleship is a two-way process, and it is one that is close to my heart. If you understand it, you will appreciate the need for a gag order here. If you don't, I should point out that God had a few miracles in His pocket for the following days, and I trust they will suffice in validating the events that happened on this day. His deliverance would be made known to me in new and powerful ways. But not until I had been put through the ringer...
Mileage: 2560 km
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