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