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
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Mount Shasta (Day 3, part two)
24 October 2010 (4:00 p.m.)
I parked just off Mount Shasta Blvd and thanked the Lord for His deliverance. Then I walked around the city centre, struggling to make sense of how a town of 3500 people could support the concentration of pagan trinket shops I was encountering. On one block alone I counted about three mystic/new age-themed businesses out of the seven or eight storefronts that comprised it. Spiritually speaking--and what isn't spiritual?--I was in enemy territory. The Lord directed me to a used book store that had no external signs of neo-paganism, and I thought it might be useful to find a book that described the sort of culture (i.e. bondage) that had gripped Mount Shasta. I figured it would centre on the mountain as the object of worship, but there was no doubt in my mind that demons had overrun the city and created a bunch of myths concerning its significance. This was a very old tactic (cf. Acts 17:16-31).
I strolled through the book store while the owner assisted an older gentlemen, browsing the Religious section to see if there were any bargains I couldn't pass up. There were not. When the owner had finished assisting the gentleman, I asked her if she had any books on Mount Shasta. She responded with a question, wondering if I was more interested in history proper or the folkloric heritage of the town. She then probed to see if I knew anything about the spiritualism of Mount Shasta, much of which centred on the mountain, and proceeded to tell me of the Lemurians, a race of people contemporary to the Atlanteans, who once inhabited the land that was submerged when parts of an eastern continent collided with the west coast to form North America. Evidently, it was believed that the Lemurians (and several other races, for that matter), had taken up residence in the mountain when their civilization was destroyed. Like the Atlanteans, they were fabled to possess incredible technology--such as might enable them, for instance, to bunker up inside a mountain. (Ahem.)
As twisted as all this stuff was, it wasn't the legendary that concerned me most. She went on to talk about a certain doctor who had allegedly used some spiritual currents he was able to channel for the purpose of healing thousands of people. There were testimonies of those who had been cured of tumors, arthritis, and so on. As you might imagine, none of the above were credited to Jesus. I guess a bit of a Bible lesson is in order at this point.
First, genuine Christians will readily confess that Jesus performed miracles. In other words, supernatural healings are possible. There is no sense in placing any faith in Christ unless you believe He rose from the dead (1 Cor 15:13-19), and He who has been raised from the dead is the One who testifies to God's power by His deeds (including miracles) and words (John 10:38; 14:11). So why should we not just syncretize all these healings and conclude that, by virtue of the fact that some charismatic who didn't perform these healings in the name of Christ, miracles pool from a homogeneous source from which Christ comes but that Christ is not the only way? Stated otherwise, are Christians being pedantic in asserting that eternal life comes only through Christ? No. Let's examine what the Bible says about these other "gifted" individuals.
First, we see miracles performed by people who don't serve the Lord. In some cases, they are miracles the Lord gives His servants to perform, such as when Moses and Aaron petition Pharaoh to release Israel (Exod 7:8-23). In other cases, such as when Saul consults a spiritist, we see that black arts such as seances are indeed possible (1 Sam 27:1-14) and that wielding these powers produces disastrous effects (1 Sam 27:15-19). Paul and Barnabas, led by the Holy Spirit, rebuke a magician's abilities who has been frustrating their ministry (Acts 13:6-12). In other words, this stuff works. It is not a solution or a genuine cure for anything, but demonic powers, who have influence over the world, will manifest in a way that leads people away from God. God, in turn, allows it sometimes: If a prophet, or one who foretells by dreams, appears among you and announces to you a miraculous sign or wonder, and if the sign or wonder of which he has spoken takes place, and he says, "Let us follow other gods" (gods you have not known) "and let us worship them," you must not listen to the words of that prophet or dreamer. The LORD your God is testing you to find out whether you love him with all your heart and with all your soul. It is the LORD your God you must follow, and him you must revere. Keep his commands and obey him; serve him and hold fast to him. That prophet or dreamer must be put to death, because he preached rebellion against the LORD your God, who brought you out of Egypt and redeemed you from the land of slavery; he has tried to turn you from the way the LORD your God commanded you to follow. You must purge the evil from among you. (Deut 13:1-5)
But all these counterfeit miracles lead ultimately to death: "For false Christs and false prophets will appear and perform great signs and miracles to deceive even the elect--if that were possible" (Matt 24:24; cf. Mark 13:22; Rev 22:15). And as Jesus so plainly states, "Not everyone who says to me, 'Lord, Lord,' will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only he who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. Many will say to me on that day, 'Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and in your name drive out demons and perform many miracles?' Then I will tell them plainly, 'I never knew you. Away from me, you evildoers!'" (Matt 7:21-23).
What this all amounts to is this: it is not incredible that these testimonies are true, nor is it surprising that such powerful signs compel people to faith in empty things. But unlike the Lemurian or Yaktavian myths, which are beyond fantastical, it is possible to put a face on someone who has been healed by the power of someone who has not been serving the Lord. And an eternity of damnation is not worth some temporary comfort. Hence, these healings are extremely dangerous because they possess the potentiality to cost a person his or her soul.
So I found it rather interesting that this woman, who by her own testimony seldom speaks of these things, mentioned that she felt compelled to share them with me (but God grants His servants favour with nonbelievers sometimes). I told her that she could tell me anything because I was impossible to spook, adding that I was only in Mount Shasta because Jesus sent me there. She then responded that this illustrious doctor fellow had testified about how much he loved "the Christian God" but that he never would have wanted to be exclusively associated with Him. And herein is the deception! There are no other gods and no other powers, just keen deceptions. And if some of the elect will pursue such demonic forces, indulging what their itching ears want to hear (2 Tim 4:3-5), then there is little hope for the people of Mount Shasta who don't know the Lord. Except, of course, for the Lord Himself.
Knowing that I could do nothing about this but pray, I chose to do that. I decided to fast and walk throughout the town, praying that God would bind all demonic forces that had overtaken it. I prayed that no one would ever experience any kind of relief in this region unless it was in the name of Jesus Christ and for His glory and that all such cases (and that they would be numerous) would lead to the faith that brings salvation.
I purchased a book about these mythologies, not that it was a valuable way to spend my money but I wanted to be able to pray specifically against certain things. I knew the Lord would hear me in my weakness, yet I wanted Him to hear precisely what He had sent me to ask Him to do for the people of Mount Shasta, that they would be released from very particular kinds of bondage.
And I started to realize that, as a precursor to my own service in this way, He had been doing the same for me. I had been very sheltered as a child. When my sister and I were given bicycles, we were restricted to our property, never allowed to adventure. Dead faith takes no risks. And though I don't think it was intentional or deliberate, I had been imparted with a fear of everything that was uncertain, invoking God to spend Himself on breaking me (especially over the preceding ten months) so that I wouldn't be inhibited by everything I had assumed was normal. And here I was, having driven to Mount Shasta with no travel insurance, no real idea where I was in the world, and I was at my most vulnerable. And I was a pleasing aroma to God because I had placed myself in a situation where I could do nothing but depend on Him.
I found a motel room and busied myself reading about the things I would need to pray against the following day. It was hard to concentrate because I had missed several meals en route to Mount Shasta (and, if I'm honest, the days leading up to my departure). I hadn't exactly prepared for a fast. But here I was in a position of weakness and I believed that, whether I lived to see the crop it would bear, God would hear my prayers. To my shame, I had espoused these ideas about some big mountain experience, about camping at the base of Mount Shasta and having God peel back the heavens and answer all the questions I had for Him. It turned out, as it had been with the man on his rooftop, that He wanted me to pray for the lost. And it was a simple (and beautiful!) motive He had. So my dream was dying, giving way to an even better one.
An excerpt from my journal that day: "Now to Him who does not give His glory to another be praise and honour and might and dominion forever and ever--He in whom I trust even now--especially now ... Amen." (Yeah, I guess I've been reading a lot of Paul lately.)
Jeremiah 13:16: "Give glory to the LORD your God before he brings the darkness, before your feet stumble on the darkening hills. You hope for light, but he will turn it to utter darkness and change it to deep gloom."
I parked just off Mount Shasta Blvd and thanked the Lord for His deliverance. Then I walked around the city centre, struggling to make sense of how a town of 3500 people could support the concentration of pagan trinket shops I was encountering. On one block alone I counted about three mystic/new age-themed businesses out of the seven or eight storefronts that comprised it. Spiritually speaking--and what isn't spiritual?--I was in enemy territory. The Lord directed me to a used book store that had no external signs of neo-paganism, and I thought it might be useful to find a book that described the sort of culture (i.e. bondage) that had gripped Mount Shasta. I figured it would centre on the mountain as the object of worship, but there was no doubt in my mind that demons had overrun the city and created a bunch of myths concerning its significance. This was a very old tactic (cf. Acts 17:16-31).
I strolled through the book store while the owner assisted an older gentlemen, browsing the Religious section to see if there were any bargains I couldn't pass up. There were not. When the owner had finished assisting the gentleman, I asked her if she had any books on Mount Shasta. She responded with a question, wondering if I was more interested in history proper or the folkloric heritage of the town. She then probed to see if I knew anything about the spiritualism of Mount Shasta, much of which centred on the mountain, and proceeded to tell me of the Lemurians, a race of people contemporary to the Atlanteans, who once inhabited the land that was submerged when parts of an eastern continent collided with the west coast to form North America. Evidently, it was believed that the Lemurians (and several other races, for that matter), had taken up residence in the mountain when their civilization was destroyed. Like the Atlanteans, they were fabled to possess incredible technology--such as might enable them, for instance, to bunker up inside a mountain. (Ahem.)
As twisted as all this stuff was, it wasn't the legendary that concerned me most. She went on to talk about a certain doctor who had allegedly used some spiritual currents he was able to channel for the purpose of healing thousands of people. There were testimonies of those who had been cured of tumors, arthritis, and so on. As you might imagine, none of the above were credited to Jesus. I guess a bit of a Bible lesson is in order at this point.
First, genuine Christians will readily confess that Jesus performed miracles. In other words, supernatural healings are possible. There is no sense in placing any faith in Christ unless you believe He rose from the dead (1 Cor 15:13-19), and He who has been raised from the dead is the One who testifies to God's power by His deeds (including miracles) and words (John 10:38; 14:11). So why should we not just syncretize all these healings and conclude that, by virtue of the fact that some charismatic who didn't perform these healings in the name of Christ, miracles pool from a homogeneous source from which Christ comes but that Christ is not the only way? Stated otherwise, are Christians being pedantic in asserting that eternal life comes only through Christ? No. Let's examine what the Bible says about these other "gifted" individuals.
First, we see miracles performed by people who don't serve the Lord. In some cases, they are miracles the Lord gives His servants to perform, such as when Moses and Aaron petition Pharaoh to release Israel (Exod 7:8-23). In other cases, such as when Saul consults a spiritist, we see that black arts such as seances are indeed possible (1 Sam 27:1-14) and that wielding these powers produces disastrous effects (1 Sam 27:15-19). Paul and Barnabas, led by the Holy Spirit, rebuke a magician's abilities who has been frustrating their ministry (Acts 13:6-12). In other words, this stuff works. It is not a solution or a genuine cure for anything, but demonic powers, who have influence over the world, will manifest in a way that leads people away from God. God, in turn, allows it sometimes: If a prophet, or one who foretells by dreams, appears among you and announces to you a miraculous sign or wonder, and if the sign or wonder of which he has spoken takes place, and he says, "Let us follow other gods" (gods you have not known) "and let us worship them," you must not listen to the words of that prophet or dreamer. The LORD your God is testing you to find out whether you love him with all your heart and with all your soul. It is the LORD your God you must follow, and him you must revere. Keep his commands and obey him; serve him and hold fast to him. That prophet or dreamer must be put to death, because he preached rebellion against the LORD your God, who brought you out of Egypt and redeemed you from the land of slavery; he has tried to turn you from the way the LORD your God commanded you to follow. You must purge the evil from among you. (Deut 13:1-5)
But all these counterfeit miracles lead ultimately to death: "For false Christs and false prophets will appear and perform great signs and miracles to deceive even the elect--if that were possible" (Matt 24:24; cf. Mark 13:22; Rev 22:15). And as Jesus so plainly states, "Not everyone who says to me, 'Lord, Lord,' will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only he who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. Many will say to me on that day, 'Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and in your name drive out demons and perform many miracles?' Then I will tell them plainly, 'I never knew you. Away from me, you evildoers!'" (Matt 7:21-23).
What this all amounts to is this: it is not incredible that these testimonies are true, nor is it surprising that such powerful signs compel people to faith in empty things. But unlike the Lemurian or Yaktavian myths, which are beyond fantastical, it is possible to put a face on someone who has been healed by the power of someone who has not been serving the Lord. And an eternity of damnation is not worth some temporary comfort. Hence, these healings are extremely dangerous because they possess the potentiality to cost a person his or her soul.
So I found it rather interesting that this woman, who by her own testimony seldom speaks of these things, mentioned that she felt compelled to share them with me (but God grants His servants favour with nonbelievers sometimes). I told her that she could tell me anything because I was impossible to spook, adding that I was only in Mount Shasta because Jesus sent me there. She then responded that this illustrious doctor fellow had testified about how much he loved "the Christian God" but that he never would have wanted to be exclusively associated with Him. And herein is the deception! There are no other gods and no other powers, just keen deceptions. And if some of the elect will pursue such demonic forces, indulging what their itching ears want to hear (2 Tim 4:3-5), then there is little hope for the people of Mount Shasta who don't know the Lord. Except, of course, for the Lord Himself.
Knowing that I could do nothing about this but pray, I chose to do that. I decided to fast and walk throughout the town, praying that God would bind all demonic forces that had overtaken it. I prayed that no one would ever experience any kind of relief in this region unless it was in the name of Jesus Christ and for His glory and that all such cases (and that they would be numerous) would lead to the faith that brings salvation.
I purchased a book about these mythologies, not that it was a valuable way to spend my money but I wanted to be able to pray specifically against certain things. I knew the Lord would hear me in my weakness, yet I wanted Him to hear precisely what He had sent me to ask Him to do for the people of Mount Shasta, that they would be released from very particular kinds of bondage.
And I started to realize that, as a precursor to my own service in this way, He had been doing the same for me. I had been very sheltered as a child. When my sister and I were given bicycles, we were restricted to our property, never allowed to adventure. Dead faith takes no risks. And though I don't think it was intentional or deliberate, I had been imparted with a fear of everything that was uncertain, invoking God to spend Himself on breaking me (especially over the preceding ten months) so that I wouldn't be inhibited by everything I had assumed was normal. And here I was, having driven to Mount Shasta with no travel insurance, no real idea where I was in the world, and I was at my most vulnerable. And I was a pleasing aroma to God because I had placed myself in a situation where I could do nothing but depend on Him.
I found a motel room and busied myself reading about the things I would need to pray against the following day. It was hard to concentrate because I had missed several meals en route to Mount Shasta (and, if I'm honest, the days leading up to my departure). I hadn't exactly prepared for a fast. But here I was in a position of weakness and I believed that, whether I lived to see the crop it would bear, God would hear my prayers. To my shame, I had espoused these ideas about some big mountain experience, about camping at the base of Mount Shasta and having God peel back the heavens and answer all the questions I had for Him. It turned out, as it had been with the man on his rooftop, that He wanted me to pray for the lost. And it was a simple (and beautiful!) motive He had. So my dream was dying, giving way to an even better one.
An excerpt from my journal that day: "Now to Him who does not give His glory to another be praise and honour and might and dominion forever and ever--He in whom I trust even now--especially now ... Amen." (Yeah, I guess I've been reading a lot of Paul lately.)
Jeremiah 13:16: "Give glory to the LORD your God before he brings the darkness, before your feet stumble on the darkening hills. You hope for light, but he will turn it to utter darkness and change it to deep gloom."
The Road to Shasta (Day 3, part one)
24 October 2010
It was 2:17 a.m. and I was finally starting to drift off... wasn't I?
I had gone to bed at a reasonable time, but I couldn't fall asleep because my racing mind kept rehearsing scenarios of what might happen in California (never a healthy exercise). Bullets of rain were thwapping the Ponderosa Motel from all approaches, and I just wished for the sound of metallic hands clapping outside to fade into the odd drip in the gutter. (Being on the top floor was no advantage when the sky was falling into metal panels just above me.) It was also frustrating that I could hear everything happening in adjacent rooms because the insulation, if any, was so thin. But everyone eventually settles in, whether travelling on business or pleasure or honeymooning, and the guests seemed to have reached a consensus that it was finally quiet hour. And then the rain acquiesced. Finally.
I still couldn't sleep, though. Barring a crisis, I would arrive at Mount Shasta late afternoon or early evening, and the Lord was allowing certain temptations to test my mettle. Though He kept me from stumbling, I couldn't help but pontificate about how inconvenient it was that I was losing valuable repose. I consoled myself with the belief that, if He had indeed summoned me to Mount Shasta, He would see to my safe journey.
Okay then, no reason to be awake. After all, these were not new challenges, nor my thoughts new ones. I knew what my destination was, if not my mission. Details were not mine to iron out. So why was I so stuck on them? (Ah, sinful nature, go away!)
It was a hard fought battle, but the Lord prevailed in me. Then at 2:17 a.m., just when my mind was beginning to settle, I heard two trucks pull into the parking lot. I deduced from the number of distinct voices I could discern that there were two couples who had just gotten back from a night of drinking. I let ten minutes go by before I got up and peered through the blinds to see one of them briefly run into sight and then disappear again. It was hard to tell whether the two men were going to end up in a fistfight (so conveniently close to Isobel, no less!) or sing bar tunes with arms around each other. In a sense I was pleased it was the latter, but I imagine I wasn't the only one who was vexed to hear them pull out some acoustic guitars and belt out Sublime songs with 3:00 a.m. fast approaching. I sighed and went back to bed, thinking about how the enemy seemed to know where I was, too. And he was bent on keeping me awake as long as he could. About a half hour later, one of the truck engines started. The driver honked five or six times as he left the parking lot. It was very annoying, but at least it was over. Can't say how much actual sleep I snuck in, but I woke up in good spirits.
I left Goldendale around 9:00 a.m., after refuelling. The sky was a piercing blue and the temperature was about 8C, a welcome change from the cold rain that had fallen the night before. I drove through a series of mountains and saw several clusters of wind turbines. The hills were yellow, much like those in Saskatchewan this time of year, and there was a friendly blend of the foreign and familiar to fill me with a sense of comfort. Some of the mountain passes were so curvy and steep that I had to slow to 15 mph at some spots. The 97 even passed through this one community in particular that was built on the mountainside, so I was driving within feet of some people's houses. There were even three deer on the front lawn of one residence, and I was going so slow that I had a chance to see them eat a mouthful of grass. It was in this same area that I first saw fallen rocks to accompany the Rocks signs I'd seen before. I guess that beauty can be dangerous, because the landscape certainly was gorgeous. But man would it be tough to drive in the winter.
One of the most beautiful parts of the entire trip was driving near and over the Columbia River in Washington. I remember being addicted to video games before the Lord saved me, and one of my motives in spending so many hundreds of hours on such pointless media was the fact that it allowed me to vicariously visit exotic places. It dawned on me that real life could also bless a person with indescribable adventures, especially for those who serve Jesus Christ.
After a while I did start to despair a bit. The roads kept winding and it felt like I was no closer to my destination than yesterday. The map seemed to confirm this. I crossed into Oregon, which is a very cumbersome state to drive on the 97 South. The scenery just repeats itself and soon feels commonplace (though I suspect the coast is quite different and beautiful in its own right). It was cool to see a few redwoods (though not the massive ones of fame) but they hardly consoled me when I started to see snow mixed in with the rain that was falling. Isobel was telling me the temp had dipped to 2C; I had not planned on snow! [Sad face!]
I stopped in a tiny place called La Pine to fill my tank. Tried to get out and pump my own gas but the attendant said there were no self-serve stations in Oregon. I asked him if he knew how much farther it was to California, and he told me I was about two hours from Klamath Falls, which was about halfway. It was very exciting to learn that I would make it to Mount Shasta with the fuel that I had then, so I decided to stop and eat something. In homage to my childhood, I went to Dairy Queen and had a burger and fries. As I was eating my lunch, I think I overheard a woman at the next table whisper to her husband, "He looks like a Canadian." Must have been the lumberjack beard.
I was on the road again, this time with a renewed sense of purpose. Within a few hours I would fulfill a command that was given me fourteen months prior. I would, until He asked me to do something else, be right with God. I could die a free man. It was a big deal. It had been a big deal. It was here. And maybe it was in poor taste to be thinking about returning home, but for the first time I knew that I'd actually make it back to tell about this journey. It just didn't compute that perhaps God would not want these anecdotes shared. They were, as far as I could tell, the most significant thing He'd done in my life since plucking me like a burning brand from the fire.
I crossed into California. It wasn't a watershed moment. The state line was markedly not Mount Shasta--in geography and certainly in terms of my mission. But Shasta was near. The signage indicated that Weed, the closest town to Mount Shasta, was about 35 miles away. It was still raining, but it didn't matter. I did have a minor scare heading uphill when an SUV cut in front of me and flung a toonie-sized rock at my windshield. It was so big that I could see it from several feet out and I had enough time to cringe at the massive dent it would inflict in my windshield. God being as faithful as He is, it must have hit my [moving!] wiper blade because there wasn't even a scratch! I thought this was a pretty cool gesture on God's part. Though I know He sends angels to protect and encourage, they had done me a real solid in His name and I praised Jesus for His constant gaze and concern.
As I drove through Weed, California, the first significant settlement coming down the 97 South, I was elated to drive past several churches. It made me think the Lemurian garbage Laura and I had read about was just some special interest mumbo jumb. Besides, websites are pretty cheap nowadays and any nut can create one with the software that's available. Maybe I was being blessed with a spiritual retreat that would ignite a flame under me for the rest of my life and give me a renewed interest in my studies. Maybe I would see some powerful miracles. Maybe God had just set Mount Shasta on fire and wanted to use her people to teach and show me some cool things. If Weed was any preview, then that was surely to be the case. This thought freed me to enjoy the mountains on all sides, which were quite pretty. Not worthy of worship, but it was an aesthetically wonderful place to be.
Turns out, however, that Mount Shasta was a spiritual minefield.
Mileage: 2530 km
It was 2:17 a.m. and I was finally starting to drift off... wasn't I?
I had gone to bed at a reasonable time, but I couldn't fall asleep because my racing mind kept rehearsing scenarios of what might happen in California (never a healthy exercise). Bullets of rain were thwapping the Ponderosa Motel from all approaches, and I just wished for the sound of metallic hands clapping outside to fade into the odd drip in the gutter. (Being on the top floor was no advantage when the sky was falling into metal panels just above me.) It was also frustrating that I could hear everything happening in adjacent rooms because the insulation, if any, was so thin. But everyone eventually settles in, whether travelling on business or pleasure or honeymooning, and the guests seemed to have reached a consensus that it was finally quiet hour. And then the rain acquiesced. Finally.
I still couldn't sleep, though. Barring a crisis, I would arrive at Mount Shasta late afternoon or early evening, and the Lord was allowing certain temptations to test my mettle. Though He kept me from stumbling, I couldn't help but pontificate about how inconvenient it was that I was losing valuable repose. I consoled myself with the belief that, if He had indeed summoned me to Mount Shasta, He would see to my safe journey.
Okay then, no reason to be awake. After all, these were not new challenges, nor my thoughts new ones. I knew what my destination was, if not my mission. Details were not mine to iron out. So why was I so stuck on them? (Ah, sinful nature, go away!)
It was a hard fought battle, but the Lord prevailed in me. Then at 2:17 a.m., just when my mind was beginning to settle, I heard two trucks pull into the parking lot. I deduced from the number of distinct voices I could discern that there were two couples who had just gotten back from a night of drinking. I let ten minutes go by before I got up and peered through the blinds to see one of them briefly run into sight and then disappear again. It was hard to tell whether the two men were going to end up in a fistfight (so conveniently close to Isobel, no less!) or sing bar tunes with arms around each other. In a sense I was pleased it was the latter, but I imagine I wasn't the only one who was vexed to hear them pull out some acoustic guitars and belt out Sublime songs with 3:00 a.m. fast approaching. I sighed and went back to bed, thinking about how the enemy seemed to know where I was, too. And he was bent on keeping me awake as long as he could. About a half hour later, one of the truck engines started. The driver honked five or six times as he left the parking lot. It was very annoying, but at least it was over. Can't say how much actual sleep I snuck in, but I woke up in good spirits.
I left Goldendale around 9:00 a.m., after refuelling. The sky was a piercing blue and the temperature was about 8C, a welcome change from the cold rain that had fallen the night before. I drove through a series of mountains and saw several clusters of wind turbines. The hills were yellow, much like those in Saskatchewan this time of year, and there was a friendly blend of the foreign and familiar to fill me with a sense of comfort. Some of the mountain passes were so curvy and steep that I had to slow to 15 mph at some spots. The 97 even passed through this one community in particular that was built on the mountainside, so I was driving within feet of some people's houses. There were even three deer on the front lawn of one residence, and I was going so slow that I had a chance to see them eat a mouthful of grass. It was in this same area that I first saw fallen rocks to accompany the Rocks signs I'd seen before. I guess that beauty can be dangerous, because the landscape certainly was gorgeous. But man would it be tough to drive in the winter.
One of the most beautiful parts of the entire trip was driving near and over the Columbia River in Washington. I remember being addicted to video games before the Lord saved me, and one of my motives in spending so many hundreds of hours on such pointless media was the fact that it allowed me to vicariously visit exotic places. It dawned on me that real life could also bless a person with indescribable adventures, especially for those who serve Jesus Christ.
After a while I did start to despair a bit. The roads kept winding and it felt like I was no closer to my destination than yesterday. The map seemed to confirm this. I crossed into Oregon, which is a very cumbersome state to drive on the 97 South. The scenery just repeats itself and soon feels commonplace (though I suspect the coast is quite different and beautiful in its own right). It was cool to see a few redwoods (though not the massive ones of fame) but they hardly consoled me when I started to see snow mixed in with the rain that was falling. Isobel was telling me the temp had dipped to 2C; I had not planned on snow! [Sad face!]
I stopped in a tiny place called La Pine to fill my tank. Tried to get out and pump my own gas but the attendant said there were no self-serve stations in Oregon. I asked him if he knew how much farther it was to California, and he told me I was about two hours from Klamath Falls, which was about halfway. It was very exciting to learn that I would make it to Mount Shasta with the fuel that I had then, so I decided to stop and eat something. In homage to my childhood, I went to Dairy Queen and had a burger and fries. As I was eating my lunch, I think I overheard a woman at the next table whisper to her husband, "He looks like a Canadian." Must have been the lumberjack beard.
I was on the road again, this time with a renewed sense of purpose. Within a few hours I would fulfill a command that was given me fourteen months prior. I would, until He asked me to do something else, be right with God. I could die a free man. It was a big deal. It had been a big deal. It was here. And maybe it was in poor taste to be thinking about returning home, but for the first time I knew that I'd actually make it back to tell about this journey. It just didn't compute that perhaps God would not want these anecdotes shared. They were, as far as I could tell, the most significant thing He'd done in my life since plucking me like a burning brand from the fire.
I crossed into California. It wasn't a watershed moment. The state line was markedly not Mount Shasta--in geography and certainly in terms of my mission. But Shasta was near. The signage indicated that Weed, the closest town to Mount Shasta, was about 35 miles away. It was still raining, but it didn't matter. I did have a minor scare heading uphill when an SUV cut in front of me and flung a toonie-sized rock at my windshield. It was so big that I could see it from several feet out and I had enough time to cringe at the massive dent it would inflict in my windshield. God being as faithful as He is, it must have hit my [moving!] wiper blade because there wasn't even a scratch! I thought this was a pretty cool gesture on God's part. Though I know He sends angels to protect and encourage, they had done me a real solid in His name and I praised Jesus for His constant gaze and concern.
As I drove through Weed, California, the first significant settlement coming down the 97 South, I was elated to drive past several churches. It made me think the Lemurian garbage Laura and I had read about was just some special interest mumbo jumb. Besides, websites are pretty cheap nowadays and any nut can create one with the software that's available. Maybe I was being blessed with a spiritual retreat that would ignite a flame under me for the rest of my life and give me a renewed interest in my studies. Maybe I would see some powerful miracles. Maybe God had just set Mount Shasta on fire and wanted to use her people to teach and show me some cool things. If Weed was any preview, then that was surely to be the case. This thought freed me to enjoy the mountains on all sides, which were quite pretty. Not worthy of worship, but it was an aesthetically wonderful place to be.
Turns out, however, that Mount Shasta was a spiritual minefield.
Mileage: 2530 km
Friday, October 29, 2010
The Road to Shasta (Day 2)
23 October 2010
Day 2 was a heavy driving day, but just because I spent most of it in the car it didn't preclude God from speaking to me through various means. I left Great Falls as soon as it was light outside and continued down the 15 to Helena, the capital of Montana. On my way out of the city I stopped at a gas station and refuelled, seeing as I was way too exhausted and overwhelmed to do it the preceding evening. I also bought some salted almonds for the trip. (Got to have protein, baby!) I asked the gentleman cashier how long it would take me to get to Spokane, and he quoted a time and then told me not to pronounce a hard A in the second syllable because it made me sound like I was from the east. I smiled and told him that I was an easterner. It was a pleasant dialogue, though. I should also mention that, except perhaps for two people, everyone I encountered on my trip was nice and genuine. Some people in Canada have a stigma about Americans that simply doesn't reflect the truth. They are a very industrious and welcoming people, but, like everyone, they need Jesus.
Anyway, the road to Helena was a very special drive for me, during which I fell in love with this state. Being from the east coast, a lot of the Midwestern and western states seemed to mesh together in all cognitive images I'd seen from this part of the continent, but I can honestly say I would not lament if the Lord ever calls me to live and minister in Montana. The drive was pleasant all the way to Helena, but very mountainous. I imagined to myself that I would hate do travel that way during winter, seeing as there were many slopes with steep inclines.
As I approached the town of Helena, I decided that I would stop for a quick break, not that it was late in the day by any means. I tended to avoid cities, but since it was Saturday the traffic was quite thin, so I didn't think there would be any bumper to bumper action that would just leech time away from interstate travel. The road from the north seemed to run along the eastern perimeter of the city, and the first part I beheld was mostly residential. I was very encouraged to see a billboard with John 14:6 just outside the first exit into the city core.
When I got to Helena I followed a commercial street until I saw a little coffee hut that was not quite the size of my dorm room. They seem to have these throughout the states I visited, and it's cool that you can just drive up to them and get specialty coffees. I purchased an Americano with a flavour shot of white chocolate and asked the friendly girls who worked there how to get to Spokane (I pronounced properly this time!). They told me how to get to "malfunction junction" and how to get onto the 12/287, which saved me from having to dip south into Butte. From there I headed west on the I-90 toward Spokane, eating my almonds and drinking my Americano and praising God in song and prayer.
I stopped in Missoula for lunch because I didn't want to fall into the habit of missing meals while I was driving for such extended periods. There was this quaint little restaurant near a truck stop of the highway, so I went in and had a turkey and swiss sandwich with fries. It came with some pretty sweet apricot dipping sauce, and the waitresses were very nice and helpful in terms of suggesting which route to follow to get to Mount Shasta. I wound up not taking their advice and continuing toward Spokane instead of backtracking to Helena and heading south (though I would use this route to get back home).
En route to Spokane I passed through a town called Coeur d'Alene. I noticed an electric sign that paraphrased a few verses from Psalm 112, "The man who fears the Lord never fears bad news." I thought to myself that I hoped it wasn't an omen that foreshadowed some calamity ahead.
Spokane was very busy but seemed like a beautiful city. I drove through it and stopped at a Shell station just outside the western limit of the city. I consulted my map and decided to continue toward a city called Ellensburg, which seemed to intersect the 97 (a highway that went right to Mount Shasta). There was a man with a backpack who was wandering about the store, and he asked me if I could take him into the city, adding that he had barely missed the bus into town. I told him that I wished I could help but I was actually headed to California, and he replied that he didn't want to take me so far out of my way and hoped to go there too some day. In hindsight I kind of wonder if I shouldn't have been in such a rush to move to my destinations (cf. Heb 13:2), but I really didn't want to end up in the middle of Spokane and have to retrace my steps. Still, had I not been travelling alone I think I would have been more open to random detours. I know these are all excuses, but it's too late to change what happened, so I digress.
I felt led to stop again before getting to Ellensburg, so I pulled into a town called Ritzville, where I bought a banana, some protein bars, and some sesame seed crackers (trying to eat somewhat healthy in light of all the energy drinks I'd been consuming). I asked the woman at the counter for her opinion as to how I should get to the 97, and she indicated that she usually went south on the 395 down to "the tri-city area," which didn't interest me at all. It was nigh dinnertime and I figured that a cluster of cities would yield nothing but rush hour traffic to contend with. I continued west on the I-90 and felt convicted to stop again at a town called Quincy. There the Lord directed me to someone who advised me to take a certain road that allowed me to bypass Ellensburg, which seemed sizeable enough to slow me down. I drove through the city of Yakima, trying to read the signs and watch the road, which proved difficult because the sun was setting fast. Just outside of Yakima there was a weird junction that I missed and wound up heading east instead of south. I caught on to this fact maybe 10 miles down the road and pulled a U-turn in a two-lane highway that was flanked by cornfields, retreated back to the junction and finally found myself on the road to Mount Shasta.
The Lord deserves a special praise note here. He had encouraged me to gas up in Quincy, and I discovered by the end of the night that if I had not done so I might not have had enough in my tank to reach my destination for the evening. It was a weird situation when I got onto the 97 because the only services available were over 50 miles apart. And I was driving this mountainous highway in the dark. Oh yeah, and it was raining so the asphalt was reflecting and refracting every light to the point that they were almost blinding. Anyway, the signs kept suggesting that a town called Goldendale would be a suitable place to bunk up for the night, so when I finally reached this town I pulled off the highway and stopped at the first motel I could find.
I went up to my room and ate some of the items I had bought in Ritzville (I had been too focused on the road to eat anything in transit). It was a nice evening, but I was feeling the weight of the two days I'd been on the road. I went to bed quite early, after reading a chapter in Mounce about demonstrative pronouns, which didn't register at all.
I was reminded of this passage several times on day 2: "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight" (Prov 3:5-6). He had. Many times.
Mileage: 1932 km
Day 2 was a heavy driving day, but just because I spent most of it in the car it didn't preclude God from speaking to me through various means. I left Great Falls as soon as it was light outside and continued down the 15 to Helena, the capital of Montana. On my way out of the city I stopped at a gas station and refuelled, seeing as I was way too exhausted and overwhelmed to do it the preceding evening. I also bought some salted almonds for the trip. (Got to have protein, baby!) I asked the gentleman cashier how long it would take me to get to Spokane, and he quoted a time and then told me not to pronounce a hard A in the second syllable because it made me sound like I was from the east. I smiled and told him that I was an easterner. It was a pleasant dialogue, though. I should also mention that, except perhaps for two people, everyone I encountered on my trip was nice and genuine. Some people in Canada have a stigma about Americans that simply doesn't reflect the truth. They are a very industrious and welcoming people, but, like everyone, they need Jesus.
Anyway, the road to Helena was a very special drive for me, during which I fell in love with this state. Being from the east coast, a lot of the Midwestern and western states seemed to mesh together in all cognitive images I'd seen from this part of the continent, but I can honestly say I would not lament if the Lord ever calls me to live and minister in Montana. The drive was pleasant all the way to Helena, but very mountainous. I imagined to myself that I would hate do travel that way during winter, seeing as there were many slopes with steep inclines.
As I approached the town of Helena, I decided that I would stop for a quick break, not that it was late in the day by any means. I tended to avoid cities, but since it was Saturday the traffic was quite thin, so I didn't think there would be any bumper to bumper action that would just leech time away from interstate travel. The road from the north seemed to run along the eastern perimeter of the city, and the first part I beheld was mostly residential. I was very encouraged to see a billboard with John 14:6 just outside the first exit into the city core.
When I got to Helena I followed a commercial street until I saw a little coffee hut that was not quite the size of my dorm room. They seem to have these throughout the states I visited, and it's cool that you can just drive up to them and get specialty coffees. I purchased an Americano with a flavour shot of white chocolate and asked the friendly girls who worked there how to get to Spokane (I pronounced properly this time!). They told me how to get to "malfunction junction" and how to get onto the 12/287, which saved me from having to dip south into Butte. From there I headed west on the I-90 toward Spokane, eating my almonds and drinking my Americano and praising God in song and prayer.
I stopped in Missoula for lunch because I didn't want to fall into the habit of missing meals while I was driving for such extended periods. There was this quaint little restaurant near a truck stop of the highway, so I went in and had a turkey and swiss sandwich with fries. It came with some pretty sweet apricot dipping sauce, and the waitresses were very nice and helpful in terms of suggesting which route to follow to get to Mount Shasta. I wound up not taking their advice and continuing toward Spokane instead of backtracking to Helena and heading south (though I would use this route to get back home).
En route to Spokane I passed through a town called Coeur d'Alene. I noticed an electric sign that paraphrased a few verses from Psalm 112, "The man who fears the Lord never fears bad news." I thought to myself that I hoped it wasn't an omen that foreshadowed some calamity ahead.
Spokane was very busy but seemed like a beautiful city. I drove through it and stopped at a Shell station just outside the western limit of the city. I consulted my map and decided to continue toward a city called Ellensburg, which seemed to intersect the 97 (a highway that went right to Mount Shasta). There was a man with a backpack who was wandering about the store, and he asked me if I could take him into the city, adding that he had barely missed the bus into town. I told him that I wished I could help but I was actually headed to California, and he replied that he didn't want to take me so far out of my way and hoped to go there too some day. In hindsight I kind of wonder if I shouldn't have been in such a rush to move to my destinations (cf. Heb 13:2), but I really didn't want to end up in the middle of Spokane and have to retrace my steps. Still, had I not been travelling alone I think I would have been more open to random detours. I know these are all excuses, but it's too late to change what happened, so I digress.
I felt led to stop again before getting to Ellensburg, so I pulled into a town called Ritzville, where I bought a banana, some protein bars, and some sesame seed crackers (trying to eat somewhat healthy in light of all the energy drinks I'd been consuming). I asked the woman at the counter for her opinion as to how I should get to the 97, and she indicated that she usually went south on the 395 down to "the tri-city area," which didn't interest me at all. It was nigh dinnertime and I figured that a cluster of cities would yield nothing but rush hour traffic to contend with. I continued west on the I-90 and felt convicted to stop again at a town called Quincy. There the Lord directed me to someone who advised me to take a certain road that allowed me to bypass Ellensburg, which seemed sizeable enough to slow me down. I drove through the city of Yakima, trying to read the signs and watch the road, which proved difficult because the sun was setting fast. Just outside of Yakima there was a weird junction that I missed and wound up heading east instead of south. I caught on to this fact maybe 10 miles down the road and pulled a U-turn in a two-lane highway that was flanked by cornfields, retreated back to the junction and finally found myself on the road to Mount Shasta.
The Lord deserves a special praise note here. He had encouraged me to gas up in Quincy, and I discovered by the end of the night that if I had not done so I might not have had enough in my tank to reach my destination for the evening. It was a weird situation when I got onto the 97 because the only services available were over 50 miles apart. And I was driving this mountainous highway in the dark. Oh yeah, and it was raining so the asphalt was reflecting and refracting every light to the point that they were almost blinding. Anyway, the signs kept suggesting that a town called Goldendale would be a suitable place to bunk up for the night, so when I finally reached this town I pulled off the highway and stopped at the first motel I could find.
I went up to my room and ate some of the items I had bought in Ritzville (I had been too focused on the road to eat anything in transit). It was a nice evening, but I was feeling the weight of the two days I'd been on the road. I went to bed quite early, after reading a chapter in Mounce about demonstrative pronouns, which didn't register at all.
I was reminded of this passage several times on day 2: "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight" (Prov 3:5-6). He had. Many times.
Mileage: 1932 km
The Road to Shasta (Day 1)
22 October 2010 (11:00 a.m.)
I think I had set my alarm for 7:30, but I slept in until 9:30. The Lord has still kept me from sinning against my body, but purity comes with the cost of lost sleep some nights. It had been one of those nights where my skin crawled, but I didn't want to risk grieving the Spirit or inhibiting the Lord's provision by setting a barrier between us, so I lay awake into the wee hours contemplating how afraid I was to actually leave. He assured me that He is faithful to those who obey, and I think I fell asleep somewhere around the 2:30 to 3:00 range.
I woke up and showered. It felt like the last moment of peace before I decisive battle, or as much as I imagine such an experience would feel like. My roommate Erik shared a protein shake with me because I needed a quick breakfast on account of how late in the day I was leaving.
I started to pack a few things: toothbrush, ginch, clothes suitable to different climates (because I would pass through several), and my Greek textbooks. I said goodbye to a few people. Laura had graciously prepared a packed lunch for me so I wouldn't need to stop to eat.
Erik prayed over me and Isobel (my Corolla) and I started the engine. My gas gauge was broaching on E, so I stopped at the Pilgrim Centre to refuel. I stared out at the same horizon I had looked at in April and listened to see if God would give me any insight as to whether it was the last time I was seeing it. Some people had commented in the days leading up to this one that I might not even make it to Mount Shasta. I wasn't so concerned about that. God had called me there and confirmed it through many agents. So I had faith in the first leg of the journey. But He wasn't giving me any insight into the second--if there was to be one. I pulled onto the highway and headed west. To this point I still had no travel insurance (and wasn't to get any), no cash, and no route planned. But there I was, off to a place that would be shown me. It occurred to me that, aside from my doubts and fears and hesitations, this was actually pretty cool!
Driving through the prairies was very calming and therapeutic. God had been working in me in that I started to value his children more than knowledge, and I had already been spending much more time with the church this year as compared to last. Discipleship was so much more enriching than the pursuit of knowledge, and it was starting to feel like schoolwork was an afterthought--and, if I can be so bold, something of a bane to work through. It felt strangely dead this semester. I wasn't interested in minutiae or trivia anymore. I wanted to minister. And I was a little giddy about the fact that it was too late to turn back and bring schoolwork with me to the United States. (I don't count Greek as work, for the record.)
I reached Medicine Hat around 2:00 and made what I felt was a wrong turn left onto Dunmore Road but found out that it had been a time saver when it took me right around the city, bypassing all the congested traffic, to the west side of the town. I gassed up near the southern limit of the city and continued on my merry way toward Lord knew where.
By the time I reached the town of Coaldale, AB I was getting nervous about not having any gas or food money for the other side of the border. I came to this particular intersection and the light turned red, and I thought it was a blessing because it gave me a moment to think of what to do next. Within seconds of deciding to find a bank, I turned my head to the left and saw a Scotiabank branch and took it as a confirmation that maybe I should get over my Abraham complex and just get some cash. I withdrew as much as I thought I'd need for the first few days and approached the teller to have it exchanged for US currency. The Lord has a way of granting favour to His servants, and they told me that they don't usually have enough by Thursday but today was an exception. I don't think they even charged me a fee for exchanging it, which was pretty awesome. What was especially helpful was the advice they gave me about a shortcut to the border crossing at Coutts, which I chose to follow. It felt like a divine appointment inasmuch as I hadn't planned to take that road but a stranger was telling me to do so. Such encounters would become so commonplace on my trip that it would be easy to neglect how the Lord was in the midst of these things.
After getting the money I darted across the street to the 7-eleven, where I purchased a few maps and some energy drinks (which I had given up, but I didn't want to fall asleep driving...).
It occurred to me about 30 minutes from Coutts that I couldn't bring a lot of the stuff Laura packed across the border on account of the laws about fruits and vegetables. So I started packing away as much food as I could because I didn't want to waste any, but I ended up having to dispose of some of it. As I pored through the things she prepared, I glorified God in speech and worship and asked Him to give her a special blessing for her effort. Maybe I shouldn't mention this out of respect for her generosity, but I want God to get the credit for having used such a genuine and obedient daughter of his to help me out in a time when I didn't have the presence of mind to think of meals.
I was able to cross the border even though the customs agent seemed a little perplexed at my responses to his questions. He also pointed out that I had neglected to sign my passport, which rendered it invalid. In any case, I was into the U.S. and started heading south on the 15. The signs suggested Great Falls was a few hours away, and I figured I still had enough daylight to get there. The skies were clear, the rolling hills were familiar for a time but gradually gave way to the beginnings of a certain mountain range. I went up these pretty steep inclines that went for several kilometres and then down similar slopes. It was just so surreal to see some of cliffs in the distance. The scenery started to seem less Canadian and it became evident that I was not home anymore. But what was home, anyway? I had come to think that God was the only hope I'd ever have, and this adventure was substantiating that premise.
Night fell and I continued on my course to Great Falls. By the time I reached the home stretch and passed over the last incline between me and the city it was legit nighttime. It was quite dramatic to see this expanse of street lights and billboards just open up in front of me, kind of like Leviathan was emerging from the frigid depths. I got incredibly lost in the city. I was so exhausted and had no clue where I was going. I wound up in the middle of this ghetto and started to bark at the Lord about how I didn't know where I was but He did and could He please find me a place to stay. After meandering for about 20 minutes I wound up pulling into the first motel I saw. It just so happened it was on the very street I needed to be on to get out of the city the following morning. I had a bit to eat and read for a few minutes but then just gave up on trying to study Greek. I thanked the Lord for who He was and all He'd done on my behalf that day. I fell asleep very much in love with Him that night.
Mileage: 830 km
I think I had set my alarm for 7:30, but I slept in until 9:30. The Lord has still kept me from sinning against my body, but purity comes with the cost of lost sleep some nights. It had been one of those nights where my skin crawled, but I didn't want to risk grieving the Spirit or inhibiting the Lord's provision by setting a barrier between us, so I lay awake into the wee hours contemplating how afraid I was to actually leave. He assured me that He is faithful to those who obey, and I think I fell asleep somewhere around the 2:30 to 3:00 range.
I woke up and showered. It felt like the last moment of peace before I decisive battle, or as much as I imagine such an experience would feel like. My roommate Erik shared a protein shake with me because I needed a quick breakfast on account of how late in the day I was leaving.
I started to pack a few things: toothbrush, ginch, clothes suitable to different climates (because I would pass through several), and my Greek textbooks. I said goodbye to a few people. Laura had graciously prepared a packed lunch for me so I wouldn't need to stop to eat.
Erik prayed over me and Isobel (my Corolla) and I started the engine. My gas gauge was broaching on E, so I stopped at the Pilgrim Centre to refuel. I stared out at the same horizon I had looked at in April and listened to see if God would give me any insight as to whether it was the last time I was seeing it. Some people had commented in the days leading up to this one that I might not even make it to Mount Shasta. I wasn't so concerned about that. God had called me there and confirmed it through many agents. So I had faith in the first leg of the journey. But He wasn't giving me any insight into the second--if there was to be one. I pulled onto the highway and headed west. To this point I still had no travel insurance (and wasn't to get any), no cash, and no route planned. But there I was, off to a place that would be shown me. It occurred to me that, aside from my doubts and fears and hesitations, this was actually pretty cool!
Driving through the prairies was very calming and therapeutic. God had been working in me in that I started to value his children more than knowledge, and I had already been spending much more time with the church this year as compared to last. Discipleship was so much more enriching than the pursuit of knowledge, and it was starting to feel like schoolwork was an afterthought--and, if I can be so bold, something of a bane to work through. It felt strangely dead this semester. I wasn't interested in minutiae or trivia anymore. I wanted to minister. And I was a little giddy about the fact that it was too late to turn back and bring schoolwork with me to the United States. (I don't count Greek as work, for the record.)
I reached Medicine Hat around 2:00 and made what I felt was a wrong turn left onto Dunmore Road but found out that it had been a time saver when it took me right around the city, bypassing all the congested traffic, to the west side of the town. I gassed up near the southern limit of the city and continued on my merry way toward Lord knew where.
By the time I reached the town of Coaldale, AB I was getting nervous about not having any gas or food money for the other side of the border. I came to this particular intersection and the light turned red, and I thought it was a blessing because it gave me a moment to think of what to do next. Within seconds of deciding to find a bank, I turned my head to the left and saw a Scotiabank branch and took it as a confirmation that maybe I should get over my Abraham complex and just get some cash. I withdrew as much as I thought I'd need for the first few days and approached the teller to have it exchanged for US currency. The Lord has a way of granting favour to His servants, and they told me that they don't usually have enough by Thursday but today was an exception. I don't think they even charged me a fee for exchanging it, which was pretty awesome. What was especially helpful was the advice they gave me about a shortcut to the border crossing at Coutts, which I chose to follow. It felt like a divine appointment inasmuch as I hadn't planned to take that road but a stranger was telling me to do so. Such encounters would become so commonplace on my trip that it would be easy to neglect how the Lord was in the midst of these things.
After getting the money I darted across the street to the 7-eleven, where I purchased a few maps and some energy drinks (which I had given up, but I didn't want to fall asleep driving...).
It occurred to me about 30 minutes from Coutts that I couldn't bring a lot of the stuff Laura packed across the border on account of the laws about fruits and vegetables. So I started packing away as much food as I could because I didn't want to waste any, but I ended up having to dispose of some of it. As I pored through the things she prepared, I glorified God in speech and worship and asked Him to give her a special blessing for her effort. Maybe I shouldn't mention this out of respect for her generosity, but I want God to get the credit for having used such a genuine and obedient daughter of his to help me out in a time when I didn't have the presence of mind to think of meals.
I was able to cross the border even though the customs agent seemed a little perplexed at my responses to his questions. He also pointed out that I had neglected to sign my passport, which rendered it invalid. In any case, I was into the U.S. and started heading south on the 15. The signs suggested Great Falls was a few hours away, and I figured I still had enough daylight to get there. The skies were clear, the rolling hills were familiar for a time but gradually gave way to the beginnings of a certain mountain range. I went up these pretty steep inclines that went for several kilometres and then down similar slopes. It was just so surreal to see some of cliffs in the distance. The scenery started to seem less Canadian and it became evident that I was not home anymore. But what was home, anyway? I had come to think that God was the only hope I'd ever have, and this adventure was substantiating that premise.
Night fell and I continued on my course to Great Falls. By the time I reached the home stretch and passed over the last incline between me and the city it was legit nighttime. It was quite dramatic to see this expanse of street lights and billboards just open up in front of me, kind of like Leviathan was emerging from the frigid depths. I got incredibly lost in the city. I was so exhausted and had no clue where I was going. I wound up in the middle of this ghetto and started to bark at the Lord about how I didn't know where I was but He did and could He please find me a place to stay. After meandering for about 20 minutes I wound up pulling into the first motel I saw. It just so happened it was on the very street I needed to be on to get out of the city the following morning. I had a bit to eat and read for a few minutes but then just gave up on trying to study Greek. I thanked the Lord for who He was and all He'd done on my behalf that day. I fell asleep very much in love with Him that night.
Mileage: 830 km
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