Noise, smoke and coors light. Yes. I admit it. Our family spent Friday night at the stock car races in the middle of a corn field in Illinois. After all of our big city culture with museums and skyscrapers it was time to take advantage of some good old small town entertainment.
We have been in Chabanse for almost three weeks now. We are staying at a KOA that is about 3 miles from the raceway. The cars are so loud that we can hear them all the way out where we are at, tearing it up until about midnight every Friday night. Jeramie has worked to late into the evening for us to go this last couple of weekends but we keep reminding ourselves every Saturday morning that we are gonna go.
Finally, the opportunity presented itself. All he had to do was say the word “race”. The kids and I tore through the motorhome diving into the dressers changing our clothes to be appropriately attired for some good country fun. The kids were prepared and for once they were allowed to go outside and play while they waited for mom and dad. I had to repeat myself because the stares of disbelief from the three pairs of deep blue eyes that waited patiently on the couch hands quietly in their laps stated that they all thought they were mistaken in what they heard. “go outside to play? But we just got dressed to go.” “Yes…we are going to the races. It will be Ok if you are a little dirty.” “YES! This is gonna be awesome. We don’t even have to stay clean Lexi!” Andon flew out the door with his sisters close in tow.
It was my turn to get ready. I started digging for clothes. There, in the back, under my yuppie suede Emu boots. I pulled them out like they were an artifact that any museum would pay big money for. Still dark blue with that new vintage wash feel. My Wrangler Twenty-X jeans. I haven’t really worn these in almost ten years. I have lovingly held onto them knowing that I would need them again some day. Today was someday. I was a little worried they wouldn’t fit. I have had three kids and spend my days sitting down homeschooling. Lets face it. Things have rearranged themselves since the last time I pulled these jeans on. I mean, I can’t go to the races in racing country in my Miss Sixty’s (which are actually my very favorite pair of jeans) but I am not ignorant to the culture and recognize that my city jeans just wouldn’t do. Besides, I might get them dirty. Anyway, the moment of truth. Here we go. They fit! They fit! I didn’t even have to hold my breath or suck it in! I did a silent little dance in the privacy of my “walk-in” closet a.k.a. the kids bedroom and threw on a straight up plain gray hoodie. My husband was all smiles, for once he was able to quietly leave without someone (me) asking “is that what you’re going to where?”. In fact, he took the initiative to remove the Polo shirt he had been wearing in fear he would be “to preppy”, threw on a hoodie himself and we were out the door.
You could hear the cars warming up as we wandered toward the ticket booth. Our anticipation was building. Honestly, none of us have ever been to a stock car race before. This was a first for the Jennings family as a whole. The kids and I stood back while Jeramie purchased the tickets. I had no idea what to expect. I didn’t even think about the cost involved. $12 bucks a person! Luckily the kids were still young enough that they got in for free, but all in all it has been the most expensive outing we have been on and that includes our trips to Chicago. Whatever. I don’t care. Just getting out of the house made it worth every penny.
We picked out seats. Five rows up, thirty feet from the fence, closer to turn two. Holy Cow these things are LOUD. It is so loud that you cannot hear the announcer no matter how hard he tries to compete with the cars over the PA system. BY the way. Do they have a special announcers school where they train your vocals or something? All of these outdoor event announcers all sound exactly the same. It started just like all good events do, with the National Anthem and our countries flag circling the track. We settled in as the first heat came up and over the entry gate at turn one. Hmm, what do we have here. Nissan Sentras, Ford Pintos etcetera. I joked with Jeramie to keep his eye out for my old 1992 Toyota Paseo. Wait, I have seen this before…but where? Oh yeah, on my mission trip to Tijuana in high school. Looks just like the streets of Mexico, all jockeying for position bouncing over the dirt reminding me of the Mexican Taxi’s who used the ditch for passing five lanes of traffic. It’s rather interesting how memories arise. Andon and I just learned that our brains produce 70 thousand thoughts a day. Who knew that I would go to a race out in the middle of the corn fields and recall my trip to Mexico. I guess this is just one of my 70 thousand thoughts a day. OK. Moving on. The little cars were fun to watch but we wanted the real action. We finally got to the true stock cars with sponsors and logos on the sides. With each heat the cars got bigger and the drivers got better. Or so we thought. As they got faster, they got more squirrelly. We became frustrated during one of the heats where the contestants were more advanced. A lot of drivers had a tough time with turn one. In fact, a few cars disappeared up and over the top of the turn never to be seen again. I am guessing they withdrew from the race. We witnessed a four car synchronized spin out. It appeared professionally choreographed. Even the seasoned spectators thought that it was unique. Each heat had eight laps. In this particular heat one of the drivers spun out in turn one five separate laps. He was disqualified. Finally. They got rid of the greenhorns and got back to business. Number 17. He’s the man. Number 17 is one impressive car. Number 17 got to have his picture taken in the winners circle while waving the checkered flag. Too bad I don’t gamble. I’d have won.
As we people watched in between heats, (come on, don’t judge us, you know you all do it to), I quickly realized that we had actually underdressed for the occasion. We don’t own any sweatshirts with Jack Daniels No. 7 on the back or jackets with name Budweiser printed from all angles possible. I haven’t quite figured out the point of the Anhueiser Buschs’ marketing arrangement on the jackets yet except that maybe it is so that no matter what drunken position you end up in you will always know why you have ended up in the position you ended up in. They were selling the 50/50 raffle tickets. One of the items in the running was a Coors Light jacket. Jeramie had his eye on that. Since he can’t get good local brews out here he has taken a liking to Coors Light. I challenged him that if he won he was to wear it to every micro-brewery we go to from here on out. He agreed. Then we saw the 50/50 girls. Why would I expect anything less. You know, girls who are endowed in areas that make you wonder if their backs hurt frequently barely covered by shirts that enhanced these areas so that when they are standing in front of you selling tickets the only thing you see are their assets. Sorry Jeramie, no jacket for you this time around. I understand that this kind of marketing tool sells tickets and in a tough economy organizations are desperate to use whatever means they have to, but my husband isn’t going to freeze this winter. Not enough atleast to pay with the expense of his burned retina’s. His Mountain Hardware snowboarding coat is going to have to do.
The kids did great. Never once did they get upset by the noise. Wait. That makes me wonder if they have undiagnosed hearing problems. I can’t even begin to recollect how many times a day I try to get their attention only to be ignored and told “I didn’t hear you”. Maybe they really can’t hear me. Addison was so unmoved by the noise that promptly at 8:30, her bed time, she snuggled in and fell fast asleep. Let me remind you that we were only 30 feet from the fence. OK. No more bedtime excuses with needing to keep quiet or Addi won’t fall asleep. Her cover has been officially blown. I now know that the kid can sleep through anything.
The evening was a blast, brought back some fun memories and created some new ones. All we can say is look out Indianapolis 500. Here come the Jennings! We are officially racing fans.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
She is what she is
Many of our friends and family didn’t get a chance to see our new dwelling before we left home. Later I realized how some of them were a little disappointed by that. So this entry is for you!
I guess I see their point. It is kinda like getting a new house or car. Everybody wants to be encouraging and excited for the other when something big like home ownership happens. Here’s the thing. Jeramie and I have lived in 9 different houses since we got married 8 years ago. The motorhome is just another “house” we have moved into. It is unique, in that this house has wheels and it is the smallest house we have ever been in. Oh, and it is deserving of a name. It’s deserving of a name because this house has some stories to tell. We haven’t found the right name that fits quite yet, so feel free to comment for voting.
How it began….
Jeramie and I had been praying for direction for our family, vocation, location, etc. We had been exploring all sorts of avenues and none of them were right. We have had a tremendous amount of spiritual growth this last year and Jeramie and my paths finally merged into the same direction. It has only taken eight years (nine altogether) but hey, what can I say. Some of us are stubborn and slow learners. Or maybe we are not very good listeners. Or maybe it's because I am such a good teacher that I have spent so much time making sure my husband has been learning his lessons that I ignored mine. Or quite probably it is all the above.
My husband is an independent soul. An adventurer. He would have easily been a pioneer had he been born 150 years ago. Ever seen “Far and Away”? That’s Jeramie, the role played by Tom Cruise. I am a bit, how should we say this…different than Jeramie. I have always envisioned myself with our place that we raise our kids our entire lives, where we have our “thing” that we do and a job that provides and that he loves. Vacations would be to some hotel in a tropical location with five star restaurants and things to do that do not require much energy exertion or getting dirty, preferably pedicures. Consistency, stability, security. This year I became convicted. I didn’t marry consistency, stability and security in the sense of lifestyle. I married energy, excitement , and exploration. I knew that when I met him. It is one of the things I actually love about him. My interpretation for consistency, stability and security gets in the way of who my husband is and most importantly, God’s plan for him. My prayer was answered. Like the flying orange that hit Jeramie in the head one night. I need to let go, put faith in my husband and ultimately faith in God. FEMA, here we come!
Fast forward. If we are going to do this full-time we need a proper set-up. We researched pick-ups and fifth wheels, class C’s (briefly), and class A’s. Get a pick-up and 5th wheel and if something should go wrong with the rig, we still have access to our “house”. Get a pick-up and 5th wheel and our kids are strapped in to the back seat indefinitely. No, thank you. Too much energy in a tight space. Not enough Dutch Bros. on this side of the mountains to handle that kind of chaos. They don’t make class C’s big enough for a family of 6 (5 people and a dog). That immediately eliminates that. O.K. class A it is. The ones they call “the coach”. We had a budget. It was a sad budget. Mr. Excitement is Mr. Conservative when it comes to money. We will not be financing anything. Unless it is a house without wheels on land, we pay cash for everything. Our very first motorhome to look at was a 1987 34’ Fleetwood Pacearrow. Boy was it sexy. Dusty Rose interior. No slides. It was a learning opportunity. One thing we walked away with is that the pictures lie. We were reminded of this time and time again. Oh, so do salesmen at RV dealerships. “We have the perfect RV for what you’re looking for with a very reasonable sales price! It’s on our other lot. I will call over there and let them know you are coming”. We were shown a newer 22’ Fleetwood Southwind with no slides. Yes, we had everyone but the dog in tow. We have got to look like a young, dumb family because for them to see us all, actually in the flesh and think we were delusional enough to entertain the thought of us living in a 22’ space could only be explained by us appearing to be young and dumb. Excuse me sir, we are Mr. and Ms. JENNINGS, not Mr. and Ms. El' stupido. They don’t like it when you have cash either. Again, a learning experience. We had been praying for the right equipment to move forward on this venture and if God has us doing this then he has the provisions it takes to accomplish it as well. Our coach was out there…somewhere.
Somewhere was Happy Valley, outside of Portland. By now we know our stuff. By now we know what our needs are and what would be “nice to have”. By now Jeramie was already working in Tennessee. This was all me. I interviewed the owner extensively and made an appointment to travel the distance to see it. I spent the day before working up a check-off list much like a vehicle window sticker with base price and how much each extra would add to the total price. I also had a depreciation formula to calculate what I would be willing to pay. I pulled up to a ¼ acre grassy lot totally out of place inside the business district of town. It was suppose to be some sort of RV storage. It was someones property overgrown with blackberry bushes, grass and untrimmed trees capitalizing on the unused space. Oh, there it is. Back there. In the bushes. Under the trees. I got out of the car and as the owner was walking across the lot to meet me he stopped mid-step and asked “do you work for an RV dealership? I already spoke with someone. I am not interested in trading it”. “WHAT! Where in the world did you get that impression?” “You have a clip board” “oh, this? No, no, no, I am just very thorough and I know what we are looking for so it will help to keep me from wasting your time” The owner was kind enough to start it up and pull it out of the ditch so that I could see it in the sun. Well, I guess it runs. Check.
We ended up with a 1997 37’ Fleetwood Bounder. You know the ones. With the big kangaroo bounding across the side of it. It has a slide in the living space/master suite. I cannot imagine living in anything smaller but I would if we had to. We ended up gutting it and restoring it with a new floor plan. It is humongous. It is pretty ugly too. Kinda a cream color with blue and yellow stripes on the side. It is LOUD. I thought the class A would be great for meeting the kids needs (or get after them) while driving down the road but 90% of the time I can’t even hear them yelling at me. Sometimes I will turn around to check on them and there is a mangled mess of feet and arms on the floor but no one is crying so I can’t tell if someone is getting pile-drived or if they fell off of the couch. Other times I will check on them and they are all entwined together like puppies, sound asleep sharing one gigantic puddle of drool. Still glad we got the class A. It works really hard to pull hills at around 45 miles per hour but it always reaches the top. It is so heavy that when you finally do, you hope you don’t burn up the breaks trying to slow it down while sailing over the other side. We have finally learned to let it go because we need the momentum to get up the next hill. It is so big that driving it while the wind is blowing feels like we are navigating a sail boat. We always love when we meet a semi coming from the opposite direction in a construction zone where they have narrowed the lanes and reduced them down to two lanes going opposite directions (instead of keeping one direction on their side of the interstate and us on our side) while maintaining a “limited construction zone speed of 65 mph that will prosecute violators with 14 years in prison and a $10,000 fine”. Geez, who needs coffee with that kind of adrenaline pumping? If anything, we need a good smoke to calm us down. It meets all of our needs and after our modifications it even has some of our wants, like Jeramie's 37” flat panel TV and PS3 that have been nicely mounted at the perfect angle in coordination with his specific spot on the couch. I don’t watch much TV so that was hard for me to understand but you know what? He works hard and doesn’t really ask for much so, whatever.
This motorhome has become “home”. It doesn’t matter where it is parked. The kids refer to it specifically as “home”. It is not unlike any other home. It requires some occasional attention which in this case Jeramie lovingly refers to as “deferred maintenance”. Things that should have been taken care of by previous owners but never where. We joke that it needs a good wax job. Some of the RV resorts we have been to are inhabited by retired men who spend their day waxing the sides of their coaches. Whenever Jeramie starts complaining about needing something to do, I tease him about the coach needing a good cleaning and waxing. Seriously, there is not a professional RV detailer that could help this beast. The retired men are always parked on the “good side” of the resort. We are officially victims of racism. There is a policy many resorts/parks hold that if your motorhome or trailer is more than 10 years old it may not even be accepted into the park. If they make the exception, they park you way out back so that you can’t be an unsightly embarrassment to them. Guess what? FINE WITH US! Hee, Hee, Hee, no hurt feelings here that our coach doesn’t fit their standards. It has been the saving tool that has continually blessed us with the end slips that house us closest to or exactly beside the most spacious areas that allow me to kick the kids outside to burn off the energy. God knows what he is doing. She is what she is, she may be ugly, but she’s ours!
I guess I see their point. It is kinda like getting a new house or car. Everybody wants to be encouraging and excited for the other when something big like home ownership happens. Here’s the thing. Jeramie and I have lived in 9 different houses since we got married 8 years ago. The motorhome is just another “house” we have moved into. It is unique, in that this house has wheels and it is the smallest house we have ever been in. Oh, and it is deserving of a name. It’s deserving of a name because this house has some stories to tell. We haven’t found the right name that fits quite yet, so feel free to comment for voting.
How it began….
Jeramie and I had been praying for direction for our family, vocation, location, etc. We had been exploring all sorts of avenues and none of them were right. We have had a tremendous amount of spiritual growth this last year and Jeramie and my paths finally merged into the same direction. It has only taken eight years (nine altogether) but hey, what can I say. Some of us are stubborn and slow learners. Or maybe we are not very good listeners. Or maybe it's because I am such a good teacher that I have spent so much time making sure my husband has been learning his lessons that I ignored mine. Or quite probably it is all the above.
My husband is an independent soul. An adventurer. He would have easily been a pioneer had he been born 150 years ago. Ever seen “Far and Away”? That’s Jeramie, the role played by Tom Cruise. I am a bit, how should we say this…different than Jeramie. I have always envisioned myself with our place that we raise our kids our entire lives, where we have our “thing” that we do and a job that provides and that he loves. Vacations would be to some hotel in a tropical location with five star restaurants and things to do that do not require much energy exertion or getting dirty, preferably pedicures. Consistency, stability, security. This year I became convicted. I didn’t marry consistency, stability and security in the sense of lifestyle. I married energy, excitement , and exploration. I knew that when I met him. It is one of the things I actually love about him. My interpretation for consistency, stability and security gets in the way of who my husband is and most importantly, God’s plan for him. My prayer was answered. Like the flying orange that hit Jeramie in the head one night. I need to let go, put faith in my husband and ultimately faith in God. FEMA, here we come!
Fast forward. If we are going to do this full-time we need a proper set-up. We researched pick-ups and fifth wheels, class C’s (briefly), and class A’s. Get a pick-up and 5th wheel and if something should go wrong with the rig, we still have access to our “house”. Get a pick-up and 5th wheel and our kids are strapped in to the back seat indefinitely. No, thank you. Too much energy in a tight space. Not enough Dutch Bros. on this side of the mountains to handle that kind of chaos. They don’t make class C’s big enough for a family of 6 (5 people and a dog). That immediately eliminates that. O.K. class A it is. The ones they call “the coach”. We had a budget. It was a sad budget. Mr. Excitement is Mr. Conservative when it comes to money. We will not be financing anything. Unless it is a house without wheels on land, we pay cash for everything. Our very first motorhome to look at was a 1987 34’ Fleetwood Pacearrow. Boy was it sexy. Dusty Rose interior. No slides. It was a learning opportunity. One thing we walked away with is that the pictures lie. We were reminded of this time and time again. Oh, so do salesmen at RV dealerships. “We have the perfect RV for what you’re looking for with a very reasonable sales price! It’s on our other lot. I will call over there and let them know you are coming”. We were shown a newer 22’ Fleetwood Southwind with no slides. Yes, we had everyone but the dog in tow. We have got to look like a young, dumb family because for them to see us all, actually in the flesh and think we were delusional enough to entertain the thought of us living in a 22’ space could only be explained by us appearing to be young and dumb. Excuse me sir, we are Mr. and Ms. JENNINGS, not Mr. and Ms. El' stupido. They don’t like it when you have cash either. Again, a learning experience. We had been praying for the right equipment to move forward on this venture and if God has us doing this then he has the provisions it takes to accomplish it as well. Our coach was out there…somewhere.
Somewhere was Happy Valley, outside of Portland. By now we know our stuff. By now we know what our needs are and what would be “nice to have”. By now Jeramie was already working in Tennessee. This was all me. I interviewed the owner extensively and made an appointment to travel the distance to see it. I spent the day before working up a check-off list much like a vehicle window sticker with base price and how much each extra would add to the total price. I also had a depreciation formula to calculate what I would be willing to pay. I pulled up to a ¼ acre grassy lot totally out of place inside the business district of town. It was suppose to be some sort of RV storage. It was someones property overgrown with blackberry bushes, grass and untrimmed trees capitalizing on the unused space. Oh, there it is. Back there. In the bushes. Under the trees. I got out of the car and as the owner was walking across the lot to meet me he stopped mid-step and asked “do you work for an RV dealership? I already spoke with someone. I am not interested in trading it”. “WHAT! Where in the world did you get that impression?” “You have a clip board” “oh, this? No, no, no, I am just very thorough and I know what we are looking for so it will help to keep me from wasting your time” The owner was kind enough to start it up and pull it out of the ditch so that I could see it in the sun. Well, I guess it runs. Check.
We ended up with a 1997 37’ Fleetwood Bounder. You know the ones. With the big kangaroo bounding across the side of it. It has a slide in the living space/master suite. I cannot imagine living in anything smaller but I would if we had to. We ended up gutting it and restoring it with a new floor plan. It is humongous. It is pretty ugly too. Kinda a cream color with blue and yellow stripes on the side. It is LOUD. I thought the class A would be great for meeting the kids needs (or get after them) while driving down the road but 90% of the time I can’t even hear them yelling at me. Sometimes I will turn around to check on them and there is a mangled mess of feet and arms on the floor but no one is crying so I can’t tell if someone is getting pile-drived or if they fell off of the couch. Other times I will check on them and they are all entwined together like puppies, sound asleep sharing one gigantic puddle of drool. Still glad we got the class A. It works really hard to pull hills at around 45 miles per hour but it always reaches the top. It is so heavy that when you finally do, you hope you don’t burn up the breaks trying to slow it down while sailing over the other side. We have finally learned to let it go because we need the momentum to get up the next hill. It is so big that driving it while the wind is blowing feels like we are navigating a sail boat. We always love when we meet a semi coming from the opposite direction in a construction zone where they have narrowed the lanes and reduced them down to two lanes going opposite directions (instead of keeping one direction on their side of the interstate and us on our side) while maintaining a “limited construction zone speed of 65 mph that will prosecute violators with 14 years in prison and a $10,000 fine”. Geez, who needs coffee with that kind of adrenaline pumping? If anything, we need a good smoke to calm us down. It meets all of our needs and after our modifications it even has some of our wants, like Jeramie's 37” flat panel TV and PS3 that have been nicely mounted at the perfect angle in coordination with his specific spot on the couch. I don’t watch much TV so that was hard for me to understand but you know what? He works hard and doesn’t really ask for much so, whatever.
This motorhome has become “home”. It doesn’t matter where it is parked. The kids refer to it specifically as “home”. It is not unlike any other home. It requires some occasional attention which in this case Jeramie lovingly refers to as “deferred maintenance”. Things that should have been taken care of by previous owners but never where. We joke that it needs a good wax job. Some of the RV resorts we have been to are inhabited by retired men who spend their day waxing the sides of their coaches. Whenever Jeramie starts complaining about needing something to do, I tease him about the coach needing a good cleaning and waxing. Seriously, there is not a professional RV detailer that could help this beast. The retired men are always parked on the “good side” of the resort. We are officially victims of racism. There is a policy many resorts/parks hold that if your motorhome or trailer is more than 10 years old it may not even be accepted into the park. If they make the exception, they park you way out back so that you can’t be an unsightly embarrassment to them. Guess what? FINE WITH US! Hee, Hee, Hee, no hurt feelings here that our coach doesn’t fit their standards. It has been the saving tool that has continually blessed us with the end slips that house us closest to or exactly beside the most spacious areas that allow me to kick the kids outside to burn off the energy. God knows what he is doing. She is what she is, she may be ugly, but she’s ours!
Friday, September 3, 2010
Protection in the storm
Wow. It has been awhile since I have had a chance to record these thoughts of mine that I almost didn't remember my login and password for this page. Now that we are getting a new routine established in this crazy life of ours I finally feel like I have a few minutes to update this (though I really don't have the time, if I don't take it I will never get back to the blog).
We finally got to help my sister get married off. It was the most fun day. The perma-smiles on her and her new husbands faces were contagious and it was so much fun to be a part of the celebration that perfectly represented their personalities. I was however running on energy provided by the Holy Spirit because in reality, I was down right exhausted. All went as it was suppose to and that made them happy.
Jeramie became deployed 36 hours before the wedding so immediate re-adjustment of our plans was needed. We spent about an hour disagreeing on what the best plan B was before God finally had enough and intervened. Jeramie and the dog ended up driving the motorhome to Chicago and the kids and I stayed behind until after the wedding. I took a day to recover and then we drove 2/3's of the way cross country to meet him. It was amazing and there were many small moments of divine protection along the way. Things like hotel suite upgrades for the economy price to a tire that had to be filled with the Holy Spirit himself because under no other circumstances could it hold any air. Driving cross country, a mom and her three kids, seems like a big deal. Many people make it out to be a big deal. But it wasn't a big deal. It could've been a big deal but it wasn't a big deal because it was blessed by God.
Illinois has been a cool place to hang. After 2000 miles of less than exciting scenery we were excited to end up in Northern Illinois where there is grass and trees that cover the biggest roller-coaster like hills. The humidity has taken some getting use to. There are days I wonder why I even try to take a shower but quickly remember that this place is TOO small for anything odiferous and although I don't smell me doesn't mean someone else can't smell me. We visited a cool little historic town called Galena. We got to see the historical museum of President U.S. Grants home where he resided in between the war and his term in office. This is the kind of history I can learn, tangible. I retained nothing in school of US history. It wasn't real. This learning is hands on, you can touch it and envision what played out. We all remembered something different, but President Grant's military service and his silk green chair that he took everywhere with him resonated most with Andon. I love that. The green chair. Andon will forever remember that President Grant had a favorite green chair. You cannot teach that in a book in some stuffy classroom. There was a day where Jeramie had a light day scheduled so we tagged along. We were headed to some cool park in Freeport that the KOA owner directed us to. We had to get the inspections done first. This was a day of enlightenment. My exposure to the hood or projects has been limited to what Hollywood protrays for us. I have never gotten why people who live there choose to live there. I have always written it off as it is what they know and people are scared of what they don't know. Today I know different. In Oregon our state services provide housing funds. You are issued a check for rent and as long as the landlord meets state housing requirements, you can live pretty much where you want. The projects are government owned apartments. You get assigned an apartment and they own the building. If you are dependent on the government you don't get choices. You get what they give you. Many of you may already know that, I did not. Another inspection brought us to a terribly run down neighborhood with houses so delapitated it is a wonder how they didn't collapse under the flooding in the first place. The primary ethnicity in this section is african-american. Cops out on many corners trying to keep a peace with people who have nothing better to do than get into trouble. It took a bit of a detour to get back to the "safe" side of town because we kept avoiding streets with cop cars on them. Not a safe place for a young white family after dark. I was more shocked to see that there was an obvious "bad" side of town in a city that has a population of only 26,000. My ignorance is being exposed.
After a long weekend up north, we were relocated to central east Illinois, about an hour south of Chicago. Down here it is flat. Like a gigantic Willamette Valley that doesn't end. The flat land being so close to the great lakes mixes up the perfect recipe for some intense thunder and lightening rainstorms. Jeramie was driving in it in the dark. We could see flashes of lightening that made me think of the de-memorization pen on "Men in Black". Jeramie said the bolts are amazing. Multiple fingers all attached across the entire panoramic darkness. Veins of lightening all feeding off of each other from one side of the sky to the other. The kids and I were "home" by ourselves when we lived through our first mid-western rainstorm. It was loud only to be amplified more so by the shelter of the motorhome. It poured walls of water. It was alarming and at times scary. It was magnificent! Andon was the most upset. That storm spoke to him. We were singing "Jesus Loves Me" when he asked if he could have Jesus in his heart. I prayed for him with him and then he prayed himself. I asked him why he wanted Jesus in his heart right then that very moment "because Jesus is my protector, he makes me feel safe". I have since been brought to my knees, humbled that a 6 year old can get that. We talked about how scary the storm was and if God could make a storm so scary that we couldn't even imagine how scary Hell is. If the only reason we are on this journey was to experience this storm so that it will forever be written on my sons heart then it is worth every sacrifice, although, I will say, we are having a pretty good time!
Hebrews 10:16
"This is the covenant I will make with them after that time, says the Lord. I will put my laws in their hearts, and I will write them on their minds"
We finally got to help my sister get married off. It was the most fun day. The perma-smiles on her and her new husbands faces were contagious and it was so much fun to be a part of the celebration that perfectly represented their personalities. I was however running on energy provided by the Holy Spirit because in reality, I was down right exhausted. All went as it was suppose to and that made them happy.
Jeramie became deployed 36 hours before the wedding so immediate re-adjustment of our plans was needed. We spent about an hour disagreeing on what the best plan B was before God finally had enough and intervened. Jeramie and the dog ended up driving the motorhome to Chicago and the kids and I stayed behind until after the wedding. I took a day to recover and then we drove 2/3's of the way cross country to meet him. It was amazing and there were many small moments of divine protection along the way. Things like hotel suite upgrades for the economy price to a tire that had to be filled with the Holy Spirit himself because under no other circumstances could it hold any air. Driving cross country, a mom and her three kids, seems like a big deal. Many people make it out to be a big deal. But it wasn't a big deal. It could've been a big deal but it wasn't a big deal because it was blessed by God.
Illinois has been a cool place to hang. After 2000 miles of less than exciting scenery we were excited to end up in Northern Illinois where there is grass and trees that cover the biggest roller-coaster like hills. The humidity has taken some getting use to. There are days I wonder why I even try to take a shower but quickly remember that this place is TOO small for anything odiferous and although I don't smell me doesn't mean someone else can't smell me. We visited a cool little historic town called Galena. We got to see the historical museum of President U.S. Grants home where he resided in between the war and his term in office. This is the kind of history I can learn, tangible. I retained nothing in school of US history. It wasn't real. This learning is hands on, you can touch it and envision what played out. We all remembered something different, but President Grant's military service and his silk green chair that he took everywhere with him resonated most with Andon. I love that. The green chair. Andon will forever remember that President Grant had a favorite green chair. You cannot teach that in a book in some stuffy classroom. There was a day where Jeramie had a light day scheduled so we tagged along. We were headed to some cool park in Freeport that the KOA owner directed us to. We had to get the inspections done first. This was a day of enlightenment. My exposure to the hood or projects has been limited to what Hollywood protrays for us. I have never gotten why people who live there choose to live there. I have always written it off as it is what they know and people are scared of what they don't know. Today I know different. In Oregon our state services provide housing funds. You are issued a check for rent and as long as the landlord meets state housing requirements, you can live pretty much where you want. The projects are government owned apartments. You get assigned an apartment and they own the building. If you are dependent on the government you don't get choices. You get what they give you. Many of you may already know that, I did not. Another inspection brought us to a terribly run down neighborhood with houses so delapitated it is a wonder how they didn't collapse under the flooding in the first place. The primary ethnicity in this section is african-american. Cops out on many corners trying to keep a peace with people who have nothing better to do than get into trouble. It took a bit of a detour to get back to the "safe" side of town because we kept avoiding streets with cop cars on them. Not a safe place for a young white family after dark. I was more shocked to see that there was an obvious "bad" side of town in a city that has a population of only 26,000. My ignorance is being exposed.
After a long weekend up north, we were relocated to central east Illinois, about an hour south of Chicago. Down here it is flat. Like a gigantic Willamette Valley that doesn't end. The flat land being so close to the great lakes mixes up the perfect recipe for some intense thunder and lightening rainstorms. Jeramie was driving in it in the dark. We could see flashes of lightening that made me think of the de-memorization pen on "Men in Black". Jeramie said the bolts are amazing. Multiple fingers all attached across the entire panoramic darkness. Veins of lightening all feeding off of each other from one side of the sky to the other. The kids and I were "home" by ourselves when we lived through our first mid-western rainstorm. It was loud only to be amplified more so by the shelter of the motorhome. It poured walls of water. It was alarming and at times scary. It was magnificent! Andon was the most upset. That storm spoke to him. We were singing "Jesus Loves Me" when he asked if he could have Jesus in his heart. I prayed for him with him and then he prayed himself. I asked him why he wanted Jesus in his heart right then that very moment "because Jesus is my protector, he makes me feel safe". I have since been brought to my knees, humbled that a 6 year old can get that. We talked about how scary the storm was and if God could make a storm so scary that we couldn't even imagine how scary Hell is. If the only reason we are on this journey was to experience this storm so that it will forever be written on my sons heart then it is worth every sacrifice, although, I will say, we are having a pretty good time!
Hebrews 10:16
"This is the covenant I will make with them after that time, says the Lord. I will put my laws in their hearts, and I will write them on their minds"
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