We wound up in Wyoming yesterday afternoon.
True story.
This time, though, it was on purpose.
Peterson, in his usual Yoda-esque wisdom, suggested we head back to Evanston for a Friday afternoon adventure. He said that it’d be a fun road trip with a great chance for pictures for both Thrive and the kids. And I love that he knew that it’d be a great place to get pictures for both Thrive and the kids. And so we rolled out in late afternoon hoping to let the kids play in the Bear River and catch a sunset out at the amazing Roundhouse.
Two years ago we’d unexpectedly found ourselves across the state line with nothing more than a wadded up apron and some old shirts. This time, though, the kids loaded up their new school backpacks with sunblock, towels and extra clothes so that they could splash and play to their hearts content.
And they totally did.
The kids dropped their crap gear at the same spot along the path as last time, right across the river from that same nicest Walmart that I’ve ever seen, and jumped in. And as expected, it only took a few minutes before there was sand and towels and flip flops strewn all across the path next to our impromptu path because we’re classy like that.
And for the next little while, Ben and I lazily relaxed on the edge of the path playing lifeguards as the kids came in and out of the water. And once again, that stiff Wyoming wind blew relentlessly – perfect for me and Ben, but it made the water pretty choppy for the kids.
Not that they seem to mind too much, though.
And it was just as awesome as last time, when “without a real vacation, or real paddle boat or real beach, TDHD splashed and ran and played and leapt and laughed and thrilled at the rush of summer and the magic of carefree play that no vacation hot-spot could ever claim exclusive rights to.”
“Summer hot-spot?
Today ours was middle-of-nowhere-Wyoming.”
Eventually that awesome wind got the better of TDHD. One by one they climbed out of the river shivering and clamoring for towels in near gale force winds.
The towels dried quick, though.
So that was handy.
After everyone had towels and shirts back on, we headed back to the truck in search of some place to eat dinner.
I only stopped them twenty times along the trail to take more pictures.
They were warm and happy so it was no big deal.
As we neared the parking lot, the middle four charged back across the bridge with no problems. Dylan and Ash … not so much.
Ash wanted me to carry her until I was able to reassure her that the bridge was as strong as the Incredible Hulk and wouldn’t fall into the river. Dylan had seen too many Thomas the Tank engine videos where train bridges give out and was pretty scared. Turns out he has an awesome Dad who stayed with him and got him across the bridge and back to the truck.
After finding nothing that looked exciting for dinner … and seeing that the kids still had plenty of snacks to munch on … we decided to head back towards the historic Evanston Roundhouse.
On our way there, I made a quick stop at the dollar store so I could grab some safety pins to finish up the pillow case dress enough for Savannah to wear for Thrive pictures. I hadn’t had a chance to finish sewing in the elastic waistband on the way over like I’d planned since I ended up driving. Ben’s back had been flaring badly before we left and I was hoping that his muscle relaxants would kick in during the drive and allow him to enjoy the trip. While Ben and the kids waited in the truck, I ran into the hugest Dollar Tree I’ve ever seen with twice the dollar goodness of any Utah store. I made a mental note to come back as soon as pictures were done and let the kids go nuts. As I checked out with my safety pins, the cashier asked me if I’d like to buy their item of the day – a 3 pk. of bubbles – and the light bulb went off. Yes, yes I would like to buy some bubbles. And they were perfect.
Because five minutes after driving to the roundhouse, I got the cover picture for Thrive exactly as I’d imagined it.
Summer? Check. Golden hour? Check. Someplace cool and with bubbles? Check, check.
And I was thinking it was totally worth the hour drive to get pics for Thrive until I stopped worrying about work stuff and took a step back.
No.
Spending extra time with this amazing man was worth the drive.
Man I love this guy.
And sharing the day with our kids at a train yard was worth the hour drive.
And hearing giggles and seeing bubbles swirl around six happy kids on a perfectly warm and breezy summer night was worth the drive.
And that’s when I choked hard and had to steady myself as I knelt on a rotted out railroad tie. So many emotions washed over me as I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to take everything in. And so I cried and snapped pictures and cried and snapped pictures as the Spirit bore witness to me once again that I was exactly where I was supposed to be … that being with these kids and this wonderful husband was what mortality was all about …
… that the Lord gave me this life and this family and this experience because he loved and knew me perfectly … and that having a camera in my hands to help me remember this moment was nothing short of a tender mercy.
As I wiped tears away and took a deep breath, I stood up to meet the older version of my son.
Why hello there Elder Peterson.
And I wanted more than ever to remember that I—no, WE—were here today … all of us … even the Mom behind the camera. So I put my camera bag down on a railroad tie and handed the camera over to Cameron. I wanted to have a picture of me and Peterson right there on those tracks, too, even if he was being a grouch about smiling.
Thankfully his sense of humor returned on the way back to the truck and I got one of us together that I’d actually frame. Even Savannah got a little behind-the-lens time.
Thanks, Savannah. Awesome job.
As Peterson got the kids corralled and buckled in the truck …
… I took one last look around, said a quick prayer of gratitude and even got off a quick self portrait.
I was here today.
As the sun sank below the horizon, we headed back toward the super deluxe dollar store with just enough time for the kids to run in. After a quick clean up with baby wipes, the top layer of the dirt, coal dust and bubble soap had come off.
Once inside you’d have thought it was Christmas.
Let’s just say there was a lot of yelling, shouting, squealing and cheering as TDHD hurried through isle after isle of quality junk. Each of them had their big vacation budget of a dollar to spend which yielded a foam airplane, princess crown, Captain America figurine, dry erase marker set, and a box of Whoppers. Fifteen minutes later the kids happily raced back out to the truck, all except Kaden who might have had a melt down that involved a gum ball machine dinosaur and green yo-yo.
After no less than two drive through trips at two different fast food joints for a very late dinner, we rolled out of Wyoming in darkness. Ben’s meds had worn off so he took his usual spot behind the wheel as I settled into the navigator seat. But as we cruised along, I could tell that the pain in Ben’s back that had been blessedly absent most of our day had started to return. He was hurting and I knew that he was counting down the minutes until we got home. The relief on his face when we finally pulled into the driveway just before 11:00 pm was noticeable. I smiled and told him to head inside, dose up and get to bed. It had been a wonderful, but long day and I felt grateful that Ben had been blessed to be able to enjoy it. I was happy to unload the truck and get kids taken care of so that he could get down and rest.
I think that’s why I felt so terrible fifteen minutes later when Ben and I climbed into the Intrepid and raced back to Evanston.
And so for the second time that day, I found myself in Wyoming.
True story.
And it was totally my fault.
Remember this picture of me and Ben? The one where I said I wanted a picture of all of us … and set my camera bag down on a railroad tie …
… yeah, well I did set the bag down … right where Kaden was standing in this picture … not twenty feet from the parking lot in front of all those cars and people.
And then I walked around for several more minutes with my camera in hand, taking pictures and having a grand ol’ time. And then we all piled back into the truck … and I set my camera down in my purse where I usually carry it … and we headed for the super dollar store and dinner and home … all while my un-zipped, totally open camera bag with all my extra lenses sat on a railroad tie in plain site of every.single.car.and.person at the busy roundhouse. Oh, and did I mention that there was a festival in town that night so the roundhouse was particularly busy with visitors? Or that the camera bag was brand new and that I hadn’t had a chance to put any ID or contact info in it?
Yeah … awesome.
And the second we pulled into the drive way at 11:00 pm and I sent Ben inside … and went to grab my purse and camera bag … I knew it was gone.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no.
I couldn’t believe it—couldn’t believe that hundreds of dollars of equipment was gone. Couldn’t believe that I’d been so careless with something so important. Ben figured out what was going on pretty quick and wasn’t amused, not that I blamed him. We both knew that there was no way we could afford to replace any of that equipment right now and I was dependent on all of it for Thrive.
I frantically jumped on-line to see if there was someone I could call—an after hours security company, a messaging center, a lost and found—anyone, but there was no one.
And the thought came to my mind: go back.
We’d left at sunset so maybe the cover of dark would buy me some time until I could drive back and look for it. But it was late … and far away … and in another state … and Ben desperately needed to take meds and get down … and it was insane for me to even attempt a trip like that alone. Just then Ben came back into the living room and told me exactly what I had been too afraid to say out loud—that we had to go back. That if we waited for daylight, there’d be no chance of getting it back if it wasn’t gone already. Then Peterson grabbed his keys and headed for the door.
“You can’t drive like this,” I told him.
“It’s not safe for you to go alone. I’m going to gas up the car,” he answered back as he shut the door behind him.
That’s when I texted my awesome friend Beth. It was 11:05 pm.
You still up?
Yeah.
You up for a road trip to Wyoming right now? I’m serious.
Whaaaaaat?
And so I called her and filled her in on the whole sad story. She was working on a project for a 6:00 am camp meeting in the morning. She offered to tag along with her laptop, but it would make for a brutal morning. As we were talking, another thought came to my mind: call Lorri.
So I told Beth I’d try and figure out a way to make it work where I didn’t have to drag her and her laptop across the state line.
And so I texted Lorri.
You still up?
On our way to bed. What do you need?
And so I called Lorri, too, and rattled off the same sad story. And because she’s also awesome, she said her son Paul would come over and sleep on the couch while Ben and I raced back. For half a second I thought about grabbing the camera to document the adventure that lay in front of us, but it felt like tempting fate. So I set it safely on the top of the armoire in the living room and headed out to the curb to meet Ben. It had been several minutes and I had figured he’d be back by now. So I hit the ‘2’ on my speed dial.
Where are you?
Just passing the high school, almost to the freeway. Why?
You can’t go alone.
Neither can you.
I know--come back. Paul’s on the couch and will watch the kids. I’m coming with you.
Ok. See you in a minute.
And while I stood outside in the darkness, pacing on the curb in a stiff wind, I called Beth back.
You’re off the hook. I found a babysitter so Ben and I are going to go together.
Are you sure? A girls midnight border run would be epic. EPIC.
And I thought about it long and hard for a minute … a girls road trip would be epic … and Ben shouldn’t have to suffer through hours more on the road without meds because of my mistake … and when he pulled up a few seconds later and I saw how tired and miserable he looked, a girls road trip seemed like the only option… yet the prompting was clear – go with Ben. And so I climbed into the passenger seat and put on my seat belt.
No, we’re good, Beth. Thanks so much for being up for this. Have fun at your camp meeting tomorrow morning.
And just like that, Ben and I flipped a u-turn in front of our house and headed for Wyoming.
“You didn’t have to come,” Ben told me as we passed back by the high school.
“No, this is my fault,” I said, shaking my head. “I didn’t want you to go alone, especially with your back this bad. I can drive and you can try and sleep.”
Ben smiled. “It’s okay,” he told me as he winced and changed his position in his seat. “I talked to the man upstairs while I was gassing up and told him that I needed him to get me through this. I told him that we had to go back and that I didn’t want you out there alone. I’ll be fine.”
I squeezed his hand and fought back tears. Man I love this guy.
“I’m glad you’ve prayed, but we probably ought to say prayer together,” I said.
And so as Ben drove on, I closed my eyes and tried not to cried my way through a prayer.
Please, Father, bless Ben and help him be okay. Help us not crash. Help us stay awake. Help us find the camera bag because we can’t afford to replace it. Help us not get arrested by Evanston police for ‘suspicious behavior’. I know I screwed up and this is totally my fault, but please help us ….
As I finished my prayer, we were nearing highway 89. Ben had grabbed a couple of Monster energy drinks to keep him awake, but I knew I’d need a drink, too. And so we pulled into Maverick and I grabbed a leaded Diet Coke while Ben grabbed a batteries for our MagLite in case we had lots of tromping around in a dark train yard. As I climbed back in the car, Ben grabbed a couple of old cassette tapes from the trunk to listen to on the drive. And when he sat down in the drivers seat, I was stunned.
Ben had been completely transformed.
The fatigue and pain were gone—he was alert, focused and moving around with ease. If he was feeling any pain in his back, I couldn’t see it. I closed my eyes in prayer of gratitude.
Thank you, Father, for sending us a miracle so quickly.
With drinks and tunes in hand, we hung a left on 89. It was 11:36 pm.
We figured that it couldn’t hurt to call the Evanston Police Department in case someone had turned in the camera bag. If no one had, at least we could give them a heads-up about the two strangers with out-0f-state plates who were about to go snooping through a deserted train yard in the middle of the night. It might keep us from being detained and questioned so that was good. And so I called Beth again to get the non-emergency number (lame non-wifi cell phones). Jessica at EPD was very kind, but told us that no, no one had turned in a bag; no, the police didn’t make special trips out to fields to hunt for missing equipment; yes, they’d be sure to call us if it was turned in later; and yes, they’d let the patrol officers in the area know we were coming and not to shoot. :)
After we got off the phone, I dug around in the darkness for the cassettes that Ben had grabbed. I knew that he needed some music on to help him stay awake and pass the time, but I wasn’t looking forward to it. Ben’s usual road-trip music was full of 80’s metal bands that I so wasn’t into. But it didn’t matter—Ben had selflessly volunteered to go despite feeling lousy even though I was the one who screwed up. I wasn’t going to say a word and was going to be quietly grateful. But in another tender mercy, I blindly grabbed the one cassette from the one band that both of us loved: Def Leppard VAULT.
And while it seemed a little weird to think that picking that Def Leppard tape as in any way divine, I have to believe it was. I had grown up listening to those songs on KUBE 93.3 during elementary and junior high … and danced to those songs at talent shows and school dances … and listened to that exact tape time and time again with Peterson and we drove back and forth from college … and made all those moves around Idaho. That tape had so many good memories of growing up and road trips and times when it was just me and Ben.
And so I popped The Vault in the Intrepid’s archaic tape player.
“Step inside, walk this way; You and me babe, hey hey!”
As we cruised along I-84 in the darkness, I sipped on my Diet Coke to a little Pour Some Sugar on Me, Photograph, Love Bites, Let’s Get Rocked, and Two Steps Behind. And as we caught the junction toward I-80, Ben kept the drum beat on his drink and the steering wheel to Rocket, When Love & Hate Collide, Hysteria, and Miss You In A Heartbeat.
And I so needed that.
Hearing those upbeat, familiar songs helped keep the worry and guilt at bay for most of the trip. And during those moments when those thoughts would surge to the surface and the tears were close, Ben would squeeze my hand and smile … and go back to his car grooves, completely relaxed and happy … and I’d remind myself that the situation was totally out of my control and that I should just enjoy the gift of having some unexpected alone time with the coolest guy on the planet.
“Rocket, Yeah, Satellite of Love …”
At 12:27 am, we crossed into Wyoming and pulled off at exit 5 a few minutes later.
And as we turned onto the main drag, I felt a growing excitement—not just peace and relief—but true joy and excitement. “It’s there. I know it’s there,” I wanted to happily blurt out loud, but I doubted and immediately cautioned myself against getting my hopes up. I told myself that maybe those feeling just meant that somehow we’d be okay. But of course, I still felt guilty for doubting.
How could I doubt? Hadn’t I just seen what had happened to Ben? Hadn’t we just had this awesome, if random, date night fall into our laps despite me screwing up?
And so I battled back in forth between faith and doubt as we passed the fast food places and the nicest Walmart, passed the super Dollar Tree and the huge (for Evanston) Wells Fargo building, past the empty street vendor tents from the Freedom Festival and finally the post office. A quick jog to the right onto Main Street and all that was left was a quiet little stretch out to the roundhouse.
And that’s when I panicked.
The roundhouse and the train yard were lit up like Christmas – there were street lights everywhere that lit the whole area clear as day. My hope for the cover of dark dissolved and my heart sank. And as we pulled into the parking lot, I realized that there were still several cars in the lot—different cars from when we’d been there at sunset. People—lots of them—had come and gone since we’d left and my bag would have been visible to everyone.
But as we slowly turned past the roundhouse and drove along the row of cars parked next to the tracks, I thought I saw something.
“Stop here!” I practically screamed at Ben, pointing to an open parking spot and quickly undoing my seatbelt.
And as Ben pulled into the stall, I saw my bag … and screamed again … and literally jumped from the car before Ben could stop … and bruised my leg something fierce opening the door while the car was still moving … and raced in flip flops a mere twenty feet to my still un-zipped bag sitting on the same rail road tie I’d left it on four hours before … and quickly grabbed it to see what was left … and screamed again when I saw everything—all the lenses, the generic 50 spf sunblock and the extra t-shirt for Savannah—right where I’d left them.
And that’s when I lost it.
I clutched my bag close and sobbed as I walked back to the car. “It all here,” I told Ben through tears. He squeezed my hand and backed out of the stall. And as we headed back for Main Street, I couldn’t believe how anti-climatic and yet miraculous the last few hours had been. It had taken less than a minute—one minute!—from the time we’d pulled into the parking lot until we here heading away. There was no searching, no flashlights, no wondering around—heck, Ben didn’t even get out of the car. Yet there had been lots of people who’d been just feet away from my bag and hadn’t touched it. Why? And not just the dishonest ones, but the good Samaritans out there who would have checked for contact information or turned the bag into the police—why hadn’t they grabbed the bag?
The answer was clear: the Lord had intervened.
In whatever way that it happened, He’d made sure that my bag had stayed put … that no one saw it, or touched it or even noticed that it was there … and that my husband had received strength for the long drive … and had sent me feelings of peace and then joy to reassure me … and had used my mistake to bless us with an unplanned date night and some desperately needed time alone. All without having to pay for a babysitter, either.
And so I told Ben to stop for a second … that I didn’t want to leave the parking lot until we’d acknowledged His hand in all that had happened that night. But I was a hot mess of tears, so Ben prayed and offered out loud the things in my heart that I couldn’t say. And for the next two hours, I was floating … floating as we stopped by Maverick on our way out of town for another 44oz. for the trip home … floating even when Ben put my bag on the floor of the back seat while we ran inside Maverick and I had a mini panic attack when I thought that it was gone again … floating as I called Jessica at EPD to tell her the bag had been recovered … floating as Ben and I laughed and talked and rocked out to Def Leppard all the way back … floating as we drove back past the high school for the fourth time in ten hours … and floating as we decided to take a quick detour and pulled into our local Smith’s parking lot to grab milk, bread and cereal so that we didn’t have to get out of bed before noon.
It was 2:12 in the morning.
And just because I was taking no chances, the camera bag came into the store with me, even though Ben laughed. I noticed him wince as he got out of the car and saw a slight limp in his step as he grabbed a cart. The two 44 oz. drinks from the trip had caught up with me so I headed straight for the restrooms and then browsed the newspapers by the front check outs until Ben walked up with the cart. And I was stunned once again.
Ben had been completely transformed.
The guy that five minutes before had been fine, was now tired, hurting and barely able to walk. He was hunched over the handles of the shopping cart, using it for support just to make it to the front of the store. And for the umpteenth time, the tears came as I realized the miraculous, sustaining power that had carried him on our midnight adventure to Evanston had lasted long enough for him to accomplish what he needed. Through the power of prayer, his pain and fatigue had been rebuked until we were safely back in town and close to home.
Thank you, Father, for everything.
Once again, the relief on Ben’s face when we pulled into the driveway was noticeable. Except this time, he did get to go in, take his meds and lay down while I unloaded and checked on the kids. By 3:00 am Paul had been sent home, groceries were put away and 162.6 extra miles had been logged on the Intrepid. Bed never sounded so good.
It would be 10:00 am before Ben and I stumbled into the kitchen for breakfast, not that we didn’t hear the little weasels TDHD quietly turning on cartoons at 7:00 am – bleh. That morning it didn’t matter and we were grateful that they could entertain themselves while we got some extra sleep. As Ben and I settled down with our bowls of cereal, I heard Cameron announcing to the kids in his know-it-all voice that mom and dad had gone to Wyoming last night two times and that Paul had even babysat!
The other kids were doubtful.
Really? You went to Wyoming again in the middle of the night? Why?
And so I told them about mom’s screw up and how grateful I was to find all of my camera equipment right where I’d left it.
“Whoa!” Savannah said in amazement. “You’re sooooo lucky.”
“Yeah,” Camerom piped up. “That bag could have been totally stolen. You’re seriously lucky.”
And I couldn’t stop them fast enough.
“No guys,” I told them emphatically. “Luck had nothing to do with this. We were blessed. Seriously blessed.”
“Why?” Savannah asked again.
“Because we pay our tithing,” I told her simply.
“Really? Tithing?” It was Kaden, our skeptic, this time.
“Yeah guys, tithing,” I said as Ben and I munched on Corn Chex.
And for the next few minutes, I reminded TDHD of the blessings and protection that are promised to those who faithfully obey this principle. And I heard myself bear witness of a truth that I had struggled to have faith in the night before—that we have the right to pray for and expect deliverance when we are keeping our covenants. And I told them how much I knew the Lord loved and knew me—that he knew how important my camera was for both our family and Thrive, and how devastating it would be to loose it—and that He had directly intervened last night to protect, sustain and bless our family.
Within a few minutes the kids were back to watching cartoons as Ben and I finished up our cereal. I don’t know how much they’ll remember about our breakfast chat about mom and dad’s crazy trip to Wyoming, but I remember. And every time I hold my camera I remember. And each time I scroll back through pictures from our trip I remember the promise made through Malachi:
“… Prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it. And I will rebuke the devourer for your sakes ….”
Promise proved. Twice.
Happy, happy summer.
