My Mission Blog

We began our trip at 8am on a Friday. I was expecting the usual. Church bus. Bouncy roads. A 17 hour drive to Western New York. There’s an assorted array of participants. The leader is a middle aged man with a large bushy mustache and clogs to match most sports team shirts that he wore. He is a jolly soul who I am certain has lived a good life full of character and moral excellence. There is the elderly man who really came along to monitor his very young pastor’s behavior, I suspect. And to support and encourage him. He is a kind man who doesn’t sleep well but has a sweet spirit anyway. His 30 year old pastor brought his entire family along. The wife and two kids, 4 & 9, had just returned from a youth camp and immediately turned around and went on this mission trip. They are clearly a family immersed in the “doing” of church. They have sincere hearts with a steady determination in their eyes. There is also the parolee who is a reformed and now evangelical ex-criminal and the only black person on the trip. Special arrangements have been made for him to come on this trip while on parole. For a man of 33 with such a past, it is amazing how child-like he seems. He has a multitude of fears but is going on this trip anyway. True courage. There is a 14 year old boy who came along by himself and a 17 year old girl who is also flying solo. The 17 year old girl has been away from home at the youth camp with the 30 year old pastor’s family and she is now home sick and tucks up under them for most of the trip. And then there is us: A single mom with two amazing kids who must seem such a mystery to all of these good church folk. Everybody from these parts knows everyone’s cousin’s mama’s sisters. I know they are terribly curious as to my story but everyone is respectful and no one pries. Twelve passengers ready to make a difference.

We discovered the morning of the trip that there was no hitch on the bus. All of the luggage that was to go in the trailer must now be piled in the back two rows of seats. We head out in the usual form. Everyone is assigned a number and every time we exit & re-enter the bus we sound off. “SIX!” is my road warrior cry each time we head out. We drive through Georgia for most of the first day and sleep in the basement of a church in Kentucky that first night.

No snorers.

There is a God.

We rise and leave at 7:30am and travel through Ohio & Pennsylvania on the fourth of July. The roads up north are much bumpier than our southern roads and the mountain of luggage in the back row, which has been packed & unpacked once already, begins to landslide. This is only of significance if you are the one sitting in the next to last row, which my children & I were. I spent that whole day getting pelted by various hanging bags, air mattresses & boxes of supplies. I pinched a nerve in my neck that day, somewhere between sleeping crookedly in a bus seat and shoving luggage back onto the top of the heap. Just a nagging crick to keep me company for the next 2 days. We eat at the assorted food establishments along the way: Chick-fil-a, Arby’s, and of course Bob Evans. Can’t forget Bob. Shortly after we fill up on salads, ribs, and other miscellaneous foods courtesy of Mr. Evans in Jamestown NY, we head to the camp.

As we drive into the camp there are random broken down RV’s along the road on either side. It feels more like a processional to an RV grave yard than a summer camp site. When we arrive it is dusk and the ducks are meandering through the construction debris to the right and the pot belly pig is tucked away in her bed inside a work shed on the left. Her name is Mayberry and she gets grumpy at night in her “house” so we must tread lightly. It has rained for several weeks and the camp site is a mud slide. We slip & slide our way into the lodge with bags in tow. Plus it is cold. Very cold. Must be in the mid to low 40’s. Most of us are dressed in shorts. I skid my way to our cabin covered in goose bumps in my mud covered flip flops and find my bunk. Our fearless leader described it as rustic and his words did not fail him. I choose the bottom bunk with the double mattress and assess the bathroom that looks somewhat like those porta-potties you see at festivals, but with a shower. I think UGH. I walk back into the cabin room and my daughter is perched on the top bunk above me, grinning with satisfaction & says “This is going to be so awesome!” I smiled, rubbed her hair and said, “Yes it is sweetie. Yes it is.”

We made it through the first night with just a few pitter patters from our rodent room mates. I had been warned about both chipmunks and mice. I had showered in the porta-potty the night before, so getting to breakfast & then the bus on time was a cinch. With a hearty SIX! we were off to church. Church came and went rather un-ceremoniously. Ironic, I know. There were all sorts of interesting characters there, however. Most of the members ride over on a bus from a group home. Bi-polars. Mentally disabled. Physically disabled. They came in all shapes, sizes and ages. Then there was ZZ Top. At the last minute a lady, a young girl and three extraordinarily tall men with long hair & beards walked in and sat down. Well, only the men had beards. You can imagine my surprise when, later at the spaghetti social, they spoke with this odd Swedish/Dutch accent. It was like Bruno from Popeye having Minnie Mouse’s voice. Evidently the Swedish don’t bathe too often either, if you get my drift. Lunch was finished, dishes were cleaned and with a swift SIX! we were back at the camp site napping until time for evening services.

Evening service was rather unremarkable as well, and we were back at camp before I knew it. I spent some time blogging about the day and then joined the crowd around the grill where Bubba Burgers were cooking. I exchanged children stories with the young pastor’s wife and noted that they were young pups compared to me. I will be 39 next month. I don’t feel almost 40. I am the second most senior woman on this trip. The next eldest is 73. We ate and watched the kids have a roller derby in the lodge lobby with what looked like furniture movers like the ones you put under piano’s. After an hour with no injuries we decided we had pushed our luck far enough and bedtime was called. More to come…