My family and I have spent the past two weeks in a one-room house on wheels. Thanks to the generosity of my father-in-law, we took an RV from Texas to New Mexico, Arizona, California, Oregon, Idaho, Wyoming, Colorado, Kansas, and Oklahoma, and showed our girl six of America's national parks (Grand Canyon--north rim, Yosemite, Crater Lake, Yellowstone, Grand Teton, and Rocky Mountain). We covered 5,700 miles in 13 days.

I think my husband now sees white dotted lines in his sleep.

I didn't want to say a lot about in on my blog while we were gone because I didn't want to advertise that our house was sitting vacant. Okay, it had two cats with a regular visitor. But you get the point. Besides that, the national parks don't do cell service, let alone internet. When we asked about it, we were told, "Isn't that what you came to get away from?"

At times the sans-tech really bothered us. Along Yellowstone's narrow winding roads, we came up on an accident where a man was carrying a kid from a car. The airbag had exploded on impact, and the kid was crying about something hurting. When we asked how we could help (remember, we had a bed on wheels), the answer we received was this: "As soon as you get near a phone that works, call for help!" I felt like I'd been transported back to 1975. Still, with all the wind-y roads I was glad nobody was texting or talking on the phone--like we saw all over the Interstates. And it turned out the kid was okay. Whew!

When my husband accepted the job as Kenya Projects Manager, I thought my traveling days were over due to limited funds. If you saw my prayer journal, you'd know how I wrestled with the Almighty over that one. And this summer I've been home fewer days than any summer of my life. Interesting lesson there for me...

And I am humbled by the glory I have just seen. The glory of a purple rain over Monument Valley. Of a Grand Canyon waterfall crashing over a precipice and reminding me of Him whose voice is like rushing waters. Of sunflowers in Kansas so yellow we wondered if God turned up the color saturation. Of miles and miles of quiet filled with sagebrush. Of desert storms. Of huckleberry cobbler. Of a deer with her two fawns. Of sunrise and sunset over the Grand Canyon. Of wild boars fighting. Of the ingenuity of wind farms. Of wild buffalo grunting. Of mud geysers steaming and groaning like a dragon in a cave--and stinking like one, too. Of osprey babies in a nest with their mama. Of cold summer nights requiring heat and wool followed by mornings where steam rises from the lakes. Of human relationships, from the spontaneous dancing at a wedding to the beloved faces of friends and family. Of hospitality supreme. Of Canyon de Shelly at sunset. Of Grand Teton at sunrise.
Common grace. My husband and I cranked up "Proud to be An American" and sang it like we meant it--not in some sort of jingoistic we-are-better-than-them spirit, but in the spirit that says, "What an astonishing country, so full of beauty and majesty." Truly it has spacious skies, and amber waves of corn silk (post-wheat harvest), and purple mountains' majesty, and fruited plains. His grace has been shed, and we are the stunned and grateful participants.