Real

Chapter 1 Beginnings You will make known to me the path of life. . . . —Psalm 16:11 My husband and I met each other in the seventies, when life seemed much less complicated than in recent years. The Vietnam War was over and the opportunities that the military offered were enticing to a couple of kids just starting out on their own. Before we even met, Paul and I had each taken the Oath of Enlistment to serve our Country and ultimately ended up being assigned to the same unit at a Midwestern base. Paul was a dashingly handsome man who had a wonderful sense of humor—an immediate magnet to a young woman with a quite-serious nature. He owned the most genuine smile I had ever seen—with teeth as bright as a nova—and he flashed it at me whenever I was near. Immediately intrigued, I still played hard to get. It wasn’t until an eventful trip home to spend Thanksgiving with my parents that a unique love started to form. Paul had been undeterred by my nonchalant attitude toward him, even offering me a ride to Wisconsin that first Thanksgiving. His parents lived within thirty miles of my own, so it seemed like a good plan. Besides that, it was hard to pass up a free ride home. Our unit only worked a half day that Wednesday before the long holiday weekend commenced; and I was already packed and ready to go when a friend dropped me off at the barracks where I lived. I hauled my cumbersome suitcase down the stairs and waited for Paul to arrive. He pulled up in his noisy yellow Volkswagen Beetle just after noon. The day was damp; the smell of snow hung heavily in the air; and thick grey clouds hovered over our heads. The local weather forecasters had predicted a blizzard—but the lure of eating Thanksgiving dinner together with our respective families infused us with a dogged determination to make the journey north. The snow had just begun to fall when I slid into the front seat of Paul’s Volkswagen. He handed me a blanket that he had brought along specifically to “keep me warm.” Keep me warm? I wonder what he means by that? In the next breath, Paul made his previous statement quite clear when he said, “The heating cable on the passenger side is broken—I’m sorry.” Astonished—and uncharacteristically speechless—I wondered how my temperate body would deal with the lack of heat: my ideal comfort range at that time was between seventy to seventy-five degrees Fahrenheit. Feeling slightly betrayed by my “chauffeur,” the realization hit me that it was far too late to make other plans. Dismay turned into resignation, and the desire to see my parents overrode the apprehension I felt at taking a road trip in an ice cube on wheels. It had been three months since I had left home at the tender age of eighteen; I really missed Mom and Dad. Besides, it will only take four or five hours. And even though Paul is a little bit odd, he’s really cute. To say that the weather predictions had been correct was an understatement. Within an hour of leaving the base, I knew we were in trouble. I began praying—hard. It would turn out to be one of the longest prayers of my life. The snow that was falling from the sky was not light and fluffy. It was heavy and sticky and tenaciously grabbed onto the windshield, refusing to budge. There was no doubt about it—we were caught up in a full-fledged it-hasn’t-been-this-bad-in-twenty-years kind of blizzard. Vehicles were strewn in the ditches like Matchbox cars that had spun off their circular racetrack. Amazingly, we just kept plugging along in that tiny VW Bug—slowly but surely inching our way forward on the nearly invisible highway. The majority of the time, the road truly was invisible to Paul, whose driver’s side windshield wiper was broken. He forgot to mention that detail before we left, I inwardly harrumphed. Shuddering in disbelief, I watched Paul stick his arm out the window every few minutes to wipe the snow off the windshield with his coat sleeve. Unbelievable, I thought as I rolled my eyes. Although he showed some creativity, Paul was not exactly winning me over. But at least he had tenacity and determination—both traits that I admired. Continuing on our frozen trek through the blizzard, we finally glimpsed a friendly beacon of light peeking through the white curtain of snow. It emanated from the first rest stop along our weary way. What a wonderful sight! The appropriately named “Oasis” beckoned us to come in from the cold and warm ourselves in its ample space. The Bug obediently chugged up to the top of the icy, snow-covered ramp and seemed to breathe a sigh of relief that was nearly as large as our own. Paul expertly maneuvered the car into an impossibly narrow parking spot. He came around to help me as I eagerly opened the creaky door and attempted to pry myself out of the car. My nose and toes had gone numb—plus my legs—both of which seemed frozen into place. Lifting them out of their prison with Paul’s assistance, I quickly looked up at the sky, staring in awe at the huge snowflakes that were dropping onto my face. I took a deep breath and filled my lungs with the cold, fresh air. It smelled different from the other times I had been to that Oasis—the dirty gas and diesel fumes that normally tainted the air had somehow been taken away by the cleansing snow. For some reason, the infusion of fresh air reminded me that we were not alone on our journey—Jesus was right there with us, protecting and encouraging us along the way.