Chronicle #13: Compass Confusion

South.

Just head south. 

That was what our hearts seemed to be saying.

As lifelong Michiganders, heading toward warmer weather didn't exactly require much convincing. Winters can feel especially brutal in adulthood, and if I'm being honest, chasing summer is still a desire of my heart. Owning two homes and becoming snowbirds in retirement is practically a Michigan dream—because, well, if you know, you know.

Don't misunderstand me. Pure Michigan is no longer the hidden gem it once was for good reason. Summer and fall here are spectacular. God's fingerprints are all over the coastlines of this mitten state.

Just sayin'.

But on this particular journey, south felt right.

About an hour into our drive, I found our first destination: The Narrows Campground in Lucas, Kentucky, not far from Mammoth Cave.

Our plan was to have experiences along the way while waiting for God to reveal where this whole "get ready, pack light" adventure was ultimately taking us.

So we headed toward Kentucky.

My body was saying no.

My heart was saying yes.

And because I believed supporting my husband was the faithful thing to do, I kept going.

By the time we arrived, I finally worked up the courage to investigate just how bad my condition had become.

It was much worse than I thought.

Though the fever had passed and the canker sores within my mouth were becoming more bearable, what had started as two small, sore spots on both inner thighs (near the lady parts) had become open wounds. Walking was tender but urinating brought me to tears. I quickly learned how to do it standing just to keep the urine from touching the wounds.

Then add camper life into the equation.

We had no running water.

Keeping myself clean was difficult.  Drinking hurt my mouth and drinking less meant fewer painful trips to the bathroom, so without really intending to, I began avoiding fluids all together.  As we traveled farther south into warmer weather, dehydration soon became another problem my body didn't need.

But rather than telling everyone how miserable I was, I slipped into a role I knew well.

Mom mode.

Wife mode.

Make-everything-comfortable mode.

My environment has always affected my ability to relax, and I assumed making the camper feel more like home would make everyone else more comfortable too. So while Nick took the kids fishing, I stayed behind tweaking, organizing, and cleaning.

Fishing wasn't—and still isn't—my thing, so staying behind didn't feel like a sacrifice at the time.

Looking back, though, I can see something I couldn't see then.

I was very good at cultivating an environment for my family.

I wasn't always as good at stopping long enough to cultivate memories with them.

There was another reason I stayed behind, too.

No one knew how much pain I was actually in.

The next morning, we were headed to Mammoth Cave. Nick had visited as a child and couldn't wait to recreate that memory with our children.

We're always trying to rewrite history, aren't we?

I just wish this particular rewrite had made for a better story.

For me, Mammoth Cave was a nightmare.

I smiled. I walked. I explored, hiding it one painful step at a time.

By that afternoon, I finally asked the Lord a question I probably should have been asking much more often.

"Where next?"

Madison.

That was all I heard.

I didn't know which Madison. I didn't know why Madison. And, perhaps more importantly, I didn't press in and ask.  Honestly, I thought to myself, "you made that up."

So I tucked the word away and continued with our evening.

During our stay, Nick and the kids had met another family while fishing—a single mom named Paula and her two boys, Kaiden and Jace.

At the time, they were simply strangers at a campground.

We had no way of knowing they wouldn't remain strangers.

That evening, Kaiden taught our entire family how to gut a bluegill and cook it over the campfire with little more than a few seasonings. The kids played and swam while two families who hadn't known each other hours earlier shared an evening together.

I didn't know it then, but this family would become part of our journey long after we pulled away from The Narrows.

For now, though, they were simply real people with open hearts who welcomed a family passing through.

Sometimes God introduces people into our stories long before we understand the role they'll eventually play.

While memories were being made around the campfire, a storm was brewing in the distance.

By the middle of the night, both storms had caught up with me.

I finally told Nick.

I needed medical care.

With severe weather moving toward us, we decided to pack up early and head south before the storm arrived. Before sunrise, I grabbed my phone and started searching for the nearest urgent care along our southern route that accepted my insurance.

And there it was...Madison, Tennessee.

The word God had given me hours earlier suddenly had an address.  

Madison wasn't a word I made up after all.

Apparently, asking really does make a difference.  

Funny how that works.

Companion Thought:

We often want God to reveal the destination when He's only asking us to trust Him with the next turn.