River Bed

The sign clearly states “Mojave River” as we speed passed it on Highway 58 heading east. And by speed we mean a good ten miles under the speed limit. And not just because this van is a jilapi: though blessed to have it, it does not work as advertised. Kind of like this sign stating “Mojave River”. We look over, under, and through the guardrails on our right, and though we see a river bed, there is no water. As in absolutely none. Do we still say “Hey, we’ll meet you at the river!” if there is, in fact, no river? Our thoughts travel with us as we approach Barstow, CA.

We are driving with extra care and consideration as our fuel light started blinking about fifteen miles ago. Any moment now, it will stop blinking. We will have, roughly, an additional fifteen miles of distance to go before the van becomes inoperable, the steering wheel locks up, and we coast, hopefully, to a safe spot on the shoulder of whichever road we happen to be on. In hopes to not re-live that experience (though we would welcome it should it be in God’s plan), our aim is to find a place to park near a fuel station where we are able to wait until God’s next move. We have no money of our own to speak of. As a reminder, God told us just over three years ago that He would provide. And He has. And He is. And He will. We have no doubt about that. In fact, that’s the exciting part. Truth be told (and we cannot lie), all of the parts of this adventure called life are exciting. Because God is in them all. Even that dried river bed. It has a purpose.

We are guided to a strip mall parking lot with a Food 4 Less gas station on it’s corner. It’s just after 10:00am. There is much to do. First things first, the dogs (and this girl) need to exercise. We go for a walk where we meet a man who claimed to be on His path, walking with God. We walk around a few city blocks together. He echoes much of what we say and then twists it just so. We are in sync right up until we aren’t. At which point he pivots to a new conversation and we begin again. Totally in agreement, walking a straight path then a small downgrade and a barely noticeable meandering begins. With lottery tickets in his hand and talk about an underground marijuana grow operation on his lips, we return to the where the van is park. We yawn. He asks if there is a bed inside. He talks about how great a nap would be. He asks if he can come in and kick his shoes off. We politely and firmly decline while just then a man comes over and begins to ask questions about the van which is always a beautiful segueway into a conversation about the Lord.

While talking with this fellow parking spot recipient about the Lord (him being a follower of Jesus Christ Himself), he pops open a 22oz of malt liquor, takes chug and says how sometimes he has just one beer in the morning and that God doesn’t mind. Sometimes laughter comes out when one finds something perplexing. Often followed by one’s silence, a smirk and a nod. Do not intrepret this as being in agreement, people, nor as a recognition of your good humor. You are deceived and sadly misled if you truly think that popping open a beer at 11am in the parking lot of a strip mall is a part of God’s plan. But it seemed the thing to do as I walked around the area and observed a handful of people doing the exact same thing. People exiting the liquor store and not hesitating to drink the elixir in their brown bag plus all the teens and adults alike that were walking around, with no shame in their game, puffing on their joints and pulling on their pipes. I was the odd man out here.

After dimissing myself to the confines of the van, we read a bit of Scripture, whip up some tacos, meditate and pray. After a while we open the van door, sit on the running board and practice guitar. We sing a little Louis Armstrong. Sharing with the world how wonderful it is. Just in case it started forgetting. Then we offered a reminder, courtesy of Leonard Skynard, to be a simple man. We retreat back into the van though we leave the slider open. Across the parking lot we see him, Mr. Security. He stops in his tracks when he sees me see him and he continues staring, though shifting to various vogue-poses in a dramatic attmept to get me to know how shocked he is to find us there. It was nearly laughable to see his theatrics. He slowly walks closer to the van, stopping now and again just to stare, side-eyed, or to gawk, open-mouthed. Complete with the tipping of his head down and sliding his glasses down his nose and peering above the rims, staring questioningly. “You can’t live here”, he says as he approaches the can. “I should hope not”, I say, a little too chipper, perhaps. He asks me what I’m doing. I say that I’m nearly out of fuel and out of money so I’m waiting on the next move and ask if he knows if God was real. (Not because I’m prostlytizing, people. But because I am so in love with God and am thrilled at what he’s done, is doing in my life and I can’t NOT mention it. And it is required that I mention Him if I am to tell my story.) He instantly looks confused. Then his eyebrows pull together in the middle and he gets real serious as he says, “I see you.” Oh? I ask. “I see you.” Oh? I repeat. “I see you.” Oh? And what is it you think you see, I ask. “I see you.” As though he knows what I’m doing but quite frankly he hasn’t a clue.

He tells me that people called and said I gotta go. I tell him that I’m parked here like evey other car in the parking lot. I tell him that I’ve shopped in these stores, that I’m a customer. I ask where the sign is that is posted that says I can’t be there. He displays his best I’m offended look and says “So now you wanna argue? You want to fight with me?” I resist the urge to laugh as I am not looking to fight or to win but I am searching for understanding. I want to know the law. And I surely do not want to violate it. Our eyes moisten and our jaw quivers as God’s heart breaks inside of me at the injustice. “I know what you’re doing. I see your jaw quivering. I know what you’re doing.” This little big man has no clue. “How much are you looking to get?” I tell him that I don’t understand the question. He repeats it. Over and over again. The same exact words. I tell him it doesn’t work like that. God provides as needed and I am in no position to ask for anything. I receive what God provides. “How much are you looking to get? Mister I don’t know what you mean. And he says this (he really does!) “Do you hear the words that are coming out of my mouth?” What is that? A Samuel L. Jackson line? I want to laugh but I can’t. It’s too unreal.

Eventually, we thank the security guard for talking with us. We tell him that we aren’t interested in breaking any rules. That we were, indeed, nearly out of fuel but by no means did that mean that we had to park in his (metaphoric) backyard. We remind him that God is good as we offer him love and blessings before we batten down the hatches, readying the vessel for departure. We even packed up all of our joy as we counted it all a blessing.

There’s more. There’s always more to the story. But that’s the jist. We left the parking lot just before 6:00pm. Heart-broken. But in command of our senses and with even more understanding of the heart of God. Praise. Him!

As we leave the parking lot, the fuel light stops blinking. We double back the way in which we came thinking about the river. How glorious it would be to be near the flowing waters of a life-giving river. How beautiful it is to know that a river flows through us. How heart-breaking to know that others put up a dam. And what remains is a dried-out, empty river bed.