The Best Miserable Birthday

Months ahead of my birthday last month, I told Allyson and Ethan that all I wanted this year was a family camping trip, our first in six years. I had actually reserved a campsite twice in the fall, but both times I had to cancel due to rain in the forecast. This time, I reserved a site with a covered shelter and handicap access so that my sister Amy could go with us, and I was determined not to cancel no matter what. Since forgetfulness runs in our family, I reminded them many times over the ensuing months.

In the days before the campout, the weather forecast grew more and more ominous, but I doggedly held onto our plans. The rain wasn't scheduled to begin until Saturday, so I reasoned that we'd have one good night and could wait out the rain in the covered shelter playing games. 

The celebration began on my actual birthday, a Thursday. Allyson and I drove to my parents' house, where I met Amy and our sister Melody, with whom she lives currently. We enjoyed a delicious meal and our favorite dessert, a concoction made of Butterfinger candy bars, vanilla pudding, ice cream, and Cool Whip. 

Allyson gave me two delightfully practical gifts, a table lamp for my room and a comfortable workout shirt to wear to the gym that I joined recently. She also gave me my favorite healthy candy bar. Best of all, instead of a card, she gave me a full-page handwritten letter that assured me all the love I've poured into her has been received.

Mom and my sisters gave me sweet cards and gifts, too. 

I spent the rest of that evening and the next morning doing what I always do before trips: preparing lots of food and packing my little Kia to the gills. Ethan and his wife Sumer drove out to my house around noon to play with their cat Riggy, whom I've been fostering, and to load up whatever wouldn't fit into my car. This time I had Amy's wheelchair and several other essential items, so packing had been even more of a challenge. 

Ethan, Sumer, and Allyson went on ahead while I packed up the last of the food. Amy and I left about an hour and a half after our planned departure, which is pretty typical. We arrived late in the afternoon to find that Ethan and Allyson had set up their tents, and Allyson was relaxing in her hammock, which she'd strung between two trees. 

The Campsite

The site was amazing! The rectangular covered shelter nestled among lush trees, so close to the lake that you could hear the water lapping against the shore. Just behind and below the shelter was a collection of giant rocks that formed a scenic overlook. I smiled as I pictured how Ethan would have clambered over the rocks if we'd reserved this site on camping trips decades before. 

If You Look Closely, You Can See the Lake

Everyone seemed as tired as I felt after lugging all that gear, but I urged a quick hike because I knew this might be our only opportunity if the forecast held true. "Let's go for a hike, and then we can grill the burgers and roast marshmallows," I said. "We can save the dinner I had planned to eat tonight for tomorrow because you can't grill in the rain."

Amy settled into a camp chair with a book, and the rest of us set out for a hike along the trail that followed the curve of the lakeshore. 

As we scrambled over rocks and stepped over tree roots, I worried whether Allyson's knee would hold up. This was her first hike after surgery and several months of physical therapy for a torn ACL last summer. She assured me that she was fine.

After Ethan and Sumer headed back to the campsite, Allyson and I continued walking for a few more minutes, chattering all the while. "I hope Aunt Amy will enjoy this," I said at one point. "She always loved camping before her stroke."

"She'll love the marshmallows," Allyson said with a little laugh. 

Selfie from Our Hike

The scenery was lovely, the weather was perfect, and my heart throbbed with joy. 

While Ethan grilled the burgers, I made my customary camp fare, fried potatoes and onions, on the camp stove that we've used on so many trips. The wind kept blowing the flame out, and I practically asphyxiated Allyson once when I turned on the propane while she leaned low over the burner. Then the fuel line iced over, and I was afraid the propane tank might explode. In the end, the potatoes turned out great, and no one got hurt. The burgers were fantastic, especially the soft brioche buns (replete with gluten). I'd decided to take a vacation from my dietary restrictions, and how I savored it all! 

Next, Ethan and Sumer gave me my birthday gift, which I truly wasn't expecting because I meant it when I said camping was my present. It was a beautiful devotional journal with prompts that invite you to reflect on your blessings and God's promises. Ethan said they had picked out my gift together, which warmed my heart. 

Ethan built a roaring fire in the gathering twilight, and we settled around it in our chairs. Using a stick she'd found, Allyson expertly roasted the giant marshmallows, achieving the perfect combination of golden, toasty outsides and gooey insides. 

If You Look at the Right Angle,
You May Be Able to Make Out Ethan

As Allyson had predicted, Amy did indeed love the marshmallows. Paired with melty chocolate and fresh graham crackers, they were so delectable that I could see why someone named this dessert "s'mores."

We sat around the fire a bit longer while Ethan told us all the details about the job he started in November, drilling oil wells. He showed us pictures of the rigs his team erects and pulls down and of the explosives that he loads into something called a perforation gun. As he talked, I reminded myself of what his cousin Greg, who helped him get the job, told me recently: the most dangerous part of the drive is commuting to the site. Everyone is well trained and follows safety precautions. Clearly, Ethan enjoys his work, and that makes me very happy.

Because Ethan now works 12- to 14-hours days and is used to rising before dawn, he was ready to turn in by 10 or so. I was exhausted, too, and I wanted to get some good rest in before the forecasted storm, which was due to arrive around 5 a.m.

Ethan, Sumer, and Allyson retired to their tents, and Amy and I went inside the screened shelter. I pulled Amy's new cot and my air mattress to the middle of the small structure, as far as possible from the screened windows that covered the top half of two walls. I wanted to cover one wall with a tarp, but I couldn't find a way to fasten it. So I draped it over our bags and all of the food, which we'd pulled inside the shelter. Between the beds, all that stuff, and the bedside commode we'd brought, you could scarcely walk in there.

I listened to the night sounds in silence for a while before dropping off to sleep. I missed the gentle flapping of the tent fabric that I usually hear when I'm camping, but I was thankful for the solid roof over our heads as I thought back over the times I've been drenched while camping--and the one time that a tent collapsed on me and my first husband due to high winds. 

The Storm

I slept fitfully through the night, awakened by nervousness over the coming storm and also by an animal tearing into the trash bag that we'd hung from a pole and neglected to bring in. I could tell from the sound that it was small, probably a raccoon, but it still made me uneasy. 

At 5:02 (according to Ethan, who looked at his watch), the storm arrived. It started with distant rumbles of thunder that were quickly followed by the thud of rain on the roof. I sighed. I'd truly hoped that the rain would pass us by, as it had the last time we'd camped in this state park. Amy and I had arrived in a gentle rain that was supposed to last through the next day, but we held hands and prayed, and the clouds passed over. "Please, Lord," I prayed now. "Protect us. And please let the rain pass by so we can enjoy our weekend." 

The only answer was blinding flashes of light and shockingly loud claps of thunder that shook the ground and everything on it. I shuddered as I wondered how Allyson was faring in her pup tent. She has always had a phobia of storms and, as a small girl, had usually ended up in my bed on stormy nights. I hoped that both tents could hold out the rain, and that the lightning would keep a wide berth.

As I pondered these thoughts, a tremendous crack split the sky. I jerked violently, and Amy and I both cried out. It took me a moment to hear the frantic knocking on our latched door over the driving rain. I sprang off the mattress and rushed to the door, where I fumbled with the lock.

"Mama!" Allyson said, tumbling through the doorway. "Why did you lock the door?" 

"I had to, or the wind would blow it open." I said. "I'm glad you came over here. I was worried about you." Yawning, I slid back into my sleeping bag. "There's room on the other side of Aunt Amy's cot," I said, just as another clap of thunder shook us. 

"What?" Allyson yelled.

"There's room for you on the other side of the cot," I repeated. 

"Mama, I didn't bring my sleeping pad, just my sleeping bag," Allyson said. "How big is your air mattress?" 

"It's a twin." I heaved a sigh as I scooted up against the cot. "You can probably fit."  

"Ethan and Sumer should come in here, too," Allyson said. 

"Yeah, they probably should," I said, but at the same time, I knew there was no room for them. I said a silent prayer for their safety and told myself they would be fine.

Before we could even get situated, Amy started to snore, so we pulled out the wax earplugs that Ethan had bought for me at the camp store. The mattress shifted under our combined weight as we flattened the discs and sealed them against our ears, and I worried that the air would seep out and we'd end up on the ground as we had on so many previous trips--but this time we'd be on concrete instead of dirt. 

The single pillow was a bigger (or smaller) problem than the tiny air mattress. In order to fit, we had to spoon, and Allyson hooked her chin over my shoulder and rested her head against my temple. I figured if I could fall asleep somehow, I'd wake up with an agonizing stiff neck. 

The ear plugs only slightly muffled Amy's snores and the peals of thunder, and it was very hard to relax on our cramped bed, but I found myself smiling in the darkness. It felt good to snuggle with my practically grown daughter, just as it had when storms drove her to my bed when she was tiny. I breathed deeply, synching my breaths with hers.

What felt like moments later, I woke to Amy's voice; she needed help getting off the cot. I opened my eyes and squinted against the morning light. "What time is it?" I asked, my voice raspy.

"Nine o'clock," she answered. 

I shook my head in disbelief as I hauled my creaky bones off the low mattress. Those four hours had been some of the sweetest sleep I could remember. And my neck wasn't stiff at all.

Unfortunately, a steady rain continued to fall. Everything I'd packed for breakfast required heating, which meant if we were going to eat anything, I'd have to fire up the camp stove inside the shelter. I knew you weren't supposed to operate it indoors, but maybe a screened shelter didn't count, I reasoned. 

The first order of business was coffee and hot chocolate. I twisted the crank on my hand grinder while the water came to a boil and then made the coffee in the French press I'd brought along, careful not to knock over the fragile earthenware pitcher on the concrete. 

Over coffee, I learned that Ethan and Sumer had stayed dry in their new tent and hadn't been afraid of the storm at all. As I fried the bacon and mixed up the pancake batter I'd measured out at home, we discussed plans for the day. The rain was projected to last until the next day, so there wasn't much question as to whether we'd stay for another night. I suggested playing a few games, eating lunch, and heading home.

Ethan had another idea: we could go to the Vietnam museum he and Sumer had spotted on the way in the day before. But first, he thought it would be a good idea to pack up the tents because the rain had slowed to a drizzle, and there was no telling what it would be like by lunchtime. 

The lull in the rain lasted just long enough for them to load the tents and gear into the cars. Amy and I both got soaked when I pushed her to the car, and then I got even more drenched trying to wrestle the wheelchair into the partly packed trunk. 

The museum was amazing, and I would have thoroughly enjoyed it if the air conditioning hadn't been set to about 65 degrees. My teeth chattered and my wrinkled fingertips blanched white, but I forced myself to concentrate on the artifacts and the stories. 

My favorite display was a replica of one soldier's dugout. Amy and I gazed at all the belongings packed into those tiny quarters and read the young man's letter to his father, vividly describing his abject terror and prolonged misery from rain and bugs and mud. As we contemplated this man's experiences over half a century ago, one of the volunteers who ran the museum approached us. He told us all about the soldier, who had visited this very museum a couple of years back. 

I gestured to the black-and-white photo of a beautiful young woman that hung over the bed. "Was that his wife?"

"Yes, it was. They got married right before he shipped out. They were married over 50 years after he returned home, and he never once talked to her about Vietnam." But then they came to this museum, and the man climbed into a military transport vehicle on the grounds. It was just like the one he had driven in Vietnam. After a few minutes, he came out and brought his wife into the vehicle with him. There, he told her the whole story.

Next, the volunteer told us his own war story, how he had served as a helicopter pilot. By then, I could see Allyson and Sumer pacing in a seating area, clearly ready to leave. My own stomach was growling, and I was still freezing, but we hadn't even seen the second floor. I told the girls we'd just take a quick look and then we could head out.

Ethan rode up in the elevator with us and showed us his favorite second-floor exhibit, a shocking display of booby traps such as sharpened sticks that could pierce a combat boot and some sort of launcher that fired razor-sharp tin can lids.

Another museum volunteer and Vietnam vet told us about how they'd had to change the material they used to make the boots due to the prevalence of these booby traps. He escorted us around the exhibits, telling us about the man who crawled through the tall grasses to assassinate top enemy officers. (This man was the inspiration for the movie The American Sniper.) He told us several other stories that would have been fascinating had I not been picturing Sumer and Allyson still waiting anxiously downstairs. 

I thought about the sermon from the week before, in which Pastor Trey urged us to take time to listen to people's stories. This man clearly had many deeply meaningful stories to share. Surely he deserved my attention. 

Finally, I explained that we needed to get back to our campsite to eat lunch and pack up. I promised that I would return with my father. "Dad is a veteran of the Korean war," I said. "I think this museum will be very moving for him, and he would love to hear your stories." 

Outside, I was dismayed to find that the rain had not abated. By the time I'd stomped through a puddle, forced the wheelchair back into the trunk, and sank gratefully into the driver's seat, I was even wetter, even colder, and decidedly hangry. 

Thankfully, the only thing I needed to do to get our lunch ready was heat the taco meat and black beans on the camp stove. We made something called walking tacos, which my friend Kandi had recommended. She says this combination of taco meat, mini chip bags, and shredded cheese dates back to the 1950s. They were fabulous, probably because we were so hungry.

After we'd eaten, Ethan and Allyson loaded up most of the remaining stuff, making countless trips through the pouring rain while I packed up the food and swept the concrete floor. Amy had wisely waited in the car, where she ate her taco. 

Before we left the little shelter, I insisted on singing happy birthday, to myself and to Ethan, and then we stood together eating a few bites of the little Walmart cake I'd brought. 

I made one last trip through the rain and climbed into the car, once again packed impossibly full. Somehow Allyson managed to wedge herself into the backseat. "Turn on the heater," she said. I was happy to comply.

After an hour on the road in my wet clothes, I was even happier to climb into a hot shower. 

Blessed Is She

It wasn't until a couple of days later that I made the connection between the title of the journal that Ethan and Sumer gave me, Blessed Is She, and a very special verse that had been a highlight of another birthday a couple of years ago. On that birthday, I had taken the day off to spend the day hiking with Allyson, who also had a day off from school. That morning I was drawn to a favorite T-shirt with this verse on it: "Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would keep His promises to her." As I pulled it on, I smiled at the thought of promises God had made to me about my children. 

A few minutes later, Allyson met me in the kitchen with her card and gift, another delightfully practical one: a keyring that I could wear around my wrist, to replace the one that I still carried even though it was covered in ink from an exploded pen. Dangling from the keyring was a pendant with impossibly tiny writing on it. I pulled off my distance glasses and moved the pendant back and forth until I could bring the words into focus. A chill coursed through my body as soon as I caught the first few words: "Blessed is she." The tears in my eyes blurred out all of the words, but I knew what they said. God had just confirmed that I had heard his voice just moments before when I pulled on that T-shirt. I knew God would keep His promises to me, and I felt very, very blessed.

Selfie from That Other Birthday Hike

When I opened my new journal after the camping trip, I was thrilled to find the same verse inside. What are the odds that both of my children would give me birthday gifts featuring the same Bible verse? Only God knows.

So, would I do it all again? Yep--if I could convince everyone else to go with me. All in all, I'd say it was my best birthday ever.