Speaking of Cruise Ships...

When I told you recently how I learned I was pregnant while we were on a cruise, I was reminded of another cruise ship story that I just have to share. It's a favorite with my family, especially my Aunt Becky, who always says, "Tell that story about the cruise" when I see her in Indiana. So here it is...
Back in the spring of 1998, my ex-husband Byron and I went on a Caribbean cruise with our friends Thomas and Julie. Eleven-month-old Ethan stayed with Aunt Emily.

It was a budget cruise line, on a relatively small refitted military ship that seemed gigantic to me. It was rather spartan, but the entertainment was good and the food was phenomenal. It was a smaller group than you find on the larger lines, more relaxed and personal. You could actually get to know people, or at least recognize them--as we would find out later.

Me (age 27) and Byron

I immediately developed a raging allergy attack or perhaps a cold. I paid a ridiculous sum for allergy medication in the gift shop and then spent the rest of the trip in a fog. For example, I fell asleep during a high-stakes bingo game where I could have won big money. Here's what I do remember about our trip...

One of the stops was in Jamaica, where we took a raft ride down a lazy trickling stream surrounded by lush greenery. The rafts were propelled by wiry, sweaty young men with long poles.

Thomas and Julie--I Suppose They Have the Matching Pic of Us

We rode docile horses and battled mosquitos on a trail ride in the blazing Mexican sun. We browsed through outdoor markets where you had to haggle over prices with proprietors who followed you down the street. I came home with a beautiful tanzanite ring; it was the first time I had ever seen that lovely purple stone.

The highlight of our trip was supposed to be the stingray excursion in Grand Cayman. We went out in a boat on the shallow water to a spot where a school of tame stingrays came for daily feedings. My heart pounded as I climbed down the ladder. I have an irrational fear of all fish, let alone fish whose sting can be fatal.

See that girl in the yellow bikini petting the stingray? No, that's not me. Are you crazy? See that other girl with both hands up, looking nervous? No, that's not me either.

Where was I? Back in the boat with the old ladies and the little kids. I'd made it about ten feet away from the boat. My legs almost went out from under me when I saw hordes of sting rays swirling around us. But it was all over when I stepped on one--almost, but it darted away, brushing against my foot with one velvety smooth wing. I would have drowned had the water not been waist deep. I spun around and tried to climb out of the water on an imaginary staircase. I might have even climbed over the nearest strangers in my scramble for the ladder.

So there I sat, woefully watching other people have the time of their lives while I berated myself for my cowardice. Byron tried to coax me out, but I wouldn't budge. He stayed out there until the guide shooed everyone back into the boat. He petted stingrays, swam with stingrays, and took lots of pictures of stingrays.

Just before we left, one of the guides lured one of the biggest rays over to the boat and held it while the tourists petted it. I watched one person after another take a turn, even the little kids and the old ladies. Just before it was time to head back, I forced myself down the steps and ran a trembling hand over the silky surface of that gentle sting ray. It wasn't gross or slimy at all. It felt like wet satin, and was not much thicker than satin at the wings.

As memorable as that experience was, it was nothing compared to what happened on the next stop. Each morning when we left for the excursions, the ship's staff would have us synchronize our watches to the latest time zone, and they would repeat the ship's departure time over and over. "Do NOT be late," they warned. "We will not wait for you, and you'll have to make your own travel arrangements to get to the next island or back home. It will not be cheap."

I shuddered at the thought of being left behind. No way I would ever let that happen. Usually, there was no worry anyway because if you went on an organized excursion, they brought everyone back to the ship in plenty of time.

But by the time we reached Cancun, we were running low on funds and decided to spend the day on our own. We did a bit of shopping and then lazed around at a famous bar whose name escapes me. The whole time, I kept eying my watch and getting more and more antsy as the 3:00 deadline approached.

Around 2:00, I insisted on heading back. "Relax. We have plenty of time," Byron said as he stopped and admired little trinkets in the street market. We bought a couple of things along the way and arrived back at the port by 2:30.

It took us a moment to notice that the port was empty. "This is the wrong place," I said.

Byron looked around. "No, this is where we docked this morning. I'm sure of it."

My heart started pounding, and my chest felt so tight that I could scarcely draw in a breath. "Wh-where's the ship?" I sputtered.

"I don't know," he said. He noticed some sort of guard hut at the water's edge, and we hurried over.

A uniformed officer spoke to us in Spanish.

"Where's the ship?" Byron asked.

"No hablo Inglés," he answered.

"The ship," I repeated, spreading my arms out wide and then pointing at the water. "Where is it?"

He pointed out to the horizon, where the ship was a tiny speck.

"What are we going to do?" I wailed, tears streaming.

"Un momento," the officer said, holding up one hand as he spoke into his radio.

A couple of minutes later, a tiny motorboat pulled up to the wooden dock, and the officer herded us over. He spoke to the driver and another officer, probably telling them about these foolish Americans who were too careless to get back to the boat before it embarked. The driver gestured to Byron, who clambered into the boat and held out a hand to me. I hesitated for a moment, but then the officer on the dock took my elbow and helped me down onto the bobbing boat.

I huddled next to Byron on the hard bench, my heart fluttering as we chased after the ship through the choppy water. Shouldn't we be wearing life jackets?

At last we pulled alongside the ship, so massive next to this toy motorboat. "How on earth will we get onboard?" I asked no one in particular.

Just then, a hatch swung open about halfway up the ship's hull, about 25-30 feet up. Next, a rope ladder unfurled down the side of the ship. No way!

Yes way. Our driver maneuvered the boat right up to the ship and pointed at the ladder, which moved up and down just like our boat, only not at the same time. I stood up on rubbery legs. "Wait!" I said, leaning to whisper in Byron's ear. "Do you think we need to pay them?"

"Vámanos," said the officer, taking my arm and nudging me toward the ladder.

I slung my shopping bag over my shoulder and grabbed a rung with both hands, my knuckles brushing against the cool metal. Holding my breath, I groped for a lower rung with one flip flop and then the other. I clung to the ladder for a moment, stock still against the solid, relatively stationary hull. 

"Come on up. You'll be fine."

I looked up into the eyes of a man leaning casually out the hatch and reaching a hand down toward me. And then I saw some fellow passengers watching us from the deck railing, laughing and shouting and pointing.

I inched up that ladder and into the hatch, almost collapsing in relief when I stepped inside. But the man didn't even wait for Byron to make it up the ladder before commencing his lecture. I honestly didn't hear much of what he said but it was something about "Do you know how much money you cost us?" and "Did you not hear that we were departing at 3:00?"

As soon as I could get a word in edgewise, I said, "B-but I don't understand. It was only 2:30. They said 3:00."

He looked at me like I was crazy. "No-o. It's Three-forty-five now."

I looked at my watch. "No, it's 2:45."

"You forgot to set your watches back this morning," he said as he led us through the bowels of the ship, past twitching boilers and humming gears, to an elevator.

"No one told us to set our watches back," I said. "And I don't think it was in the bulletin. How were we supposed to-"

Byron took my arm. "Come on, Sarah."

"But we didn't forget. No one told us," I repeated.

"Just don't let it happen again." The man turned on his heel and walked away without a backward glance.

I leaned against the side of the elevator and sobbed.

"It's okay," Byron said. "We're fine. We didn't get left behind."

"I just need a n-nap," I said.

After a nap and a warm shower, I felt ready to face dinner. But I was not prepared for our reception up on deck. Some passengers laughed and slapped us on the back while others just pointed and whispered. "That's the couple who missed the boat!"

Over dinner, Thomas and Julie explained that at least two other couples had been late for the same reason; not all the groups had been informed about the time change. They'd had to let the gangplank back down twice. This was very lucky for us; without that delay the boat would have been out to sea.

For the rest of the trip, we were greeted like celebrities. After I'd had a good night's sleep, I had to admit that I rather enjoyed the attention.

I wonder if even the captain knew about us. If he did, he didn't say so.

So now you know what it feels like to miss the boat. May it never happen to you!

You Can Take the Girl Out of the City...

...but you can't take the city out of the girl. Here is the story of my brief time as a country girl, as promised in a previous post. Back in 1998, my ex-husband and I moved out to the country so that we could be close to our Chevron convenience store.

We lived in a single-wide, 30-year-old trailer on about five acres of land that we shared with our landlady. For the most part, I enjoyed living there because it felt like camping--except with real beds. To reach this rural hideaway, you followed a winding two-lane road about 25 miles off the interstate, and then you bumped along a pothole-ridden, one-lane dirt road for another mile. At that point, you opened a wide metal gate, crossed a cattle guard, and drove down a long, unpaved drive.

The trailer was situated next to a small stock tank in a large clearing filled with long, green grass that swayed like ocean waves. What I loved most about this place was the utter silence. We were so far out that there was no traffic noise, not even airplanes flying overhead; the only sound was the wind in the trees and the whisper of the undulating grass. The silence permeated my being and quieted my anxious mind.

We shared these cramped quarters with my mom and dad, who worked with us in the store all week and then went home to LaGrange on the weekends. The master bedroom and bath were spacious, if dilapidated, but Ethan's bedroom was the size of a large closet. Weeknights, Byron and I slept on a futon crammed in that tiny room. When the futon was unfolded, it was impossible to walk in there.

At night, the only light came from the brilliant stars and the moon. I don't think I've ever slept so soundly as I did there, lumpy futon notwithstanding. Of course, this might also have been due to sheer exhaustion.

The small kitchen had an eat-in dining area and no dishwasher. Surprisingly, this was one of my favorite things about living there. At times, our landlady allowed a neighbor's cows to graze on her property, and I loved watching them drink from the pond while I washed the dishes. Somehow, watching cows while my hands splashed in warm, soapy water made me feel connected with generations of women.

I have to admit, though, that my love for cows was more in the abstract. The reality of cows was not so pleasant. When I loaded Ethan into the car at 5:30 in the morning for the daily trek to my job in the city, the cows occasionally blocked the drive. Placidly grazing, they were oblivious to the car horn, and there was nothing else to do but to get out of the car and holler at them.

One morning, I stepped out onto the gravelly drive in my high heels and shouted, "Hey! Move, cows!" The two cows standing in the drive didn't even deign to look in my direction. I gingerly took a few steps toward them, ever watchful for cow patties in the early morning darkness. I found a stick and waved it halfheartedly at them.

"Go on! Get out of the way!" I ordered. They cast a disinterested glance my way before they returned to their grazing. I figured if I could just muster up enough authority, they'd move out of the way; I'd heard that cows were timid creatures. Maybe I needed to whack them on the rump with my stick.

I crept a bit closer and held my stick in front of me, my arm trembling violently. "I mean it!" I squeaked. "You've gotta move. I can't be late for work."

We all knew I wasn't going to use that stick. They'd already dismissed me as a potential threat, and they were completely ignoring me.

I was seriously starting to worry about being late, and it finally occurred to me to pray for a little help here. After a moment, I knew what to do. I climbed back into the car and drove straight at the cows, inching forward slowly but steadily. When I was within a foot of the closest cow, they both lumbered off the drive, and I gratefully drove past.

Like me, 18-month-old Ethan thought he loved cows...

Cows and Chickens - Excerpt From Ethan's Journal
Behind the trailer, just over the property line, there were usually cows grazing. You weren't so sure about the cows. You knew the word "cow," and you got excited when you first realized that those big creatures on the other side of the fence were COWS! You bounced up and down on my hip and pointed, and you said "Cow!" plain as day.

So I walked over to the fence, with you laughing and pointing all the way. When we got right up to the fence, you reached out, trying to touch the cow. Suddenly, she said, "MOOO-OO-OO!" I jumped, and you screamed in terror. You screamed all the way back to the house. Your dad and I laughed and laughed when I told him the story.

We also had chickens. Your dad and grandpa bought a dozen baby chicks from the school fair. They were such cute little things!

Your father and I were so busy with the store that Grandpa mainly took care of the chickens. He fed and watered them twice a day. They got so excited when he came out. They would line up behind him and follow him around the coop. I think they thought he was their mother.

One weekend your father went on a hunting trip, and Grandpa was home in LaGrange. So I had to find the feed and fill the water dispenser myself. It was a hot, sunny day, and you followed along behind me and played. You laughed and pointed at the chickens.

It took me forever to figure out how to fill the water dispenser. I had to fill up a tin reservoir and somehow flip it over so it would empty slowly into the pan. A couple of times, I managed to spill the water all over myself. At last it was full, and I began to carry it to the coop, very carefully so as not to get my socks any wetter. Halfway there, I was attacked by bumblebees--well, not really attacked, but definitely terrorized. I dropped the water can and spilled most of the water, so I had to fill it again!

Finally, I opened the coop and stooped as I went through the door. The chickens didn't walk neatly in single file behind me. Instead, they all flew at me and flapped their wings excitedly. "Stupid chickens!" I grumbled nervously (as I was secretly afraid of chickens). You shrieked with laughter from outside the coop.

Next, I flung some feed on the ground. This got the chickens really riled up. I hurried to the door of the coop, relieved to be done with the ordeal--or so I thought!

For some reason, one of the chickens followed me out. She started to run in circles around the coop, which was quite large. Luckily, she stayed right up against the wire mesh wall of the coop. But it took me awhile to catch her. She would run, I'd run, and you'd run. I'd get close enough to grab her, but I'd hesitate too long. I'd never held a chicken before, and I was scared. Just as I'd reach for her, she'd take off and we would follow, as you roared with laughter.

At last I caught her. I held her wings tightly so she couldn't flap, and I extended my arms as far away from my body as I could. She struggled fiercely and kicked her legs, but I was stronger. I stuffed her unceremoniously through the small door and latched it triumphantly.

As you got older, you loved to gather the eggs. Often you would step on them, squeeze them, or drop them, but you loved this task so much that we didn't have the heart to take it away from you. You'd go into the coop with your dad or grandpa, and they'd let you find the eggs and pick them up. They were large, brown eggs with a delightful rich flavor. Grandpa was proud to give the extra eggs to family when they visited.

**************************************************
Unwelcome House Guests
True to the camping experience, we shared our space with a few critters. First, there was the army of ants that continually marched across our kitchen table. We tried various poisons, but they always returned immediately. Fortunately, they weren't the biting kind, and we learned to ignore them.

Even worse was the family of skunks who took up residence under the trailer. It took us awhile to realize they were living there because, unless they'd sprayed recently, the smell was not that strong. Still, we were determined to get rid of them because we lived in fear of startling them and getting sprayed.

The skunk predicament provided hours of entertainment at the store, where old men sat around drinking coffee and shooting the breeze every morning. Everyone had a suggestion, and we were willing to try anything.

The first thing we did was throw a bunch of mothballs under the crawl space. We'd been assured that skunks can't stand the smell of mothballs, but these skunks apparently had less discriminating noses. Now we had to smell a mixture of the skunks' musky scent blended with the smell of musty old closets. This was not an improvement.

After Ethan and I had a stand-off with the skunk mama at dusk one evening--we sloww-ly backed away, and no one got hurt--we got serious about evicting the skunk family. Dad and Byron obtained a cage-style trap from one of the men at the store. Before bed that night, they put a tasty treat inside the cage (peanut butter, maybe?) and propped the door loosely.

In the morning, they rushed out to see if they'd had any luck. Sure enough, they had caught... the landlady's cat! They baited the trap again the next night, and caught the same (stupid) cat. Since then, I've wondered what they would have done had they actually caught the skunk. They certainly couldn't have carried it away in the cage. I guess they would have shot it from a safe distance.

In any case, we never did get rid of the skunks. We cohabited peacefully with them until we moved back to the city.

Though we only lived there about nine months, occasionally I still pine for that home in the sticks. Maybe someday I'll get to live out in the country again. Maybe I'll make friends with the cows and the chickens. (But not the skunks!)

Bizarre Comfort Objects, Wacky Phobias

Don't you love the way every child has a marvelously unique personality? I love to think back on Ethan's and Allyson's toddler days, when we enjoyed hours of entertainment just watching their little personalities unfold. Here are some funny quirks that are now just fond memories....

Excerpt From Allyson's Journal, Sunday 7/15/07 (age 13 months)
Many babies get attached to a comfort object: a favorite blankie, a pacifier, a monkey. You, however, don't seem to form any long-term attachments. Instead, you become infatuated with various random objects.

Ally With Green Puppy and Baby

Although you do enjoy hugging your Baby (the blue Sleepy Time bear) and the green puppy that a kid from our home group gave you, you get the most intense pleasure from carrying around less conventional comfort objects: fingernail polish bottles, hand lotion, a can of Eagle Brand condensed milk at the grocery store, your tiny toothbrush, Mommy's hairbrush, suntan lotion, tiny hair clips, water bottles (full or empty, which you pretend to drink), and dental floss, to name a few.

I think the reason these objects are so highly prized is that you labor so much to obtain them. You reach high overhead to fish things out of the vanity drawers in our bathroom. You pull open the bottom cabinets, straining against the safety locks, and wedge your little arm through the crack. You grunt and whine, rummaging blindly, and you persist until you pull out whatever object you happen to grab hold of. Once you have worked the object free, you brandish it triumphantly over your head, and then you carry it gleefully around the house.

You guard these prizes fiercely, and as long as they aren't harmful, we don't have the heart to take them away after you have worked so hard to obtain them. So we let you carry these bizarre comfort objects all around until you finally forget about them and abandon them in odd places.

The very best objects, though, are the forbidden ones. You are always on the lookout to snatch car keys, cell phones, and TV remotes. You are very adept at pushing buttons. Once, you were randomly calling someone on my cell phone, and I wasn't ready to battle you for possession. So I held down the End button until the phone turned off. Now, I thought, you could do less damage. You were too smart, though. Immediately, you pressed and held the same button until you heard the welcome tones as the phone sprang back to life. So I had to pry it loose from your clenched fingers. Boy, were you mad!

We've tried to give you toy versions of these treasures, but you are too clever to fall for imitations. No matter what fancy lights or sounds come with a toy cell phone or keys, you still prefer the ones we are using.

Oh well. Sometimes it can be inconvenient, but mainly it's pretty cute!

Eighteen Months Later Allyson still hasn't adopted a comfort object. She loves many of her dolls and stuffed animals, but she never has chosen a favorite. She is still fascinated by bizarre objects--her latest infatuation is with kitchen gadgets like the garlic press and the silicone basting brush. I think she's going to be like her mother!


Ethan's Quirks
As a toddler, Ethan was attached to his Barney stuffed animal, which was not surprising since he was crazy about that mildly annoying show featuring the giant purple dinosaur. What I recall when I look back on Ethan's toddler days is his wide array of peculiar phobias.

Ethan, Age 1

He was afraid of:

• The vacuum cleaner - Much too noisy
• The ironing board - Made a scary screeching noise (because it was literally as old as I was)
• All costumed characters - Especially the "rat" at Chuck E. Cheese. He loved going there, but he spent much of his time huddled behind my legs.
• Balloons - He was terrified of the loud noise when he heard them pop. He couldn't be anywhere near a balloon without going into hysterics.
• Tree bark - Much too rough
• Grass - ???
  

The funniest and most inconvenient phobia was the fear of grass. He had to be carried across the grass until he was well past two. If we tried to set him down on the grass, he would scream and tighten his grip like a boa constrictor. Even during an Easter egg hunt with all his cousins, Ethan would not retrieve his own eggs. He'd get so excited when he spotted an egg, but he would cry out in terror when we held him near the ground to reach it. The whole family laughed until we cried.

Ethan, Aunt Emily, Cousin Hillary

Emily babysat Ethan for a few months, around the time he turned one. Uncle Chris cured him of a couple phobias during that time. He held an ironing board and folded and unfolded it rapidly. If there was any screeching noise from their ironing board, Ethan couldn't have known because he was screaming too loudly to hear it. Throughout this therapy session, Chris laughed uproariously, and Ethan gradually stopped his crying and eventually couldn't keep from laughing along with him. I wasn't sure how I felt about this story until I realized that Ethan really was cured. In fact, every time I unfolded the ironing board after that, Ethan would laugh.

Chris also chased Ethan and little Hillary around with the vacuum cleaner. Both of them would howl piteously and climb up on the furniture. I'm not sure the conditioning was so effective with the vacuum cleaner; at age 11, Ethan is still a little uneasy when we vacuum (because Bill tries to run over his feet).

Ten Years Later Ethan finally outgrew all of his strange phobias, with the possible exception of the vacuum cleaner. His newest worry is sickness, especially stomach viruses. He is terrified of germs, and he's developed some unusual strategies for keeping well--which seem pretty effective since he never seems to get sick.

I Needed a Billboard

This story has been on my mind for a few weeks. It's an old one that keeps coming to mind. This was the first time I ever remember getting clear direction from God when I asked for guidance....

In 1998, my ex-husband Byron and I purchased a Chevron convenience store in a rural area about an hour south of where we lived at the time. It had always been Byron's dream to own his own business, and I reluctantly went along for the ride.

We really should not have been approved for the loan; we had zero start-up capital and had to finance the down payment with a small personal loan. Our credit was impeccable, though, and we were approved for an SBA-backed loan. I was terrified, but I got caught up in the excitement despite myself.

We sold gas and groceries and had a grill that served delicious hamburgers and various fried foods. We employed three people full time and four part time. We had no idea what we were doing, though Byron had previously managed an Exxon.

Bumps in the Road
We very quickly ran into some serious snags, the worst being a mandatory EPA upgrade of our gas tanks (the tanks below the ground, not the pumps). This would cost thousands of dollars, and we simply didn't have it. We had no choice but to borrow the money from our gas supplier, and we had to turn over a few cents for every gallon that we sold. This left us with literally no profit on our gas sales, and we actually lost money because there were at least a couple of drive-offs each week.

We also lost quite a bit of money on the grill because the demand was pretty low, and it required an extra employee during grill hours. Still, when we threatened to close it, the locals boycotted our store because they wanted the OPTION to buy a burger now and then, even if they rarely did.

The worst problem seemed to be employee thefts, though we never could prove it and therefore never had the courage to terminate anyone. Besides, had we fired these longstanding employees, it would have alienated our customers, their friends. The shortages from the register slowed down when we adopted a required receipt policy, but the loss of products was a constant problem.

One weekend, we went out of town and left the store in the care of the employees. When we came back, the entire alcohol cooler was empty, but the alcohol sales were only a little higher than normal. That cost us another couple thousand dollars that we didn't have.

All of this time, we were commuting an hour each way, and Byron had to be there at 6:30 in the morning. I was working a full-time job in the city and working at least three shifts a week at the store. I also did all the books in the evenings when I was not working at the store. Oh, and I was also taking care of 18-month-old Ethan, who was a busy and adorable toddler.

I was so busy and so stressed out that I was constantly sick, and I got so thin that even I thought I was too skinny. I had tonsillitis, strep throat, ear infections, and an embarrassing breakout of impetigo on my face (a yucky skin infection).

Mom and Dad Come to the Rescue
A few months into the ordeal, my parents were visiting from LaGrange, about four hours away. I fell into my mother's arms and wept. I told her I couldn't take the stress any longer. There were just too many shifts to cover, and we couldn't be there all the time to watch the employees.

My parents, who were retired, talked it over and decided to come work in the store with us. I felt bad to let them do it, but I don't know how we would have survived without them. Dad ran the grill during the day and did the heavy cleaning in the evenings. Mom ran the register at the store, looked after Ethan while I worked, and did almost all the cooking and laundry. Mom and Dad stayed with us all week and then went home to LaGrange each weekend.

We had finally moved closer to the store. We rented out our house in the city, and the five of us lived in a two-bedroom, single-wide trailer that was literally older than I was. (I was 28 at the time.) I'll tell more in a future post about our experiences in the trailer; we actually enjoyed living there, so far out in the country.

Having Mom and Dad there definitely made life easier, but we were still losing money. Also, we paid them more than the average wage for a convenience store worker; we definitely wanted to make it worth their time. But it was a strain on our already tight budget.

This was a very dark period in my life, and had I had more time to think--and had I not had beautiful Ethan--I might have been suicidal. The pressure of paying our vendors, buying sufficient stock, and praying that the payroll checks wouldn't bounce (sometimes they did) was almost too much to bear. The worst part of it was wondering which of the employees was stealing from us. All of them professed to love us and always made over Ethan when we brought him in. So how could they steal from us? Did they think that there was so much money coming through that we wouldn't miss it? Did they realize we couldn't pay our personal bills and had a hard time putting food on our table?

I was still commuting over two hours a day during the week because I had kept my transcription job in the city. That job was the one bright spot in my life because I had so many loving, supportive friends there, and when I was transcribing urology records, I could forget about all my problems. But I was more tired than I ever thought possible. I was always desperate to stay awake on the drive because Ethan was strapped into the backseat. I would slap myself repeatedly until my eyes watered. If it was cold, I'd put my hand out the window until it was numb, and then I'd hold my frigid hand against my belly. I'm sure God kept us alive more than once.

I never talked to God much during that time, though I did go to church every other Sunday when I was not working. There was no time to think, no time to spend with precious Ethan, and no time to spend with my husband. How I wish I could get that year of Ethan's life back!

The Beginning of the End
After about a year, everything fell apart. Byron couldn't take the pressure of managing the store, and he returned to full-time police work. I had to quit my beloved transcription job and run the store. I hired a consultant and prepared to follow through with all of his suggestions, including closing the grill and firing all our employees (except my parents, of course).

One of our employees was a young lady who was my age, but she looked and acted much older. (I'll call her Wendy, though that is not her real name.) She'd had a hard life, and her eyes were always sad; you could see the defeat in the slump of her shoulders. I agonized over firing her. She was a single mom and had a young son to support.

The only times I ever saw her eyes brighten was when her grandparents came into the store. I am not sure what her family history was, but they had raised her. They were kind and loving people, and the whole town loved them.

A Heartbreaking Calamity
A couple weeks after I took over the store, during Wendy's shift, there was a horrific accident on the country highway in front of our store. Both occupants of one car were killed on impact. We all ran out of the building to the scene of the accident. Wendy was inconsolable when she realized it was her grandparents' car.

A friend took Wendy away, and I finished her shift. Everyone in the small town was shaken, and there were many tears. I wondered where Wendy was, and whether she was okay.

When I locked up the store at 11:00 and headed for home, I found Wendy around the corner from the scene of the accident. She was sitting on the hood of her car and staring. She seemed too drained to even cry. She said only one word: "Why?"

I wished I had an answer for her. I sat next to her on the hood of her car and wept. I wanted to put my arms around her, but I didn't know how she would react. I wanted to tell her some soothing, comforting word from God, but I had nothing to offer at that moment.

Finally, I asked if I could give her a ride home, but she said no, she just wanted to sit here for awhile. She assured me she would be okay, and I reluctantly drove away. In the car on the short drive to the trailer, I cried out to God. I talked to him as I would to my mother.

"I can' take this any more, God. I know you said you'd never put more on me than I can bear, but I don't think I can bear any more. What should I do? How can I fire everyone now?"

I heard nothing. "I need a sign, God. But how will I hear you? How can you even tell me what to do? I never recognize your voice. What I need is a billboard. Something I can't possibly miss. Will you do that for me?"

On the dirt road to our trailer, I looked up at the dazzling stars on the inky canopy of the sky, and I felt a peace I couldn't explain. I didn't know what the answer would be, but I knew God was going to answer me. I knew he would be with me, and everything would be alright.

The Billboard Arrives
It was only a few days later that the billboard arrived... in the form of two government officials from the state alcoholic beverage commission. They were responding to a tip that our store was too close to the neighboring school, and they were measuring. They delivered the news as soon as they finished: our store was only 997 yards from the school, three yards short of the required 1000 yard distance. We would have to suspend all alcohol sales for at least three months until we could get approval from the town council and apply for a new license. This was how the previous owners had obtained a license, and the exception was not transferable. They had not disclosed the information to us, and this was the result.

I was filled with a sense of awe rather than dread. I knew immediately that this was my sign. Since alcohol comprised at least 60% of our gross profit, I knew there was no way we could survive for three months without it.

We immediately closed the store and made an appointment with a bankruptcy lawyer. Since we had not incorporated, our personal debts were mixed in with the store note and various other debts. Ten years of good credit were gone like a whiff of smoke.

Peace At Last
Throughout the process of closing the store, going through bankruptcy court, and looking for another job, I never lost the sense of peace I'd found on that starry night. I knew God cared about me and had a plan for me, and I knew now that the only thing in life that really mattered was spending time with my family.

I was thankful to have just one job with a steady paycheck, and I was thankful to move back into our home in the city. I was thankful to take care of my own child, now two years old. If I could go back in time, I'm sure I would not have chosen that path. Still, I learned that I have an inner strength I never suspected. More importantly, I learned that God never stopped loving me even when I didn't have time for him, and he was faithful to deliver me when I finally reached out to him.