The Threads He Weaves Together

On being quiet, writing books, hitting deer, and sleeping in the basement of a tow truck driver.

Wide plains on the less traveled roads

It’s cool enough to light a fire in the kitchen wood stove most mornings now, patches of wispy fog threaded throughout the woods like a guazy web and the sky a slow blushing of blue-gray daylight. I enjoy the progression of building a small tower of wood and crinkly paper and splintered kindling and bits and bobs of various starters, and then lighting the match, and feeling the stretch of time into daybreak. The door squeals a bit as I close it, and both cats arrive to weave between my slippers before feeding and heading outside. It’s a quiet joy, this morningtide.

Of late, however, I’ve been away from my cedar cabin in the woods. A conference in Kansas City, followed by a road trip seeking the grave sites of my husband’s ancestors, had a serenity of its own. I’m not saying it was quiet, per se, sharing workshops and food (oh! the food there was divine!) with 1300 other people; nor was the automobile accident we had upon colliding with a deer the size of an elk (our deer in the Pacific Northwest are perhaps half the size!). But my time away was contented and restful, and my heart was at peace. I will tell you more about the accident in a moment.

I will say it felt a little odd, this venturesome expedition occurring the week after I released Slow Schooling. I did my best to share from it through my social media pages (and here, of course), but I didn’t have business cards made or whatnot. Thus the bane—or blessing—of self publishing. Sales have been slow, but steady, and it was a marvel to see it at the top of many categories on Amazon. Not a raging river, by any means, but a nice bubbly (and yes—quiet) creek meandering throughout the internet. As I walked through hundreds of beautiful exhibits at the conference, I knew I could do more to market better. But—honestly—I knew I would have to trade in my meditative mornings and so much more than that in order to put in the work to make it all happen.

I see a lot of moms doing tremendous things for their home businesses and adding incredible value (or at least, it appears incredible) to their home economy. I know I could do likewise, and sometimes I am pained by refraining, FOMO and all that. But I also know how limited I am by my abilities to be present with my family at the same time. I do not have that gifting (as you know, if you’ve read Present). So I content myself with writing when I can, publishing as I am able, and returning to my morning snuggles by the wood stove with no other thought in my head for the day except to get the sourdough bread dough into shape for later baking. Sometimes I feel selfish. I want to help other moms, I really do, and I know I can’t help them if I don’t market more or show up more or post more or make videos or or or. But my baby is five, and I know tomorrow he’ll be twenty. I cry when I think about how fast my children all grow up.

Anyhow, the deer surprised us, as they do. Kansas, if you don’t know, is a whole lot of flat plains with big blue windy skies and teeny tiny towns (at least, on the back roads we were on, on the way to Denver). Tom’s second cousin (once removed, if you get how that works) whom we had just spent time with, regarded this area with a wry, “You can see your dog run away for two whole weeks!”

We had found one cemetery on our familial hunt already. The plot looked like it was simply cut from a corner of a farmer’s field, and that’s where the community laid their dead. It was hard not to cry, walking in the midst of wee headstones with dates carved and days of life: 4 mos, 2D; 7 months; 10yrs, and so forth. Cholera, lack of sanitation, hunger, disease. I cried for the mothers, especially. One family alone had five such precious headstones.

Many cemeteries were just corners of farmer’s fields

That night as we made our way to a waiting VRBO, a large doe appeared as an apparition in the headlights and there was nothing to do but to hit the poor thing. There was no time to consider, “shall we swerve? stop? yell out loud in surprise?” She flew forward as a billiard ball and landed in the middle of the road, instantly dead, as we pulled over dragging our own metal and hardware. The night was black, the stars were pinpoints of white, and aside from our shocked and slowed breathing, the only sound was the vehicle’s blinker. I called 911, grateful to be in an area with reception. All I saw was a creek that showed on our GPS; I had no idea how to answer where we were located.

I rifled through my purse for a specific everyday carry: a small pouch of homeopathic remedies. Aconite for the both of us, for the shock, and then shortly afterwards, arnica, for the both of us, for the physical effects of the accident. I spent the time waiting for the officers watching the road, peering for headlights, any headlights. When a vehicle finally appeared, I waved my phone’s flashlight, hoping the driver would slow down to avoid the dead animal in the road. The car whipped around the deer and kept going, leaving us again in the black night alone.

A quarter hour later another car appeared, and stopped. I spoke to the blackened side window until it finally slowly lowered, inquiring about our need. We were fine, we said, thank you, just look out for the deer ahead. Those were the only two cars we saw the entire time we were there, waiting for law enforcement.

Larry (the tow truck driver) arrived and immediately got the car loaded. He was a large man, and bantered with the police officers about who and what and how and when. As Tom and I finished up all of the paperwork with the people now involved, Tom noticed a large billboard next to where we had stopped. In all of the hours upon hours of driving through Kansas, we never saw any billboards at all. He squinted into the dark. “Is that….Jesus???”

The elder officer took out his flashlight and lo, it WAS Jesus.

Sometimes you really need a sign.

“Looks like you’re being well taken care of,” the officer said.

Midnight now upon us, we squished into the tow cab, the driver (again, named Larry; IYKYK) offered his own home for our sleeping arrangements. Tom turned and gave me the “look”, as in, “Do we want to do this crazy thing?” I remember kind of laughing and pointing at the billboard. Thirty minutes later, we were snug in a lovely guest room where, we found out the next morning, dear redneck Larry (his term, not ours) regularly brings home folks who are somehow stranded in the middle of nowhere for the night. It’s just what he has done for years, and even though his previous house burned down last February, he still calls his wife at all hours to make sure the sheets are clean and the room is ready.

The next morning, he drove us an hour to the car rental office, where he had already planned to go anyhow, with another vehicle to drop off there. We had an enjoyable time getting to know him and the area he lived in. Afterwards, we continued on our trip as if we merely experienced a pleasantly unexpected change of plans.

So I am home again now, with many new stories to tell, new information to apply, and new friends I’ve met who are wonderful inspirations in all of the ways they seek to honor God with the work of their own hands, whether it is quietly writing books like I do, or running a large and well known home business, or by opening their home to complete strangers. I am encouraged by the work of the Lord in the threads He weaves together, and give gratitude for His faithfulness in it all.

In which we live to see another day, God be praised.

Slow Schooling is out! If you don’t think you can homeschool, or if you’re feeling burnt out, this is the book for you!

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