Watching For the Truck

A few years ago I helped my parents move from their longtime home in the Central Valley area of California to the Columbus, Ohio area. They had some friends help them pack their home, and they had other people help them load a U-Haul truck, put their car on a car dolly, and they were ready to move. I flew from Oklahoma City and met them at their home. It was a bittersweet time for them, and for me. They had lived in  this home for quite a few years. Our older three children had some wonderful experiences each summer when they spent time with their grandparents. For several years we lived close enough to spend Thanksgivings and Christmases together, and time together for no special reason, because we enjoyed going to my parent's home. My dad was at the age where he couldn't take care of his house anymore, so my parents were moving to be near my sister and brother-in-law, in a home with little or no maintenance. As I prepared to drive away, many of these memories flooded my mind. I walked around the yard for one last time. Looked at the roses my dad was so proud of, looked at his garden, his grape vines, and the places where he had his bird feeders. My mom's sister and husband were there with them and they drove off to the nearest airport to fly to Columbus. I climbed into the truck and began the 2,450 mile trip. It took several days, with a stop in Oklahoma City, so that Kathy could follow me to Columbus. We would help get my parents settled and then drive home to pack. We were in a transition at that point, as well. Two months later we moved to St. Louis and lived there until a month ago.

I called my folks each day of the trip to let them know where I was, and to report that all was well. On the last day, as I got close, I called to get specific directions to their new home. When I drove up the street, there was my dad. He waved me into the exact spot, grinning and saying his constant phrase, "thank you, Jesus, thank you for a safe trip for my boy." If you spent any time around my dad, he constantly gave audible praise to God for everything. It was so much fun to pull up to their house and see his delight in the fact that we had a long, but very successful trip.

Fast forward ten years. Last weekend, our son Josh, got some help and loaded up all of our belongings that didn't fit in the truck that we loaded and drove to Tucson, AZ, at the end of July. On Friday afternoon, he left St. Louis, stopped in Springfield, MO, to drop off my piano at his brother's house, and then continued on to Oklahoma City for the night. He arrived, after a 1,500 mile trip, on Saturday evening. With cell coverage being so good, just ten years later, we kept in contact throughout the trip. Just before he arrived, I called Josh to find out where he was, so his mother could start the last dish she was preparing for supper. When he told me where he was, I knew he would be at our house in ten minutes or so. So there I was, on the sidewalk, outside our new home, waiting for my son to arrive. As he came down the street, I breathed a sigh of relief, said "thank you, Jesus" for a safe trip, and waved him into the right spot. I know I felt just like my dad did ten years earlier. The time and help I gave my parents ten years earlier, was repaid to me by my son, in almost the exact same way. One day, down the road, Josh may be standing on the sidewalk of his new home, grateful for a child who willingly gave his parents the time and help they needed. That's how it is supposed to work, family members lovingly taking care of each other, each generation helping the other one. God is good...