Have you ever had one of those days that is going so perfectly that you can't believe how wonderful it really is?
Well, this is the story of the other shoe dropping on one of those days.
Friday, Nov. 12, was honestly a great day. I had officially finished my practicum observation hours in TESOL, worked on homework, attended a great class discussion in Spanish with our guest speaker and discovered that I had a paycheck in my mailbox, all before 2 p.m. I found myself walking back to my apartment after class wondering how the day could possibly be any better!
In hindsight, I sometimes laugh at my own optimism.
Let it be known that on this particular Friday, I had planned on making the 1.5 hour commute home to see a musical at a local community playhouse with my sister and mom. I had to be home by 4:45 p.m. Central Standard Time.
3:37 p.m. EST - I soon realized that I had underestimated the amount of time it would take for me to finish my errands that I wanted to do before leaving for home that afternoon and soon found myself pulling out of Lee 37 minutes behind schedule. But that was okay, I had planned in 30 minutes of extra time into my schedule, and I could make up for a few minutes by taking a few shortcuts I knew, right? Wrong.
4:11 p.m. EST - The 10 minutes that it usually takes to get to I-75 has by this point turned into a half-hour ordeal. Between school traffic and a horrific traffic jam at all the Cleveland exits has caused quite a slow-down in my plans. I am still not on the interstate and have had to backtrack from Exit 20 to take the alternate route to Ooltewah (which is by now also jam packed, but still moving faster than the interstate). By this point, I'm exasperated to the point of tears and talking to my mother on the phone trying to make alternate plans. To make things even better, my phone (which was over halfway charged that morning) is now vehemently proclaiming its imminent death every minute or so. Great.
By this point, I really stopped paying close attention to the clock because, quite frankly, it was stressing me out to the point of a migraine. Time is a cruel enemy. Traffic in Ooltewah was the craziest I've ever seen it, but I persisted in the path to the interstate and finally made it into the south-bound lanes now flowing perfectly naturally toward Chattanooga. After a short pit-stop and false hope in getting a car charger for my now unresurrectably dead phone, I start weaving my way through Chattanooga traffic, almost without incident. There was only a slight slow-down at the far edge of the city, and I thought for the first time in almost an hour that maybe things were possibly looking up. Then I looked at the clock and calculated my ETA at my house: around 5:15 Central, by my reckoning. Stress and tension again reigned as I endeavored to resurrect my phone to call my mother.
The battery in my phone was gracious to allow a short phone call that ended about two minutes too soon to do me any good. I tried suggesting to my mother that I meet her and my sister in Manchester; she tried telling me to just come home and we'd work it out from there. The phone died before a decision was made, so I decided to just do what she had said and proceed to my house as quickly (and as safely) as humanly possibly, attempting futilely to get just one more call out of my now deader-than-Marley-who-was-dead-as-a-doornail phone.
I learned along the way that I can be a defensive driver. Oftentimes, I am more timid than the cowardly lion when it comes to turning, changing lanes, anything having to do with judging distance, but given the situation and the motivation, I can become quite in tune with the road and my confidence in my depth perception soars (thankfully, my confidence also matches my abilities). Other lessons also peppered my epic journey from Cleveland to Estill, like the ability to enjoy a sunset even when the bright light is giving you a headache. The entire road and surrounding land seemed to be bathed in gold for most of the duration of the trip, and it was honestly spectacular, in spite of being sometimes overwhelming to my optic abilities.
When I pulled off the interstate and turned onto the road toward Winchester, I breathed my first sigh of relief in almost an hour. I was almost home. Never before had I been so glad to see the familiar cotton fields and vast landscapes of my home county. I decided to take a back way from the interstate into Estill Springs in an effort to save time, hoping and praying the whole time that Mom and I would be on the same wavelength and meet at the house.
Sometimes, I think God knows I need an extra smile. At this particular time, it came in a way that only a small-town girl or guy can truly appreciate. As I traversed the country terrain coming ever closer to home, I happened to pass a farmer on his tractor who, I assume, was also on his way to his very own abode. As the vehicles in front of me and I passed him, he waved to each of us, as though he recognized each of us individually. I don't know why, but such a neighborly gesture was just what I needed at that moment to make me stop and thank God for people who care for people, no matter who the people are. That simple greeting probably outshines most of the stress of that drive home. Sometimes, it really is the simple things in life.
As I neared the end of my backroad journey, still smiling from my encounter with the good Samaritan on the tractor, I saw something in the landscape that made my heart drop to my stomach: a train heading for the railroad crossing that stood between me and home. I admit, I screamed. Now, most people will probably say, "So what? It's just a train!" Allow me to explain the thing about trains that come through Franklin County. I tend to attract the ones that are either a) really slow or stopping or b) are eternally long. I grimaced in disappointment and pain as I endeavored to assess the dynamics of this particular train. Thankfully, God knew my patience was already at its breaking point, and the train was comparably short and quick.
At approximately 5 p.m. Central Standard Time, I turned onto my road, and tears of joy began to well up in my eyes. Those tears soon turned into yells of frustration as I came into view of my empty driveway. My mother was already on her way to Tullahoma to pick up my sister from work, and none of us had any clue what was going on. They had no clue where I was or where they were to meet me because the last phone call I had managed had been so inconclusive.
I raced into the house and grabbed the phone. Thankfully, my mother answered her cell phone, calmed me down and told me to just stay put; she and my sister were coming back to get me and would be there in about 15 minutes. I felt horrible; because of my running late, our plans would have to change. Instead of going out to eat with my mom and sister at an actual restaurant, we ate at the Sonic down the road from the theater. I felt like I had at least slightly tinged the night with ruination.
In spite of everything, though, I soon realized that what my mom said when we were all finally together was the most important thing: we were all in the same vehicle, and we were together again. Family: it's one of the most precious gifts that God can ever give, and I am so blessed to have one that not even traffic jams and dead cell phones can separate. Well, not permanently, that is. Who knew that so many lessons could come from running late in a traffic jam?
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