The Lord had blessed me with a wonderful truck – Dodge 3500 diesel with more towing capabilities than I would ever imagine – and a 5th wheel trailer, my home away from home. He led me to an organization named NOMADS that enabled me to travel, help those in need, travel, meet and make new friends, travel, find a true purpose in life, travel, experience new and varied adventures, travel, and serve my Lord and Savior – all at the same time.
As part of beginning a new life, I learned the NOMADS were having an annual meeting in Marion, North Carolina, in October 2010. I figured North Carolina was a short distance, relative to traveling across country to, say, Oklahoma, where most of my family lives. I figured what better chance is there to try out my new trailer, hauling it down there and all. I could do that!
I went. I outfitted my trailer with more ‘stuff’ than I would ever need even if I were to venture into the far northern reaches of Canada in search of the real northern route between the Atlantic and Pacific. I hooked up my trailer and headed south. The trip lasted about 7 hours and for the most part was uneventful, until I arrived. I followed the hand signals and vocal commands of the volunteers who assisted NOMADS entering the campground. Never having experienced such a seemingly easy thing to do, but at the time such an insurmountable task, I pulled my trailer proudly along the narrow gravel drive between the other parked RVs, 5th wheel trailers, those common bumper-hitch trailers, and quite an assortment of towing, towed, and other miscellaneous-use vehicles. I leaned back, ball cap cocked in cool fashion, dark sunglasses hiding the fear in my eyes, and negotiated my way using the clambering of my diesel truck to hide the loud pounding of my heart. I unobtrusively wiped the sweat from my hands and brow, hoping the cool 70-ish degree weather would not give way to the truth of my nervousness.
As I steered into my volunteer-directed slot with my trailer close behind I was suddenly slammed forward as if God had put his hand in front of me and stopped me and all the weight I towed on a proverbial dime. I thought, what the…! A gathering of old guys, as if I am not one of that auspicious group, approached my truck and trailer peering around to see what caused me to stop so suddenly in the middle of the gravel path. All nervousness set aside for the moment, I jumped from the cab probably looking more scared than the oh-well-just-another-opportunity-to-exercise-my-prowess-in-towing-a-trailer look that I tried to purvey. My eyes quickly searched the surrounding area for the cause of my abrupt stop. I quickly searched for the huge fallen tree in the road that I somehow missed while concentrating on how well I looked in front of these seasoned travelers and trailer haulers. If not a tree, then it was surely a rogue cinder block that ran undetected from a pile of blocks several feet away coaxed by other veteran blocks to pass this coming-of-age test into what blocks really do when no one is watching and wrench itself under my wheel causing me to look incredibly stupid while the remaining blocks laughed and giggled at my expense. No, the real cause was the entangled cable that attached my emergency break enabler. It caused the trailer brakes to engage and, well, as designed, stopped me in my tracks. I acted as if stuff like that happens, as I was sure all the seasoned old-guy travelers knew quite well, and quickly untangled the short cable and returned to the protective shelter of my truck cab. I pulled the trailer into my assigned spot and greeted my audience of veteran onlookers as the greenhorn traveler I was. It may or may not have been obvious I was a ‘newby’, still they greeted me with friendship and offers to help. I was among friends. I was among fellow NOMADS, followers of our Lord Jesus Christ, in other words, family. Wanting to experience all that is involved in setting up a trailer, I politely declined the many offers for help and in short order, unhooked and set up my campsite.
The week in Marion was short but filled with a new world of happiness, something that had eluded me for many years. I found so many friendly people. Like me, they wanted to serve the Lord. They wanted to help others with little regard to what it cost them. Though I first thought they were a bunch of old people, I knew down deep in my heart they were all close to my age. Until, perhaps, came the Fifties dance. Those who know me know that I am not a fan of dancing, unless, of course, I have a little help from Jack D, Uncle Bud, or one of those guys. I am also not a fan of alcoholic beverages but I am able to recognize and understand the need to seek that kind of help when absolutely necessary, such as dancing. I realized that I was just a babe in the fifties and not familiar with poodle skirts and saddle shoes. I managed to hold my own with my biker jacket, white tee shirt, and blue jeans rolled at the bottom. Forget the ducktail – not enough hair for that.
Another high point, or low point depending on how you look at it, was my first night. It was cold in the hills of North Carolina in October. Growing up in a mobile home, I recall my dad always said you have to light the pilot light on the heater before turning it on. Otherwise, gas will leak into the house and kill everyone! That fear carried with me over the years was now screaming in my ears. Not wanting to die on my first outing with my trailer, I searched and searched for that elusive pilot light. I decided to tough it out and pile on the blankets, rather than risk being asphyxiated by propane in the night. Wouldn’t you know, I did not bring enough blankets. I was cold all night and slept fitfully as a result. The next morning could not have arrived soon enough. Skipping my morning shower and venturing out in search of anything warm, in the early dawn I saw one of the friendlier guys I had met upon my arrival the day before. I approached and greeted him in a nonchalant manner, as if I was another early riser. Still trying to suggest I was a member of that coveted group of seasoned trailer haulers and early risers, I thought quickly how I would broach the subject of heat in my trailer.
“How’d you sleep?” He looked warm and cozy in his flannel LL Bean fall jacket.
“Oh, not so well,” I replied trying to be patient before moving to the heat topic while not divulging my utter stupidity and ignorance over such a trivial matter of trailer sensibility. “Couldn’t find the pilot light on my furnace.” For a brief moment it seemed the man eyed me with a look of suspicion, understanding, or disbelief. As if directed by God to be compassionate, he offered to take a look.
Being extremely patient and helpful, he looked all around the trailer, inside and out. He checked the propane tanks (full), the water heater (fine), and the furnace (looked fine to him). Standing outside the front door, he asked if I had checked the furnace switch on the wall mounted control switch.
I said, “Yeah, but I couldn’t find the pilot light and…” I told him about what my dad had said all those years ago.
Without cracking a smile he said quietly, “Your trailer doesn’t have a pilot light. It’s electronic. Just turn it on.”
“Oh,” was all I could manage. Standing just inside the open door I flipped the switch to heat and listened. The furnace sprang to life. I heard and felt heat pouring from vents in the floor. I gave my caring friend a hearty but somewhat sheepish word of thanks. He went on his way and I went inside my trailer. I will forever remember and appreciate his great sense of consideration and discretion. Yep, feeling utterly stupid but fortunate at the same time, I sat on my couch for several minutes enjoying the growing warmth in my trailer and trying to forget the cold night I just spent on my first outing with my new trailer.
I sat in my warm trailer consoling myself with thoughts of gratefulness for the Lord leading me to NOMADS. I prayed a word of thanks and appreciation for Him putting that new friend in my path and blessing him with graciousness to help me without throwing my stupidity or ignorance in my face. I thanked the Lord for leading me to something that I would soon realize is my niche, my passion: Serving the Lord by Helping Others.
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