Babies on the Bus: Trust in Life Unfolding

Trust in life unfolding

Volunteer Babysitters

“Hey, Out of the Grey, here’s your babysitter for the day,” said Ron, the road manager. The teenage boy stood at the door of our tour bus and reached to shake our hands. Gulp. My husband and I exchanged a quick glance then invited him into our home on the road.  Up the steps came another test of my trust in the unfolding nature of life.

Scott and I were touring with Steven Curtis Chapman as his opening act. Our 8-month-old baby was along for the ride. Therefore, the road manager had arranged volunteer nannies at each venue so we could do a quick soundcheck, graze through catering, and play our 20-minute set.

In each town, generous people donated their time to care for our baby. They came in many shapes and ages. We often scored a wonderful middle-aged woman partial to babies and unimpressed with performers.

Occasionally, Scott and I punted the sitter for the day. Like the woman we met in the green room at an arena show. Our would-be nanny was a tough-looking lady, part of the local load-in crew. Waving her cigarette, she reached for baby Julian and told us how good she was with kids. Probably she was. We just weren’t good with smoke in our precious baby’s lungs.

“Um, we’re sorry to say we don’t need you today. But thank you for offering to help.”

Eager Teenager

However, the eager teenage boy was a toss-up. Could he take care of a baby? And why would he want to? The road manager brought him to the bus because Julian was asleep in his portable crib. We were due on stage for a soundcheck. I hesitated.

“If the baby wakes up, bring him right into the venue,” I said.trust in life unfolding

Concern crossed the boy’s face. “He might wake up?”

Ron clomped up the bus steps from the street. “Scott and Christine, they’re waiting for you. C’mon or you’ll lose your soundcheck. Doors open in 15.”

Ugh, we had to go.

Scott said to the young man, “He’ll probably keep sleeping. Christine will be back soon. Just check on him once or twice. Oh, and thanks.”

Scott and I traded worried looks as we hurried through the stage door. Singing a quick verse of a song while Scott played guitar, I got a good balance of sound in my monitor. Then I rushed back to the bus to discover the young caregiver sitting in the front lounge, tossing a cassette tape in his hands. He jumped up when he saw me, relieved. Julian had stayed asleep.

After thanking him, I said we wouldn’t need him for the rest of the evening. He held out the cassette.

“Do you think I could meet Steven Curtis Chapman and get him to sign this for me?”

I laughed. “Yes. Let me pick up the baby and you can follow us inside to find Steven.”

Trust in Life Unfolding

trust in life unfoldingThe song, “Unfolding,” comes to mind when I remember these scenarios. We wrote it in the throes of performing our music and raising our children. It became part of our third Out of the Grey record, Diamond Days.

How many times did I worry about my baby boy in the tumult of travel? And then our two baby girls who followed to journey with us? How many miles did I sit and stare out the window of a rolling vehicle that carried my family down another highway, wondering how this touring-artist thing would turn out? I never knew what was around the bend, waiting at the next performance, the next tour when this one ended.

However, my 2020 hindsight tells me that trusting the changing nature of life was the only way to go. The unfolding was inevitable. Better to surrender to the flow.

But I didn’t trust the unfolding much. The erratic character of road life made me anxious. I longed for predictable patterns and solvable puzzles. Also, I needed my kids to be safe and have the best situation for their growth. My desire to impact the lives of others, to be engaged in the great adventure, added to my angst. The tour bus window, wide as it was, only framed a small stretch of sky. Sometimes, I couldn’t see beyond mere survival.

The years rolled on. Scott and I eventually hired nannies who rode the buses with us when they weren’t helping at home while we worked on another record. These dear ladies also became dear friends. Eventually, the added miles and experiences subtracted from my stress. I kept my eyes and my mind open. Companions in cramped buses and audiences in wide venues showed me I was playing a good part, in my children’s lives and in the lives of others. My clenched fist unfolded a bit.

The Changing Nature of Life

In the upheaval of touring, my questions to God were always: How does each soul fit into the big picture? Can You really care for me, my family, and each stranger we meet along the way? From the middle of my tiny story, I scanned the horizon for the grander scheme.

Now that I’m off the road, I volunteer as a babysitter for my grandson. Watching my grown son and his wife work on their version of the unfolding story, I know they know how the future gets done. They try to live the moments one by one. May they trust their small choices and acts of love that add up to compose the bigger picture.

As a fifty-something, my energy for engaging the wider world is flagging. But I continue to ask the big questions: Can I still have an impact, make a splash in my little pond? Believing it is possible, I write. I write to the young adults puzzling it out as I did almost three decades ago. I write for the older folks, too, who wonder at their purpose and position in Creation.

My hope and prayer are that we may all enjoy life now, trust in its unfolding nature, its steady, relentless stream. We cannot see our impact in our small stretches of imagination, but we always have a part in the grandeur of the grander scheme unfolding.

trust in life unfolding

 

Of Fear, Faith, and Foxes

faith

The Beginnings of Fear

When I was eight years old, a strange man banged on our front door.

My mom opened it and he asked her, “this cat out here yours?”

Looking over her shoulder at me, he leaned in to say something which only she could hear. Mom turned to me and my sister and brother and told us to wait inside.

“Stay here!” I heard her shout as the door slammed behind her.

But I didn’t stay. I followed her out and around the side of our house on a 10-second delay so she wouldn’t see me disobey. When I turned the corner, I saw the man was pointing at my cat in the road– what was left of him. He had run over him with his truck.

I can’t remember how I felt then or what I did immediately after that discovery. Did my mom see me? Did I tell her what I’d witnessed? I don’t think so. I must’ve run back into the house.

She came in to carefully announce the bad news. “Bruno is dead. Sorry, kids. He was hit by a truck. He must’ve run out into the road.”

I do remember some days later getting off of the school bus on that same road and bursting into tears. My cat was gone because I didn’t take care of him. I began to fear the mistakes I could make. I began to wonder if I could have saved him. Did I have any control over the dangers on the road?

Man Versus Nature

Throughout my childhood there were a few more pet vs. car incidents:

I lost a puppy to a car. Ka-thump.

I saw another pet dog wrestle a moving car’s tire with his teeth. He somehow survived the run-in and lived with a scar to prove it.

I should have had both dogs on a leash. Then they wouldn’t have been where only cars are supposed to be.

Nowadays, whenever I see a small squashed animal body on the road, I feel a deep sadness. It seems so wrong. An innocent life just gone.

You can’t warn the animals about the dangers on the road. They’re just running around doing what animals do. Unfortunately, the people who should be taking care, aren’t.

Friday Fox

On a Friday morning in June this year, I was outside on the back patio early.

Enjoying the cool quiet before the heat and cicadas came calling, I spotted the fox. He was maybe 20 feet away from me at the edge of the yard just doing what animals do. His coat was plump and fluffy, an orange-red perfection. He never noticed me. I stared frozen as he sniffed the ground then scratched an ear. I had a whole 60 seconds of joy before he headed toward the creek and disappeared down the bank.

The visit felt like a gift from God.

That evening, my husband Scott and I went out to a movie. At about 9 PM, we were headed back home. I was taking care to drive the speed limit. Actually, I was driving kind of slow.

Scott said, “Why don’t you speed up?”

Normally I would. But the road wasn’t well-lit and I worry about hitting deer, raccoons, and even opossums.

“I’m driving at a comfortable speed for me,” I said.

Scott said, “OK, babe.”

It was dark and just felt right to poke along, take it easy. When I turned into our neighborhood I remember thinking, ‘you gotta be careful on the roads close to home, too.’

And so I was.

Taking Care

Just then, the fox that had visited that morning ran across the road exactly where we were passing at 22 mph. I slammed on the brakes and felt the rumble of the tires as they pulsed to a stop. I screamed, covered my face with my hands, and leaned sobbing into the steering wheel.

Scott hadn’t seen the fox. What? he stared at me.

“The fox, I just ran over the fox, I killed the fox!!” I couldn’t bear it.

He opened his passenger-side door and looked down at the road. Sure enough, there was the poor little creature lying against the curb.

Scott said, “it’s alive but just lying there. Wait, now it’s getting up, limping a little!”

As I leaned to look, my fox was already trotting across the closest lawn without a limp. He was gone in 10 seconds, disappearing between two houses.

Life, Death, and Resurrection

I saw him alive but my body held onto his death. The grief and anguish stayed with me even though I had seen the fox scamper off.

Scott and I talked about the incident for hours that night. He said, “that actually felt personal.”

I agreed. The fact was, I had taken care, done what I could to mitigate the dangers of the road. How was it possible that the timing was so impeccable, that our paths had intersected twice in one day on that fateful Friday?

The morning encounter resulted in joy, the nighttime incident left me in anguish. I was afraid he had run away to die but I held on in faith that he was truly alive and well.

Faith Without Restraint

That confusing day stirred up memories of the years when Scott and I were touring and raising our 3 kids on the road. At home, we had the safest car we could afford, we bought the best car seats, and we always buckled up for safety.

But when we rode tour buses, everyone just bounced around in the front lounge without any restraints.

One winter, we were traveling down a highway during an ice storm. Our tour bus suddenly slid off onto the side of the road and then a truck slammed into us. No one was hurt except the bus.

A policeman came to cart us to a nearby motel to wait out the storm. I grabbed the car seats from the storage bay but he said, “no car seats– I’m in a hurry to help other people.” I insisted but he was adamant.

Unbelievable! Twice in one day, we were driving down an icy highway and my kids were untethered. I was totally out of control. All I had to hold onto was faith that God was in control.

What Does The Fox Say

faithI have thought about and talked about that Friday Fox for weeks now.

Looking for clues about our two meetings, I wonder: were they random or personal?

Random means nothing is in my control. Personal means nothing is in my control. What do I have to fear?

I learned young that not taking care of small things could lead to suffering and tragedy. When raising my kids, I worked hard to avoid a terrible mistake. I don’t think I could have been more careful.

What difference does it make to take care or make mistakes?

The fox stirs up questions about my fear and about my faith. Can I trust God in the intersections of life, death, and resurrections? And what is my role in the whole business?

Maybe God is not sending foxes to my yard or under my car. Perhaps there’s just an organic and mysterious flow of purpose that moves His creatures to meet at the crossroads of life.

Or maybe He is sending messages through small animals, telling me to take care but trust in His care and leave the outcomes and answers to Him.

Fear says, what if you make a mistake? Faith says, so what if you make a mistake?

As I finish writing this, I get to add one more part to the story: just yesterday a small fox visited Scott and me in our yard. It appeared to be my Friday Fox, just hanging out in the same place I’d seen him two months ago.

This story ends with my fears relieved and my faith turned to sight. My Friday Fox is alive and well, doing what animals do in the world.

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