At least the van had the decency to signal its impending failure, which prompted me to turn around at the edge of town, and go right back to locate a garage. Moreover, it had the decency to fight the good fight all the way till I was able to park it in the lot of that garage, a garage that was located right across the street from Chillis, which meant that the family had a relatively nice place to hang out and eat while a mechanic attempted to heal our ailing van.

Anyways, over 3000 dollars later, here we are, my family and I, on the threshold of embarking on the same journey, and I have a slight knot in my stomach, which will likely tighten when I go past that same garage, on that long strip of road right through nowhere, between here and there, where the lapping waves of the coast are calling our name. Surely this time we will make it, but just in case, if you are one who prays, I would appreciate you mentioning my name, my family, and my van, whom you can call Rocinante.

After breakfast we decided to hit the trail for which the campground was named. Though I could say much about the beauty of the Sequoias, I will refrain. Instead, I have a number of photos, many of which were taken by my 8 year old daughter, Elena, that I would like to share.

In conclusion, I will simply say that summer is looking good.

For whatever reason, instead of taking the freeway, I decided to go to Clovis by driving across town on Clovis Avenue. At various times along the way I feared I made a mistake, since I was sure it would be absolutely insane the closer I got to the city of Clovis. On the way there, however, as I was nearing Sierra Vista mall, I saw a sign that said “Amgen Shuttle,” and since Amgen was the promoter of this tour, I figured what the heck, maybe I shouldn’t attempt to get any further by car. I drove into the mall parking lot, parked the car, and Ethan and I jumped out and waited in the designated area for what seemed like less than a minute.

After we took our seats the bus driver announced, “You’ll have to pardon me if this ride is a little bumpy, but I just heard that the cyclists are about five to ten minutes out of town, and I want to get all of you there in time.” A few minutes later we were in downtown Clovis, and Ethan, I, and the other passengers fast walked to Clovis Avenue, which was the first street in the downtown area the cyclists would race upon before they looped back around to come down Pollasky Avenue, the next street over, to head toward the finish line.

At Clovis Avenue, Ethan and I found a great spot. Nobody was in front of us, and we were able to step into the gutter of the street that the cyclists would soon be racing down in order to get a better view. After a few minutes, the signs of the approaching cyclists increased: various lead vehicles were cruising down the road to make sure the path was clear, the kinetic energy of the crowd increased a notch, and the support staff seemed to be aware that the racers were just around the bend, as they were telling people to stay on the sidewalk. After a minute, I looked down the road and in the distance I could see three cyclists vying for the lead, and not far behind was the peloton. A few seconds passed and they were in front of us cruising so fast that I could not isolate or identify anyone. As far as I know, however, Ethan and I were just a few feet from some great names in cycling (Lance, Levi, and Floyd) and though I could not make them out, it was a fantastic experience to feel the wind generated from the collective speed and determination of these racers.

After the first pass, once the road was clear, Ethan and I, taking our cues from the crowd, began to move across the street to make our way toward Pollasky, and the finish line. We made it just in time to see the racers sprint with all that was still in them after four hours in the saddle. Mark Cavendish, being barely a bike length ahead of Tom Boonen, took the win.

In the end, I did not see Lance, I did not get Levi’s autograph, and I did not shake Floyd’s hand, and yet, crowd and all, I would certainly do it again. Maybe next time, however, I’ll get an autograph.

As I am sitting in the pews, amidst my family, both tracking the sermon and working on this sense that there is some part of my soul over which I need to relinquish control and acknowledge the intimate sovereignty of God, I overheard the priest talk about impatience and waiting. In giving an example where his impatience is most acute, the priest shared how he tends to project frustration on people who are in front of him in line, and how he reacts with the thought that such people need to hurry up because his time is important. As he was sharing, I found myself completely identifying with him and I began to pray. In the midst of acknowledging my need to work on this subtle, but grossly egoistic expression of falleness, my son, Ethan James, leans in and quietly says to me, “You are like that when you drive the car… Everyone is in your way.” Yes, indeed, my ten year old son, a prophet unawares, functioned to deepen the awareness of my need for change. And now, I am sitting here writing this, thinking about how Jesus once said that a person who accepts a prophet in his name will receive the reward of that prophet.

A closing prayer:

Lord, on the day I stand before you, please remember to share some of Ethan’s reward with me, as I have accepted your words through him. Amen

Joel has embraced the dark side. It’s somewhat of a pain with him telekinetically snagging the remote out of my hand all the time, or getting me to say stuff like, “Sure Joel, you can stay up as late as you want, and here, why don’t you eat this ice cream I just dished up for myself.” Also, the incessant heavy breathing is a bit disturbing, particularly at night. On the upside, he recently got me out of a ticket for speeding. Of course, he ultimately was the reason I was speeding.

An example of Joel’s overconfidence-lack-of-caution disorder can be seen in an incident that happened just a couple of days ago. While Paula was baking some cookies, she pulled some fresh ones out of the oven, and Joel walked right up and touched his chin to the hot cookie sheet. We are now hoping that the burn mark on his chin will not become a scar. Another example happened today. Paula and I were in the kitchen preparing dinner where we could hear Joel playing around in the family room. Suddenly, we heard a thump, a small crash, and then Joel very matter-of-factly stating, “No blood.”

Last night Paula and I had a conversation about Joel’s rough and tumble existence. I had just finished a brief exchange with Joel, where once again I told him that he and I are not equal, but that one day he would grow up and probably exceed me in many ways. Feeling kind of bad for once again curbing his enthusiasm, I stated to Paula, “I hate to respond to him like that, but I feel that I need to school him in reality, or reality is going to school him pretty hard.”, to which Paula responded, “It’s too late, he’s already enrolled in the School of Hardknocks.”

As I sat next to my daughter trying to figure out how to respond to her anguish I found myself at a loss for words. It’s not that the words weren’t forthcoming, as many possible responses came to mind, but as I processed them I quickly began to doubt whether they were appropriate for my six year old daughter. The responses were the result of my theological studies, responses that were sound with regards to orthodoxy yet steeped in theological language. As a consequence these responses were too sophisticated for my young daughter; moreover, I had doubts as to whether they were the kind of responses that could touch and minister to the human heart, regardless of age.

Fortunately, as I continued to sit with my daughter it came to me that I should read her a story, particularly John’s story of how Jesus raised Lazurus from the dead. As a preface to reading the story, I told Elena that John was a friend and follower of Jesus, and that he felt compelled to tell the world about Jesus because of what he had seen. As I read the story Elena listened intently and by the end she appeared visibly relieved. As a concluding reflection, I told Elena that one day Jesus would also call each of us by name, just like he did for Lazurus. In the end we sat on the couch and together we imagined Jesus one day saying, “Elena, Come forth!” “Anthony, Come forth!” “Paula, Come forth!”