Purple wasn't just a color. It wasn't just a scripted word on the side of a truck. It was much more than that. And now it's gone.
Let me back up a few days to last weekend, when Fernando drove Arctek Purple out west to South Dakota and NCAA women's basketball, and I drove my sweet old BMW south to a little town in southern Illinois to present two workshops at a homeschool convention. I so badly wanted to spend the time with Fernando, knowing it may be his last trip with Purple. But, he was working with his bosses and there was no room for me, and I was speaking at the convention, and plans were plans so we drove our separate ways.
My view from the road (I was stopped due to an accident).
The Lord had plans for me in Salem, and He gave me the words and the wisdom to share with moms and dads homeschooling struggling learners. I was blessed to be there, and when the day ended I left with a full heart knowing I was useful--my ever-longing desire.
Opening session of the southern Illinois homeschool convention.
I arrived home late Saturday night, Fernando arrived home even later that night, and we slept in, missing church but catching up on sleep and each other.
Comfort means peeking out and seeing Purple parked in our driveway awaiting the next job.
My hopes to accompany Fernando that afternoon on his last scheduled job with Purple were squashed when he received a request for his picture in order to create IDed credentials for the job. Security was tighter; I wouldn't get credentials. There was no last trip for me.
So, Fernando drove off on Sunday, east this time to Indianapolis, and I stayed behind and waited. His "probationary period" had ended, and permanent employment looked promising, but you know me--I'm the Show me girl, the skeptic who doesn't believe until she sees, and Fernando has become that way as well these past few years. We would both have to wait this time.
Fernando came back late, late Monday night, then on Tuesday, proceeded to work on one of the wings of the satellite dish which had an issue. Talk went back and forth about driving Purple to North Carolina to the dish manufacturer for diagnosis and repair; Purple didn't have any jobs scheduled until later in May so there would be enough time to do this.
Fernando also sent an FYI text to his bosses that he was scheduled for jury duty next week, just in case a repair trip might be considered. Then, Fernando ran an errand and came home in what I thought was enough time to have completed it. But not.
He had gotten a call from S., who wanted him to drive Purple this week to NC--best to get it taken care of before the schedule became busy. Within an hour, Fernando had cleared out his stuff, gotten Purple ready to fly, so to speak, and was ready to get on the road.
Being who I am, I took a few last pictures of the truck; I asked Fernando to take one of me with her--she was, after all, the vehicle through which I had my first paying job (besides my photography) in a long time. Yeah, pardon that pun!
Fernando climbed up into the driver's seat, I snapped a picture, and he looked down and said, "Don't cry."
He never says that to me. But he knew what Purple meant to me--secure and steady--and as long as she was in our driveway, we had income, and I was secure and steady.
I laughed and responded, "Yeah, I'll cry after I'm inside. It's okay."
And he drove away.
Once more, I stood on the edge of the abyss, that dark unknown. Where trust had run ahead to dream of plans and adventures in future months, trust now backed my heart way down, to today. Just today. Trust Him for today.
We've had quite the journey, and I would never have believed you if you had come to me three years ago and told me this is where we'd be today.
Just when I was breathing fully again, I now stand here at the dark edge, neither ready nor willing to stand here. Yet stand I must, because forward is the only way. Because there is not a place I'll go where He hasn't already stood.
For right now, though, tears. Just a few, choked up, then swallowed, knowing He is in control, He holds my future, He knows the way, and He holds me. Though I won't wallow in fear, or panic, and though I will trust, knowing that He'll plant me again in another place and He'll let my roots run deep and my tree grow tall, for right now, this moment, I just need to be.
I stumbled across this song a few weeks ago; it touched me then, and it's my heart-cry today.
Second snow of today, this cold April day.
Back to life,
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