Stopped Dead In My Tracks

Dear Boo and Bubble,

I’m watching with critical interest this morning about the horrendous snowstorm hitting Arlington and the D.C. area.  Looks like you’ll be home for a few days as everything shuts down until the city can dig you out.  Snowstorms have a way of doing that…stopping everything.  When I was 25 years old, I had just such an experience.  Looking back on my life, I am firmly convinced that God sent that storm to keep me from making a big mistake.  Sorry that it inconvenienced so many other people, but I got the message.

At the time, I was in Jacksonville, Florida, and working for Fidelity Federal Savings and Loan.  Up until that point, I had always lived in Greenville even attending college at Furman.  My dorm room may have represented an actual separation from 3 Lakecrest, but less than ten miles away does not constitute “leaving home.”  I even dated the same hometown guy starting my senior year in high school, all through four years at Furman, and after that for a while.

After college, I moved back in with great Granddaddy Schaefer and Mamaw Mary and took a job teaching 11^th-grade American history at one of the local high schools.  The plan was to save money in anticipation of marrying my sweetheart and settling down smack dab in the middle of everything I had always known and loved. 

Oops…..something happened on the way to my life.  The relationship came to an end (in large part to some good advice from Granddaddy to his only daughter) and I found myself in uncharted territory.  My slate wiped clean of a certain future, I decided that leaving Greenville would be a good move.  After all, I had never been away from home – not literally, figuratively and certainly not emotionally.  The thought of venturing out on my own intrigued me, even tantalized me and I began poking around for possibilities. 

We had extended family in Jacksonville and through a cousin, I secured my job at Fidelity Federal as a loan closer.  I let an apartment with a roommate whom I had never met, but who came highly recommended by the complex.  With my car jammed to the gills of all my earthly possessions, I headed south full of hope and promise for a new beginning.

All went fine for a few weeks as I busied myself settling into the job and my apartment.  But as the excitement of newness faded into the dullness of daily routine and the enticement of being on my own morphed into loneliness, I encountered something I had never known before ----- homesickness. 

Homesickness….that all-absorbing, mind-consuming, passionate yearning for everything or anything familiar.  Homesickness….that numbing sensation of helplessness that leaves you in tears over the slightest inability to accomplish a task.  Homesickness….that overwhelming desire to hear a voice of someone close and panicking when they don’t answer the phone.

Normal people experience this horrid stage much younger, like when they go their first camp.  Trust me, it’s much better to get it over with sooner rather than later. Yes, at the ripe old age of 25, I spiraled down into a cesspool of homesickness so deep I could hardly function unless I could divert my mind to concentrate on something else.  It made me call home several times a day.  I spent money on plane trips to Greenville on the weekends.  Sometimes, I’d drive out of the parking lot at work on Friday afternoon and just keep going until six hours later I pulled into the driveway at 3 Lakecrest.

The emotion was awful and I fought it hard.  Finally, though, I caved into the incessant yearnings and called Granddaddy to say to heck with my pride.  The experiment was over.  Find me a job, any job.  Like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, I packed my car on a Friday morning before work and determined to drive home to see about reversing my course.

As the afternoon wore on in Jacksonville, a slow, steady and bitingly cold drizzle began.  By 5:00, when the S&L closed, the weather had deteriorated to a heavy downpour.  Undeterred, I headed out of the parking lot through town and onto I-10 West which would get me to I-75 north to Atlanta.  The rain pelted my windshield as the visibility diminished.  An hour into the trip, I came to I-75 and headed towards the Georgia line. 

About 50 miles into Georgia, at a little town called Cordele, the rain turned to sleet and my car skidded as I crossed one of the overpasses.  It was well dark by then and I thought it best to pull off and find a place to spend the night.  I could get an early start the next morning and be home by lunch.  I took the next intersection towards Cordele.  The first motel I came to was a Howard Johnson’s complete with a restaurant which in those days always included 57 varieties of ice cream.  I turned into the parking lot and went into the reception area.

When I explained that I wanted a room for the night, the lady behind the desk responded by saying that she was glad I had stopped.  The interstate was closed about 10 miles north of there.  We negotiated my room.  I took the key, parked my car, dragged my suitcase inside, immediately called Granddaddy…..and broke down and cried.

Not to worry he said… I’d be on the road first thing in the morning.  On that reassurance, I went to sleep.

The next morning, I awoke to 12 inches of snow.  Drifts piled up to the middle of the room’s windows and half-way up the door.  The cars in the parking lot looked like white pillow sculptures of fine sugar.  I couldn’t believe my eyes.

The door would not give even putting my shoulder to it.  Not able to get out of the room, I called the desk to inquire as to when they might have things cleared so that I could get on the way.  My question was answered with an incredulous honesty.  “We haven’t had snow like this in Cordele in 100 years.  Nope, not going to have snow plows when you only need them once every century!”

I couldn’t go north.  I couldn’t go south.  For three days, I huddled in that room, leaving only to go eat.  My calls to home became longer each time as Granddaddy counseled me through the misery I felt.  After 76 hours, he had me convinced to go back to Jacksonville and work through the situation until I could honestly say to myself I hadn’t let it get the best of me. 

By Tuesday morning, the interstate south was passable so I headed out.  On Wednesday, I returned to work, dedicated to making the most of my circumstance.  On Thursday afternoon, when I came to my apartment after work, I found a letter in my mailbox from Furman University saying that the Development Office would like to interview me for the position of Alumni Director.  My jaw dropped to the floor.

No one knew this was coming – not Granddaddy, not Mamaw, certainly not me.  But, God knew, I guarantee, and He sent that snowstorm to stop me from my own determination to crawl home like a whipped puppy. 

I interviewed for the job and it was offered to me.  With my head held high, I came home on sturdy footing.  Yes, God stopped me in my self-pitiable tracks to keep me from making a crucial decision from a point of weakness. 

Enjoy the snow!