At 6 a.m. in the darkness that only a lonesome highway in the Midwest can cast, we ran over something fierce in the roadway. The familiar clunk of a blown tire at 80 mph as our van careened to a stop on the shoulder and all six of us wide awake at the reality we were in trouble.
At 22 degrees and 1,000 miles from home, just south of Omaha on I-29, we would unpack the car that was over packed – complete with a bed and bed frame strapped to the roof “Clampett” style and proceed to jack the car, place the spare and hustle to the nearest tire shop.
In the darkness, Team Harris rallied! The kids unpacked, my son and I jacked, lugged and mounted the spare and in the arctic air we huddled, prayed and pulled a NASCAR pit stop in the darkness. Nobody whined, cried, complained or fussed in the crisis of the moment. We stepped up to the challenge before us with a much longer journey ahead.
My kids are road warriors. They have schlepped across these United States for miles upon miles, year after year and my realization is that we don’t have many more of these epic trips. Soon they will be making their own journeys with their own families, but they will have these memories, these threads of victories weaving a tapestry of family, faith and love.
In the crises of the journeys that await them they will know how to rally and in the crucible shine. I am blessed and proud and grateful for the legacy that has preceded and the one that continues down the road ahead. To God be the Glory great things He has done.