Adventures with Murphy's Law: a weekend with downhomies, downhere, and the road.

I had an interesting weekend.

Not only did I see over a dozen good friends, visit the land of cheese heads, see Chicago for the first time, and travel farther north than I've ever been before, everything that could wrong, did go wrong. And I wasn't the only one who seemed to be getting hit from all sides. My friends were under a lot of pressure too. They could all tell their own stories. I'll just tell you mine. We'll start with Thursday.

Or let's back up a little before Thursday. I had been planning this trip to Wisconsin since July. I've been determined to go for months. Last week dawned, and while I was still set on going, making it there was starting to look harder and harder. The semester is soon coming to an end, which means I'm going broke, and my work load is getting heavier as finals approach. Oh, and I found out a while ago that my car is spewing coolant if the engine hits a certain number of RPMs. (Thankfully, I'm able to keep it below there, but I have to take care to not accelerate too quickly.) Stress was building, and now we arrive at Thursday, the day my trip begins.

Before I set my wheels northward, I had to go to school. At about 10:00 AM, I had a solfege test in music theory. Solfege is and has always been the bane of my existence as a music student. I took my test, and made another D. The first time around wasn't so bad, but if I don't pick it up for the final, I won't be able to pass. And I really can't afford to fail Theory IV. Lord Jesus, help me remember.

My day dragged on forever while I was waiting for my last class that afternoon. I had about three hours of nothing to do. I was packed and ready, and anxious to leave. But the time eventually passed, and I set off for my overnight stop in Illinois.

For those who don't know, the speed limit in Illinois is 65. Everywhere, across the whole state. I will never forget that. For I was pulled over in Marion, Illinois. The kind officer (whom I did not see until I passed him, for it was dark....and he really was kind, not at all condescending or hateful) said, "I clocked you going 81 in a 65." I knew I was going a little fast, but my eyes widened in shock. There were several reasons for this: 1.) I hadn't looked at my speedometer for a bit. I thought I was around 78, 79, not 81. 2.) I still had it in my head that the limit was 70. I am usually very dilligent about making sure I do not exceed 10 MPH over the posted limit, and I usually don't even go that much over. 3.) I am much more likely to drive under the speed limit rather than over. Yes, I'm one of those people you come up behind, and we're cruising along at a smooth 71, 72, then I start to gradually slow to 65 and you now have to go around me. I apologize. So this guy caught me at an unusual moment. Why could I not have driven by him when I was dragging my feet? For whatever reason, I didn't, so now I have a $120 ticket to pay. Did I mention I'm broke?

But I made it to my friend's house and stopped for the night. That's one good thing. However, during breakfast the next morning, my dextrous abilities were showing themselves in all their glory, and I knocked my friend's bowl of cereal off of the cabinet, shattering the bowl and propelling Kix in all directions. She didn't yell at me. She's a good friend. That same morning, before we set off for Wisconsin, we went to get her oil changed. It should have been 20 minutes, 30 at most. We waited for over an hour. Excellent start to the day, don't you think?

Our trip was remarkably uneventful. We got a little turned around when we stopped to get a friend in Milwaukee, but it's not a real road trip if we don't turn around at least a couple of times.

We made it to our final destination at a another friend's house that night. Getting us together is always an adventure. We let out lots of laughter, but our friend we were staying with seemed to be having the most rough time out of all of us. I felt so bad for her. But what I love about this group of my friends is how supportive everyone is, so we suffered along with each other.

Over the weekend, everything we tried to cook or bake turned out wrong. Aside from the scrambled eggs and chocolate gravy. (Although, I will say that the gravy wasn't the best I've ever made.) Cookies were made without baking powder, biscuits came out looking like sugar cookies, bacon was cooked until covered with carcinogens and smoke filled the house. We were a mess.

Saturday afternoon and evening shone like a beacon through the smoke from all of our burning efforts in the kitchen that was our weekend. We met up with more friends, celebrated a precious little boy's birthday, saw our favorite band (who has grown accustomed who our strange insanity), terrorized one of our new favorite bands (who has just been introduced to the colorful world of downhomies this fall) and generally had the time of our lives like we usually do. And the aforementioned favorite band performed probably better than I've ever seen them before. They were great. And like usual, despite how good they are, it wasn't about them. And after a while I kind of forgot that I was at a downhere show, surrounded by some of my best friends, and Jesus was the only focus. I sat silently for a couple of songs, not looking at the stage, just listening with my head bowed and eyes closed, and I wept. I've lost track of how many times I've seen downhere, so for me to still cry as often as I do is a testament to both their talent and the presence of the Holy Spirit. It was a good night.

Then we made it back to our home for the night, and it hit again. Our hostess, one of our friends, and me were the first to make it back, and as soon as the other two who were staying the night with us made it back to the house, I said, "I think we need to pray. The five of us." And we did right then, in a huddle in the middle of the living room. I'm grateful for people who do that. With everything that was going on, not just while we were together, but in our individual lives, we all agreed that it felt like we were under spiritual attack. And I don't think the timing and the fact that it was so many of us was a coincidence. There's something going on that we don't understand, and I'm happy to know that we'll support each other through it.

The next day, yesterday, turned out fairly well on my end. Aside from the fact that we all had to leave each other. That's always so hard. It gets easier, but no more enjoyable.

But it wouldn't be my life if something didn't go as planned. I pulled out my GPS, and the screen was cracked. So it no longer responds to touch. Which renders it essentially useless. I thought, "No matter. It was super cheap. And I think I can get home. The drive from Champaign, IL (which is where I would be leaving my last friend, picking up my car, and finishing my journey alone) is really straight forward, and I've done it more than once now. I should be fine." It was a theoretically nice idea. But no. I turned too soon. And I ended up in Indiana, when I shouldn't have been anywhere near Indiana. Thus my 12 hour drive home turned into 13. I was chugging along, wondering if I was going the right way, and when I saw "Welcome to Indiana!" I laughed. "I'm not supposed to be in Indiana," I said amusedly. But my brother and my dad rescued me. Thank the Lord for cell phones and Google Maps. I called my friend in Champaign to tell her that I went the wrong way, and the first thing I said after "hello" was, 'The adventure continues!" It always does.

The weekend was fraught with difficulties, but I survived. And my treasure chest of stories now contains more than it did when I left. And I still have a smile on my face. If the fact that I was able to laugh after making a D on a test, getting a $120 ticket, and getting lost in Indiana, even though I wasn't inebriated in any way nor had the least bit of caffeine in my system, doesn't prove that God is good, then I don't know what does.