This past Wednesday, our family got to take a little vacation. We went to Pigeon Forge, TN, where our band was playing on Friday night. We thought it would be cool to go somewhere neither my wife nor I had gone, and we had all three kids with us. Plus, we got to stay in the sweet cabin for free – as a bonus.

One of the first things I noticed while driving through Gatlinburg was that there were quite a few tattoo parlors and pancake houses. I’m not sure what exactly this has to do with Gatlinburg, or Tennessee in general, but I’d love to find out. I tried wikipedia briefly, but nothing.

While we didn’t make use of any tattoo parlors, I did see quite a lot of tattooed folks. And we did eat at a pancake house. It was fairly good, though I’m not big on breakfast as a general rule. The rest of the family really liked it. More on that in a bit…

On our way home on Saturday, we experienced something that ranks near the top of my “I hope this never happens again in my entire life” list. We left the cabin around 9:30ish in the morning, and decided to take a scenic drive through the Great Smoky Mountains. It was breathtakingly beautiful. However, once we got deep into the heart of the National Park, my GPS decided it didn’t want to play nice with me anymore.

For the purposes of this blog, I’m going to refer to my GPS as “Gretchen,” as that’s what we call “her” in real life. We came up with the name basically because we both thought she sounded like a Gretchen. But I digress.

When Gretchen speaks, you listen. She knows her stuff. This small grey box knows about roads you never even dreamed of. However, when she was directing us on how to get out of the park, I started to get a bit skeptical. It seemed as though she was leading us directly into a campground. There were people sitting outside of tents watching our car wander aimlessly through their little sanctuary of wilderness.

We charged on, however, and eventually heard that robotic voice say “turn right.” Looking to the right, there was a gate and a sign that read “official use only.” So we turned around, passing by the campers yet again, clearly looking lost. All I could say was “Wave to the campers, kids!” I felt a lot like Clark Griswold, sans the dead grandma on the roof.

We finally made our way out of the campground and out of Gatlinburg, when I began to notice a “shimmy” when I would apply my brakes. Not good. I’ve had new brake pads for a while now, but haven’t actually got around to getting them put on. So I would get a bit nervous going down a steep hill, but once we got to the bottom, it should have been mainly smooth sailing. That was until…

…the return of Gretchen the Evil.

We came down the hill and got to a T-intersection. Thanks to Google street view, here is exactly what it looked like:

Had I turned left, and gone back the way we had come, things would have been wonderful. Unfortunately, we decided to go back the way Gretchen was telling us by turning right – we figured we’d take the scenic route.

So we make a right. That oh-so-familiar voice says “Continue…. 7… point… 8… miles…. then… turn left….”

About three miles down the road, we start a steady uphill climb. I’m getting a bit worried because of the situation with my brakes, but I figure it will probably only be a bit of an uphill climb. Wrong again.

We keep going uphill, and to make it worse, we’re traveling on a road that is very narrow, on the edge of a mountain, and is winding the whole way. There was never a point I was able to drive straight. For another visual, this is what it looked like the entire way up the mountain:

If you looked to the left in this picture, you’d see that it drops straight down the mountain, and there’s no guardrail.

So as you can imagine, we’re pretty nervous at this point, not to mention the fact that I’m getting a bit nauseated by the constant curves in the road. My main worry is that if we’re going this far uphill, we eventually have to go that far back downhill. Our state of temporary panic and fear was quickly interrupted by “turn left…”

I wish that Google Maps could show you the picture of the road we were supposed to turn onto, but the tiny, gravely nature of the road prohibits it actually being seen with anything less than a first-person eye. That being said, it was STRAIGHT down. When I think about what happened next, I’m reminded of the Kübler-Ross model of dealing with death and tragedy:

1. Denial – There is no road there. This can’t be the road Gretchen is talking about. I refuse to accept that this advanced piece of technology would have me risk my safety on this road by making such a stupid call.
2. Anger – Are you serious? I want to throw my GPS down that road, just to see if it can survive. And if it does, I’m going to go down there on foot and destroy it.
3. Bargaining – Just please don’t let me hear a banjo.
4. Depression – So it looks like my only option is to go all the way back down that hill. Good game, universe – you win. I want to cry right now.
5. Acceptance – Oh, well. Nothing more to do at this point than a blind 3-point turn and coast all the way back down the mountain. I’ll learn next time.

So on our way back down the mountain, we’re turning and turning and turning again, and finally my daughter Riley’s stomach had had enough, and her breakfast from the Pancake House came rocketing out of her mouth. Since we were on this mountain still, there was little we could do. My wife tried to turn around and clean her up a bit, and then Riley spewed again, much like a shaken can of soda. We had to face the fact that we were just going to have to wait until we got to a place where we could stop, and pray for a bathroom.

Finally we got down to the bottom of the mountain after what seemed like an vomit-filled eternity. My brakes held up, thank goodness. We found a little place right by that same T-intersection called the “Smoky Mountain Welcome Center,” so we stopped. Bad sign number one was when there was a sign on the window that read “We will be closed November 21-24th.” I’m not sure what year they meant. Next to it was a sign that said “Closed – bathrooms around back.” So I run around to the back to use the bathroom and get paper towels for the massive puke-cleanup effort, and find a port-o-potty, covered in wasps, guarded by a family of aquarium-sized lizards, looking at me as though I’d done something really bad to them, all next to this large black box that looked like a makeshift casket. I decided not to use this restroom.

If you have a weak stomach, you may want to skip this next paragraph.

After we got cleaned up and were back on our way, the final catastrophe came upon us. My wife happened to look in the back seat to find that our precious daughter Riley, yet again, had decided to reach into her diaper and smear “number two” all over herself. So we had to pull over on the side of the interstate to clean her up.

We made the 6-hour trip home in nearly 10 hours. We were exhausted, physically and mentally, but overall we had a great time in the mountains. I’m still not on speaking (or listening, I guess) terms with my GPS, but I’m sure I’ll get her back out the next time I feel the need to fear for my life.

As a side note, when I started typing this, I was craving pancakes. Now, not so much.

-jon

In my mind, there are very few things more valuable in youth ministry than student leaders. When you get a group of students together, kids who say, “I’m not going to be conformed to what goes on at my high school; I’m not going to be just a follower, a person who fits in with the crowd,” that’s an awesome thing. And what’s more amazing is that God entrusts ministry to you. While your parents might think twice about letting you use their car, God has always treated young people as significant people, even leaders, who can change the world.

The prophet Jeremiah was probably around 17 years old when God called him. But Jeremiah naturally resisted this leadership. He must have been thinking, “God, there are other people for this. There are adults, people who’ve been around the block. There are people who have gone to school for this, and who have been taught by the most brilliant people! I’m just a teenager – I’ve got my own life to live, and even if I was to go along with you, I’d have no idea what I’m doing!”

If you are a student leader, you may have felt like this at times. But what God said to Jeremiah is the same thing He says to you: “Do not say, ‘I am only a child.’ You must go to everyone I send you to and say whatever I command you. Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you and will rescue you…” “…Now I have put my words in your mouth. See, today I appoint you over nations and kingdoms to uproot and tear down, to destroy and overthrow, to build and plant.” (Jeremiah 1:4-9)

If you are involved in student leadership in a youth ministry, God has given you a job. But this isn’t a job you can just quit with two-weeks notice. You have been called by God to step out of the normality of “falling in with the group.” You are your own version of Jeremiah. And God is going to do great things with you, if you’ll accept his calling on your life to be a leader.

OK – so there are a lot of things in this life that I don’t quite understand. Things like where all my socks go, why babies have to cry when they have the best possible life, and an effective way to get rid of static cling.

Today, however, I’d like to ask you to help me understand something. Why, if you’re getting married, do you send out a “Save the Date” and an invitation? Seriously, it makes no sense. My wife tried to explain it to me, but it only ended up seeming more ludicrous. Doesn’t everyone that gets a “Save the Date” also get an invitation? Or do you later regret sending it to someone, and thus deny them an invitation? Isn’t there an implicit invitation in the initial announcement?

For those of you who don’t know what I’m talking about, a “Save the Date” is a little piece of paper you get in the mail, some have a ribbon attached, some have a piece of candy, perhaps a piece of wedding cake, etc. Side note – they’re usually pink. These notes tell you that so-and-so is getting married and you’d better mark it on your calendar! Cancel the doctor’s appointment! Block off this date so that nothing could possibly interfere – but wait a second… you’re not quite “invited” yet.

I’d imagine that after these things are sent, the bride and groom sit back and analyze the spectrum of potential invitees. Maybe they find out later that they can only invite 4 people (witnesses, as required by state law in Nevada), so they only send out 4 invitations. If you are lucky enough to get an invitation, boy oh boy, are you in store for a treat.

These lavish attendance requests usually come with some sort of embossed seal on the outside, and you feel like you’ve just gotten your college acceptance packet due to the thickness of the envelope and all the stuff inside. There you’ll find more envelopes, possibly another seal, all kinds of crazy ribbons and such, and a letter you must mail back. Oh, and it usually smells like some sort of perfume mixed with the musk of the mail carrier.

So what happens if you send back this letter (or RSVP), marking that you’ll attend this incredible ceremony (after all, it would have to be incredible, given the amount of mail you’ve had to get announcing it), and you don’t actually go to the wedding?? I don’t think anyone’s ever been brave enough to try such a daunting maneuver, but I just may try it one day. I’ll report my results following.

I have a couple of ideas regarding what to do with these things. Perhaps you could take the stamp off of the envelope-in-an-envelope and put it on the “Save the Date,” and mail it to someone you don’t know. Maybe you could make a paper airplane. Perhaps get into origami. Use it to clean your teeth (gross, I know, but we are in the South). Or use it for the obligatory “I-just-need-to-find-something-to-write-on” moment. Either way, make use of these things. Someone went to a lot of trouble to make sure you got it.

-j