To be broken down nine hundred miles from home is no fun, but to be broken down with a 40′ tour bus brings a new meaning to the words “no fun”. My family and I had spent the week in Texas singing and ministering. From the beginning of our trip we had bus trouble. Matter of fact, the bus had died right when we arrived in Amarillo late Saturday night. It had been in the shop all week and we just got it out and was headed back home to Tennessee. It was nice to hear the sound of the motor as we traveled down the interstate. The kids were playing as us adults chatted about the week. It was getting dark and we had traveled for about two hours, when the bus started making a weird sound. We were able to pull it off the side of a country road into a school parking lot and then it died. We got out of the bus and prayed for it and pondered what to do. We were in a small country town, and tomorrow would be July 4. Even if there was a shop around, it would probably be closed. That night instead of falling asleep to the rumble of the motor, we fell to sleep to the sound of mosquitoes. The next morning, we begin to call around trying to figure out what to do. There was no car rental nearby. We also had to figure how to get the bus moved. We finally found a place to have the bus towed to. The challenge was there was ten of us on the bus and we could not find a rental car. We knew that if a tow truck came out they would not allow us all in the cab. So, we done, what most normal people would do. When the tow truck arrived, my dad and brother-in-law got out while Crista, my sister and I along with five children stayed on the bus. It can be very difficult explaining to five kids under the age of five that we must all be very quiet or we might not have a ride. The bus finally started rolling and we declared victory. About 15 minutes down the road the bus stopped. We had been discovered. The tow guy was nice enough to let all ten of us ride in the cab. We finally got the bus parked but we still had to deal with getting rental cars. It had already been a long day. We were not sure what to do. Someone mentioned to call Brother Charlie, who had been a family friend for years. Several years back, he had moved to Oklahoma. He was still about an hour and a half away, but maybe he would know somebody. He done one better than that, he drove all the way to where we were at and picked us up. It would be several months before we had the bus towed back to Tennessee.
I have only shared with you one side of the story. The other side is, we had some wonderful services. The presence of the Lord was real. I recall seeing people crying as we sung “The Lighthouse”. We were able to fellowship with some old friends and meet some new ones. Everyone was so kind and helpful providing us with whatever we needed. We were able to spend some time with Brother Charlie, whom we had not seen in years. There are two sides of every story, which side do you focus on?
Keep on the firing line,