Squirrels, Kids, and the rest of the Trip

It's so springy out! At least a dozen suicidal squirrels danced with death this morning beneath the front end of the van. In one neighborhood there were three squirrels in a row by the side of the road, waiting for a moving vehicle to dash out in front of. I hate the thought of hitting one, but if one of us is going to have an accident on the road, it ain't gonna be me! I just grip the steering wheel and drive straight ahead, half praying for them, willing them to get off the stinkin' road!

Yes. Ahem. It was a bit harrowing.

I was going to write more about the trip, but I find the vivid, blogable things are melting into the more concrete present, which includes the Crowe kiddos and Ethan bouncing around upstairs. They're over at our house today because Deb is packing like crazy to get ready for THE CRATE OF DOOM, due Monday. The kids all seem so happy and excited about moving to Ukraine. I'm excited right along with them, and wish my turn was coming sooner!

Ethan LOVES to play with Brent, Tucker, and Clark, and he's going to miss them immensely when they're gone. While they were on the porch eating their peanut butter & banana sandwiches, Brent poked his head inside and said, "You know how we're washing our hands? We stick them under the roof and the rain comes down on them and we just rub our hands together. Only it's sea water."

As to the trip...on Sunday we stopped at a place called Hamilton Pool Preserve, where there was a beautiful blue pool and "grotto" carved out of the rock. Lush moss and ferns clung to the rocks, and it was a lovely place.

Mainly I was noticing the group of foreign looking folks who walked down there after us...I was guessing they were from Iraq or, as Dad suggested, Israel. They were speaking a really cool language, and the young women (there were several couples, one with a baby) had headscarves and longer shirts on. They all looked like they were having so much fun, and I was dying to know where they were from, but I couldn't get the courage to ask. I couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't seem offensive.

As the minutes ticked by the urgency to talk to them grew and grew...but so did my fear. So I kept praying inwardly, "God, please let me talk to them...please make me talk to them...I can't do it on my own." I just needed to say hi and know where they were from. I was remembering something a speaker at World Mandate had said about how Muslim people especially feel unwelcome here and have a lot of people giving them wierd looks wherever they go, and how it can mean so much just to speak a friendly word of acceptance. I didn't know if they were Muslim or not, but it didn't matter. That's all I wanted to do...speak to them.

Please, God, please... Our family was swimming/wading around in the water, and most of the "mystery people" had walked around to the other side of the pool. Only one young woman was left, leaning on the fence behind us trying to nurse her baby. He was fussing and she was talking soothingly to him. We didn't want to bother her, and kept on with the wading and splashing around. Then it was time to go. I begged to stay a few more minutes and see if she would finish and I could get a chance to say something. Dad agreed to, but finally we really needed to head on.

As we went to pick up our towels and things, she got up and began moving toward her stroller. "This is your chance," Dad said. My heart sank. I just couldn't. I felt my courage ebb away as she turned her back to us. She was about to leave and that would be the end of it. I was never going to find out where she was from, or find out what that flowy language she was speaking was, or even get to give her a smile. No! I had to do it, I had to do something. I grabbed my shoes and headed for the water's edge, planning to wash my feet off, but hoping that by some miracle I could bring myself to speak to her en route. Amazingly, it happened! Propelled by some force I didn't quite understand but have since chalked up to God answering my prayer with an extra boost of Something, I went after her and plunged in.

"Excuse me, but I noticed you were speaking a different language, and..." At first she looked startled, but then she turned to me with a beautiful smile. "I'm from Iran," she told me in good English, though with a thick accent, and then, "We were speaking Persian." We only talked for a brief moment, with me grinning like an idiot the whole time. I tried to express how happy I was to get to talk to her. Mom asked how old her baby was; he was so tiny! She said he was 38 days. She seemed ready to go, so I said goodbye. Before I turned away, though, I asked her name. "Zahra," she said...so gracefully that my tongue just stumbled over it when I tried to repeat it. Persian is a regular ballet of the tongue. "I'm Cassie," I told her, "and I'm so glad to meet you!" "Glad to meet you too," she called cheerfully over her shoulder...and we parted ways.

I rinsed my feet in the pool, dried them, slipped my shoes on, and re-joined my family without hardly realizing what I was doing. I was so happy, so satisfied that God really answered me, and I had gotten to speak with her. Triumph swelled in me, along with a keen sense of "missing." It seems like it would be impossible to miss people you've only met for five minutes, but I find that it happens to me pretty often.

After that it was on to Austin, where we stopped and got a free tour of the capitol. I could always write lots more, but I really have to go...