Events of Sunday, October 17, 2010

          Our Costco parking lot spot was dark and allowed us a good night’s sleep. Our adventures today began with our drive into Boston. We had directions from both Gypsy (our GPS) and Google Maps that led us across an expensive ($4.50) bridge to Storrow Drive. In its day, I suppose Storrow Drive was the cutting edge in urban planning: five to six lanes running low along the shore of the Charles River separated from the smaller city streets by its lower elevation and a soundwall. Cross traffic used low bridges spanning both Storrow and the Charles River, ranging in height from 10’2” to 12’6”. Our rig is 10’10”. So began our earnest attempt to arrive at church with our roof and all its parts intact. The process was complicated by the fact that most of the exit roads and nearby streets were one-way. Our travel path took us in circles and criss-crossed the river a couple times. We had no advanced warning about low bridges and signage was minimal, so we had to change directions frequently and quickly.

          Here we encountered the other complication of driving in Boston: Boston drivers. I rarely drove when we lived here in 1989-1990, but I do remember the reputation: fast, impolite, impatient risk-takers. Let me now add to one more adjective to that list: suicidal. Driving an RV carries with it certain privileges, one of which is that we are larger and heavier than most other vehicles on the road. So when we want to merge or change lanes, we put on the turn signal and other drivers generally choose the path of self-preservation and allow us plenty of space. Not here. So I’ve had to just move over and let other drivers adjust.

          When we lived in Boston, Pam and I attended Ruggles Baptist Church. It sits on Beacon Street, a major artery, and I did not know how easy it would be to find parking for our 30’ rig. So it came as a delight to find three adjacent parking spots just a block away. As we entered church, many people came to greet us, including Pastor Larry Showalter. He had been the pastor when we attended 20 some years ago. He didn’t remember us, but his wife, Lois remembered Pam. The whole worship service was a refreshing experience. The worship songs were familiar (mostly from our days at Bethel Church in San Francisco), so we eased into worship. Next was a time for the children of the church to come to the front to receive a pastoral prayer. Next we learned why the church hall was a bit chilly: their 30-year-old boiler had expired. So we heard about their near-complete fund-raising effort to install a new boiler before winter.

          The sermon was thorough. Pastor Larry spent twenty minutes just introducing the passage (Romans 12:9-10). Having laid such a thorough foundation, I was excited to see what he would build on it. Obeying Christ’s call to love our neighbor brings us to our own spiritual limits. As we struggle with our baggage (guilt, anger, hurt), we must choose between being honest and being hypocritical. Being honest means facing our issues, inviting God to direct us through the process of offering our bodies as living sacrifices. Being hypocritical (the easier response) means putting up masks, pretending to be more religious or spiritual or loving than we really are. The sermon challenged us on many levels.

          We were warmly welcomed by Ruggles members before, during, and after the service. In fact, we were some of the last people to leave. We ate lunch in the RV and then I started seeking lodging for our four nights in Boston. Originally we hoped to find a campground near public transportation. No such luck. Then I contacted mobile home parks (a.k.a. trailer parks) to see if they rent out spots to RVs. Still no luck. So finally we turned to motels and hotels to find sleeping space for six. After about an hour of research, I found a Rodeway Inn that offered me two neighboring double rooms for a price within our budget. So while on the phone, I put down money for the tonight to reserve our spots.

          As we took off for the Inn, we realized we were in the neighborhood where we had lived. So we tried to hunt down the exact locations. Pam remembered that the street name from her first year (1988-1989) was Farrington. When I saw that word in print, I immediately remembered her address was 7 Farrington (perhaps from writing it 52 times on my letters to her). So we parked and walked by 7 Farrington, took photos, and told the kids stories about Pam’s year there. Then we walked a block to Pratt Street, the site of Pam’s second home there, and my first. Again, when I saw Pratt Street, the number 34 came to mind. So we wandered down to 34 Pratt St, remembering how we furnished our flat with discarded items on the sidewalk. We also recalled the roar of the train 100 feet from our kitchen that interrupted all attempts at conversation.

          The next hour we spent driving around strange neighborhoods trying to find the Rodeway Inn. When we finally arrived, the front desk told me the price was per room, not per night. So I spent the next hour unraveling that miscommunication, so they would cancel our reservation and refund the deposit. Once that was clear, I was back on the laptop and phone, looking for lodging. This time it took “only” half an hour and I found a Comfort Inn with a triple room: three queen beds. It took us about half an hour to reach the Comfort Inn. Upon arriving, I was delighted to learn that we had been assigned the “family room.” The front door opens to two beds, and then through a door was another bed in a separate bedroom. Imagine that: privacy!

          By this time it was after six, and we had not prepared anything for dinner. Pam and I were especially frazzled, so we decided to have a divided family dinner. The kids and I walked a quarter mile to Wendy’s and brought home their dinner. The kids ate their dinner and watched America’s Funniest Videos while Pam and I walked a quarter mile to one of those restaurants connected to a hotel. It was called Spud’s, and it was just right for us: private table, quick service, good food, reasonable price. Pam had shrimp and haddock with fries and onion rings. I had the special of the day, Maryland Crab Pie, a tasty little casserole of crab meat with cream sauce topped by a cracker crumb crust.

          Good travelers are flexible, taking the good with the bad. Today was a day filled with surprises. Some surprises were welcome and some were not. In the end, we are grateful for God’s gracious provision. As we say goodnight, we let go of our frustrations and enjoy the quiet, peaceful comfort of a good bed.