You’d think after 23+ years of marriage I would have learned to say “no” to my hubby’s spur-of-the-moment ideas. Alas, I must be a slow learner.
We tried to visit a church today. An adorable white clapboard community church with a steeple nestled in a tiny mountain town forty miles away. According to the map, we had just enough time to get there, so we set off.
Forty-five minutes and 30 miles later, we were on a slushy, snowy two-lane road heading to the middle of nowhere. This is a particular, and recurrent, nightmare of mine. We kept driving. And driving. And driving. Right out of cell phone range. No Google maps, no phone calls for directions.
Finally, we reached the sign that said we’d arrived. Elevation 7,950 ft. Population 85.
How hard can it be to find the only church in a town with a population of 85?
Too hard for us, apparently. Our children will appreciate this, as they spent many hours in the backseat of the car while we tried to figure out where we were. We kept driving and driving until we were late, which would have been horribly awkward and unappealing to my introversion, so we turned around without ever locating the little white church in the pines. Ah well… if we get points, maybe we’ll get some for trying.