as the force behind his determination to track down hisoldest daughter and get her to Jacksonville, Florida, where they could all be together as a family.
Waiting around for a slow-moving bus to return his daughter had not been an option for Ray. He could not sit at home calmly with the word
cancer
stirring in his mind—the road, the changes of scenery, the chase, had given him something to do and allowed him to proactively deal with the situation.
On his way out the door, scrambling for anything he might need on the road, Ray had grabbed the first thing he saw that would catch all the tears he knew he was about to cry—a dirty dishrag.
Those tears drenched the road before the rain even had a chance. He looked through them to the other side of the blurred highway, eyes skipping between every northbound car he passed, ready to make a U-turn at the first sight of seven white charter buses.
After a few hours, the wide, four-lane highway narrowed and a wall of pine trees suddenly crept between Ray’s lane and the other side of the road. He stiffened with panic and grabbed the steering wheel, leaning as close to the windshield as possible with false hope that it would somehow allow him to see through the trees.
Great!
he thought.
The pines blurred to a solid line of green as his eyes searched desperately for a small gap, a miraculous break. And there it was. Through the trees was a sudden flash of white.
Ray found an illegal turning point in the median and sped in the other direction. He punched the gas and zoomed up beside the first of the seven buses, honked his horn, and leaned against the passenger seat to make eye contact with the driver, who looked down at him as if he were a road-raged maniac.
“Pull over!” Ray screamed, swinging his arm and pointing his finger toward the side of the road. “Pull over!”
He swerved in front of the bus, touched his breaks, and pulled to the shoulder with hope that seven white charter buses would pull up neatly behind. Instead, they buzzed by, leaving Ray’s tiny Mazda rocking in their breeze.
Unbelievable,
he thought, and pulled back onto the highway. It was time to try another bus.
Pulling up beside the second in line, Ray honked his horn once again, flashed his lights, and kept pace with the driver until the bus slowly pulled to the side of the road. Ray tossed his tear-soaked rag onto the floor and got out of his car. Crystal’s eyes were wide and terrified as she got off the bus and saw her father. He was the last person she expected to see on an empty highway in the middle of Mississippi. The youth pastor, who knew Ray was on his way but lost touch after hours of patchy cell phone reception, stepped off the bus as well.
“I’ll say a prayer for you,” the youth pastor said kindly. “I’ll tell everyone on the bus what’s going on, and we’ll all be praying for you.”
Ray smiled thankfully.
“Come with me, sweetie,” he said.
Crystal gave the pastor a weak, confused smile, followed her father to his car, and crawled inside.
Ray looked down at the steering wheel, studied it, picked at its leather, as the buses pulled back onto the highway.
“Sweetheart, Katelyn has cancer,” he said, choking over the last word as his daughter sat stiff in the silent car, waiting for more. “That’s all they know. We don’t know yet what kind of cancer we’re dealing with, but we’ll find out soon. We’ve gotta get to Jacksonville.”
The next ten hours were spent in darkness that seeped from the black sky and pounded from their heavy hearts, but Crystal became Ray’s light.
“Katelyn is going to be all right,” she said, over and over, of her twelve-year-old sister. “God is in control.”
She had felt His strength, His presence, His will during church camp, and her faith stopped Ray’s tears. But thoughts of possibly losing his youngest daughter pulled selfishly at his hope, stripping away his faith.
“Dad, we need to talk about something else,”
Waiting around for a slow-moving bus to return his daughter had not been an option for Ray. He could not sit at home calmly with the word
cancer
stirring in his mind—the road, the changes of scenery, the chase, had given him something to do and allowed him to proactively deal with the situation.
On his way out the door, scrambling for anything he might need on the road, Ray had grabbed the first thing he saw that would catch all the tears he knew he was about to cry—a dirty dishrag.
Those tears drenched the road before the rain even had a chance. He looked through them to the other side of the blurred highway, eyes skipping between every northbound car he passed, ready to make a U-turn at the first sight of seven white charter buses.
After a few hours, the wide, four-lane highway narrowed and a wall of pine trees suddenly crept between Ray’s lane and the other side of the road. He stiffened with panic and grabbed the steering wheel, leaning as close to the windshield as possible with false hope that it would somehow allow him to see through the trees.
Great!
he thought.
The pines blurred to a solid line of green as his eyes searched desperately for a small gap, a miraculous break. And there it was. Through the trees was a sudden flash of white.
Ray found an illegal turning point in the median and sped in the other direction. He punched the gas and zoomed up beside the first of the seven buses, honked his horn, and leaned against the passenger seat to make eye contact with the driver, who looked down at him as if he were a road-raged maniac.
“Pull over!” Ray screamed, swinging his arm and pointing his finger toward the side of the road. “Pull over!”
He swerved in front of the bus, touched his breaks, and pulled to the shoulder with hope that seven white charter buses would pull up neatly behind. Instead, they buzzed by, leaving Ray’s tiny Mazda rocking in their breeze.
Unbelievable,
he thought, and pulled back onto the highway. It was time to try another bus.
Pulling up beside the second in line, Ray honked his horn once again, flashed his lights, and kept pace with the driver until the bus slowly pulled to the side of the road. Ray tossed his tear-soaked rag onto the floor and got out of his car. Crystal’s eyes were wide and terrified as she got off the bus and saw her father. He was the last person she expected to see on an empty highway in the middle of Mississippi. The youth pastor, who knew Ray was on his way but lost touch after hours of patchy cell phone reception, stepped off the bus as well.
“I’ll say a prayer for you,” the youth pastor said kindly. “I’ll tell everyone on the bus what’s going on, and we’ll all be praying for you.”
Ray smiled thankfully.
“Come with me, sweetie,” he said.
Crystal gave the pastor a weak, confused smile, followed her father to his car, and crawled inside.
Ray looked down at the steering wheel, studied it, picked at its leather, as the buses pulled back onto the highway.
“Sweetheart, Katelyn has cancer,” he said, choking over the last word as his daughter sat stiff in the silent car, waiting for more. “That’s all they know. We don’t know yet what kind of cancer we’re dealing with, but we’ll find out soon. We’ve gotta get to Jacksonville.”
The next ten hours were spent in darkness that seeped from the black sky and pounded from their heavy hearts, but Crystal became Ray’s light.
“Katelyn is going to be all right,” she said, over and over, of her twelve-year-old sister. “God is in control.”
She had felt His strength, His presence, His will during church camp, and her faith stopped Ray’s tears. But thoughts of possibly losing his youngest daughter pulled selfishly at his hope, stripping away his faith.
“Dad, we need to talk about something else,”
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