setting up tents in the dark.

Sept. 12 2o1o

We moved from the tea-room to a taxi owned by a man with a sweet disposition and a brogue I can’t quite understand. He has a wagon and has crammed all of us in. It is now 9:30 p.m. and pitch black as we climb a hill with chariot, packs and kids in tow. An older couple with a broken down R.V. are ahead of us occupying all of the caravan park attendant’s time so we get to our campsight by ten and then I grab the kids and haul them into the bathroom while Rob sets up the tent.
In the dark. Without tentpegs. (Guess what happened to my toothbrush holders?)
Without a flashlight.
Oh, and guess who dropped his one and only remaining soother on the way to the bathroom?
Screaming, crying tired kids, frustration and anger, we were all beyond our worst and I pity the poor people trying to tent near us.
And then the rain started.
Tonight was the most stressful experience I’ve had since…well, Paris to Scotland, or being homeless in Edinburgh was pretty bad, or maybe the train to Taize, or how about…never mind. Is there perhaps a travel theme here of biting off more than we can chew?
In the depths of stress beyond understanding God had pity for on the way back from taking out my contacts which had turned to stone, what did I see twinkling in the moonlight?
Cam’s solitary soother. Whoever is struggling with the concept of divine intervention, there’s your answer.