We were on the road before 6 a.m. early Wednesday morning last week. Our trailer was packed to the brim with the first of many loads we were taking to our new place. The closing was scheduled for Thursday, so we had plenty of time to get there. We estimated it being a 14 – 15 hour trip, with an extra hour because of the heavy load we were carrying. Our plan was to drive up to Chattanooga and rest there the first night. This is normally a 10 hour drive for us.

We were only on the interstate for an hour when the first trailer tire blew out. It seemed quite early for trouble to start, but I was glad to be stranded while it was still cool outside. Thankfully, the tire was on the right-hand side, so Greg was in somewhat of a better position to be changing a tire while cars and 18-wheelers flew by at 70 – 80 mph. The jack was a bit dinky, so it took a half hour to change the tire. My job was to keep law and order in the van: “Do NOT unbuckle your seatbelts.”

My oldest son decided to ponder the sovereignty of God in the situation and suggested, “Maybe God doesn’t want us to move.” I told him that these things happen and that we shouldn’t look for a sign under every rock.

After we got back on the road, Greg and I decided that we ought to get another spare tire just in case. He’d drop me and the children off in a few hours for lunch while he bought another spare tire.

It wasn’t too long after devising our plan (but before implementing it) that the second trailer tire blew out. This time it was on the left side, and this time we didn’t have another spare yet. This is where the story gets long, complicated, and sticky.

We left the trailer and traveled 3 miles onto the next exit. The best chance for tires was about 15 – 18 miles back the other way we were told, so we turned back to hit the Wal-Mart Supercenter. It turns out that this Wal-Mart didn’t have tires, but a nearby heavily iron-barred pawn shop advertising “EZ loans” did. This was the kind of place that sells automotive bling, and I just knew this was going to turn into some Chevy Chase scene.

Apparently, our recently purchased trailer had been outfitted with car tires and not trailer tires, so Greg was scalped for three new tires (two for the trailer, one as a spare). We were spared in an act of sovereign graciousness souped-up tires; “Man, you want plain white-wall tires?!” When we returned to our abandoned trailer and Greg began working on it on the more dangerous left side, we discovered that the 5 bolt—whatever inch tires didn’t have the bolts in the same place. So it was forward 3 miles and back another 15 to the pawn shop.

By now, the children are beginning to fall apart, and my toddler decides to lick the floor inside the shop that hasn’t seen a mop for at least 50 years. He never licks the floor—except for today. A few hours go by and my oldest son ponders the sovereignty of God in the situation again, “Maybe God doesn’t want us to move.”

I agreed this time.

By now, it had been EIGHT HOURS and we were only two hours away from home. I suggested going on and leaving the trailer since there were only odds and ends on it anyway. I suggested turning around and crawling back under the covers at home.

What we did instead was press on. I entertained the kids with “Mother-May-I?” in the pawn shop parking lot and hiked with my crew to a carpet store to use the restrooms.

After we sorted out the tire situation and cleaned out the roaches we’d acquired at the stop, we were back on the road. We made it to Chattanooga after 17+ hours. It was midnight and everyone was miserable. I’m 30+ weeks pregnant; I’m not sure what everyone else’s excuse was.

The next morning Greg opened his Bible (not to whack a misbehaving kid with it) and read words that were an admonishment for our attitudes the day before and prophetic for the days to come, “Rejoice in the Lord always, and again I say, ‘Rejoice.’”