If you want to see Mt Egmont, you’d better
pray!” announced Peter. “It’s over there behind all those clouds.”
We prayed.
The clouds rolled back – dare I say, like
the Red Sea – to reveal Mt Egmont towering
crystal clear and snow-covered, against a cloudless, bright blue sky.
We gasped in delight and grabbed our
cameras. Peter pulled the car over and we all photographed the mountain.
That was typical of the little miracles
that highlighted our holiday. And it had, after all, been a holiday birthed in
prayer. It felt as if it had been God’s idea all along, to bless us after a
year at Bible College for the others and of teaching for me.
There were five of us most of the time (a
few times we had one extra on board). Peter, our experienced leader, gentle
Margy, sweet Jenny, musical Rod, and me. We had planned to carry all our
possessions in back packs and crammed all our things in accordingly. The first
indication that this might not work was when we wriggled into the packs at
Auckland airport, only to find our backs aching, our knees buckling.
That was how we came to buy our bright orange
1949 Vauxhall which we named – with perhaps prophetic insight – Amazing Gracie.
Believe me, it was often God’s grace alone that held that car together. It was
the source of many dramas - and miracles.
That car, with five of us crammed inside
and our packs tied on top, was like our home on wheels for five weeks. We were
jammed in together all the time we travelled around the two islands and we got
on well nearly all the time. Some of God’s remarkable blessing may have been because
we were so unified.
Except once.
A slight disagreement had arisen about how
long we women took to get to bed, with our facecreams, lotions and whatnot.
Peter, who was a strong and capable leader, told us to get to bed earlier.
Over breakfast, I protested. “You’re being
too bossy!” I told him.
He retorted angrily. I replied even more
angrily.
We each stalked off to pack our things into
our back packs and headed off to the car. I sat beside Peter in the front seat (back
seat travel made me feel sick). He stared straight ahead. A slab of tangible
silence wedged itself between us. I glanced at him nervously, then looked over
my shoulder. Three sets of twinkling eyes told me Margy, Jenny and Rod were
trying not to laugh.
Usually all laughing and chatting, or Rod
singing, this time we drove all the way to the next town in silence. We chugged
into the town at dusk (which is late, say 9 or 10 pm, in February in New
Zealand) and looked at the motor camp we’d planned to stay in. It was full. There
was no room in the inn for disunified, grumpy Christians! We tried several
places. Sorry, no room. Our hearts sank. And I suppose we all knew God was teaching
us a lesson.
Finally at about 11 pm we arrived, tired,
frustrated and still angry, at the People’s Palace – not our usual choice of
venue. We had a good night’s sleep and a big breakfast, and learnt an important
lesson – God required us to be in unity if we wanted His blessing. I presume Peter
and I apologised but my mind has conveniently deleted that neat ending!
Sufficient to say, we went on our way all caring for one another and laughing
again.
There were many miraculous interventions. (There
were many urgent needs!) We had to push Gracie on and off the car ferry between
the two islands. And again down the main street of a small town when the car decided
to ‘just stop’.
Gracie rattled to an I-need-help halt just
as we entered a town with a garage after winding through the countryside. And
again at the bottom of a narrow mountain road which we had blithely navigated.
Each time, help was available. And we were safe. If the clutch had gone on the
mountain . . .
Perhaps the funniest time was when we broke
down on our way home from a church in Lower Hutt .
We girls sat in the dark back seat of the car while our two able-bodied men
hopped out to rescue us. We waited and waited. We were tired, cold and hungry.
Surely . . . Peter’s head appeared at our window.
“Would you pray that I’ll know how to open
the bonnet?” he asked plaintively.
A few minutes later, Peter knocked at the
door of the house near where we had broken down. The lady invited us in. It
turned out her son was a mechanic and he went to the church we had just
attended. He cheerfully fixed Gracie while his mother spread out food for us.
We went on our way . . . again!
When we arrived at Queenstown, the Remarkable Mountains
After a few days, Peter said, “Wouldn’t it be
nice if God put snow on the mountains tonight!”
We agreed, it would be lovely.
The next morning we awoke to a leaden sky
and snow falling on the tops of the mountains which were already white-capped!
It was indeed a blessed holiday.
