And Then Comes the End

The title of this post may appear kind of abrupt - apocalyptic even - and a few readers may quickly skip onto something else to read, perhaps skeptical of what this old preacher might want to say about end times. Well, it is indeed about things coming to an end, but rest assured, the topic is more down to earth than bye bye into the sky. It is about a conversation in drivers’ room in one of our local truck stops.

Yes, I still make the occasional stop at old stomping grounds, not to hang out, but perhaps to catch a wifi signal for an email that needs reply, or a meal in the restaurant, or even to shop for an occasional truck stop flavored birthday (Christmas?) gift for my daughters who enjoy the sentiment of those many years when dad would bring home ‘gadgety presents’ from truck stops all over the U.S. So there I was in the drivers’ lounge in a comfy chair with my laptop; eventually could not ignore an old guy half asleep in the chair beside me – and seemed to be going nowhere.

“Are you waiting for a load?” a fairly appropriate open ended question in this place. “My truck got stolen” was the grumbly reply. Well, that was beginning of long lament about absolutely everything. He’s been sitting here several days. The stolen truck is actually his pickup which got removed from the four-wheeler parking lot by “two sneaky sobs.” The missing truck contains thousands of dollars worth of equipment (not sure equipment for what) very important to make short trips. I'm guessing he may also be a part-time cowboy. To add insult to injury, the cops have not even bothered to come and talk with him. They’re doing some kind of legal checklist first. This is not an emergency – he’s in a safe place! I rant and rave on this point! Seems like police or tow trucks or ambulances all in similar priority scale these days, take lots of time if not an emergency.

It gets more complicated. Actually this is about two trucks, the one that got stolen and the real one in the big lot out there. His big truck has a FOR SALE on it. “Price of fuel too goddamn high. Can’t afford this anymore.” This is a 2018 Pete; my truck knowledge albeit outdated, still recognizes a high-end asset here. I hazard a guess about $250,000? “Nope, was asking $320, now come down to $290 and that’s it. I’ll just let it rot if I can’t get that!” In spite of this woebegone story, I notice by now that his eyes have a bit of sparkle. I sympathize with this new friend. Although still confused about details, I’m glad I asked the question. There is little I can do about the circumstances, and I do need to run along - retired trucker you know, busy. 😏 I bid him a fond adieu, wishing him success in at least finding his little truck. He lifts his cold coffee and says thank you.

It is on the way home after this little exchange that my thinker kicks in again. To date I have never had this type of conversation. In my previous post retirement stop-ins at this truck stop it has always been truckers, swap a few tales with a little embellishment (bs) and occasionally a job offer – just in case I’d like to get behind the wheel a bit more! None of that today. This was conversation between two old guys! Back there those -- sessions were full of the vim and vinegar of the truckers’ world! Suddenly it dawns on me that all those years of truckers stories have been mostly in the English language. Today's visit was in presence of other truckers who do not speak English in drivers’ rooms. It was a trend already beginning near end of my years. Truck stop conversations are in other lingos. English only at bare minimum to try to communicate with dispatchers or shippers and receivers, reminding me of occasional meet-up with Mexican Mennonite truckers anywhere between Texas and Manitoba; the visit would immediately revert to Low German. Today’s English visit is good illustration of something coming to an end.

Now in addition to this language issue, a little more from the thinker (as many know, after a little ‘thinking’ I get going with the philosophizing – in college we would call this the long-haired stuff). I’m guessing my senior citizen trucker friend may not have the options I have had, even though his financial assets probably higher than mine. I cannot but give thanks. Thinking of my life journey which has included some good educational pursuits and many good books, two Roman Catholic priests come to mind. They have been lifesavers for my journey [i], and I recognize that my options have been good. I too sold a truck a number of years ago, not at the magic age 65 but at age 71, when it seemed right. With gratitude for a few million accident-free miles, there was sentimental sadness, but not desperation about what to do next. Life would go on. Since that retirement I have been enabled to practice what I still believe and able to participate in very meaningful activity quite in keeping with my training and profession which at one point needed the life support of open highways. Open highways contained space, relationships, and of course the satisfaction of being an owner operator, a sole proprietor with my wife the financial manager, plus the joy of continuing and improving relationship with my Savior as well as new discovery of God everywhere!

Work is only work. Employment is only employment. Professions can be very satisfying and also meaningless if all they do is provide an income, a title or a career. And looking around me these days, I know that even for us in this good land, our lives could come to an end either before or after retirement. That's good to know, quite reassuring actually.

Two quotations have come to my attention; first a non-negotiable from the Bible, and a second from one of those favorite authors.

"People are destined to die once, and after that to face judgment" (Hebrews 9:27).

“Pay attention to the people God puts in your path if you want to discern what God is up to in your life.” [ii]

Now after this bit of thinking and philosophizing, perhaps I should check back with my friend and see how he’s coming along.

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[i] Richard Rohr, Falling Upward: A spirituality for the Two Halves of Life (Hoboken, NJ: Jossey-Bass, 2011) and Henri J.M. Nouwen, The Wounded Healer (New York: Image Books, 1979).

[ii] Nouwen, Discernment: Reading the signs of Daily Life (San Francisco, CA: Harper One, 2013).