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#20 The Trip, Itself

 (Have you read the post about our 21st day? Click here.)

On these 21st and 22nd days, we were “headed” to Yellowstone, although we didn’t consider it our “destination.”  Instead of a place, every mile, every jaunt, of the trip itself was our destination. This was practice I had developed as a youngster and Ron seemed to come by naturally.

When I was growing up in Michigan, my Daddy and Mama took our family on vacation every year – never across the country or to another continent – but to northern Michigan many times and to Virginia once. The destination was never our focus. The trip was our focus. We stopped along the way at roadside picnic areas where Mama tossed a tablecloth across the table and set out cold fried chicken and homemade lemonade carried in a glass gallon jar that had previously held apple cider vinegar. As we travelled, my brother, sister, and I played games in the car and occasionally fought like cats and dogs, while Daddy and Mama discussed sites we passed. My little ears and mind must have picked up their conversations, as I remember such things as The North Begins at Clare. I learned in those years that the trip, itself, was the destination. 

Then, after Ron and I married, whenever we took our three kids, Matt, Kristen, and Amber, on trips – camping in the Upper Peninsula or the long drive to Florida – we tried to make the trip, itself, our focus, too.

That first travel trailer, a used 20′ 1971 Holiday Adventurer, was probably our all-time favorite – undoubtedly because with it,  we created our first camping memories with the kids. We loved our little trailer, its cushions covered in a green flowered print,  coordinating with the avocado green appliances. (I wish I had it today!) We had some great experiences in that trailer. The first time we took it out, our two new bikes fell off the new bike carrier on the back, and a tree limb took the antenna off the roof when we backed into the campsite. Camping was always an active adventure, from Kristen falling out of the upper drop-down bed to Ron and I yelling at each other nearly every time we backed into a campsite at a State Park!

In addition to camping, the hours spent on the road throughout two days of driving to Florida hold special memories, as well. I wrapped small gifts to keep the kids busy in the car: new crayons and coloring books, small  magnetic checker boards, or my favorite – Colorforms.

The fascinating thing about those long drives was our mode of transportation . I particularly remember traveling in a 1976 Chevy Caprice Estate Station Wagon. Ron and I had driven a couple hours away to buy this used wagon, a few years old but in excellent condition. We lovingly referred to it as The Tank.

The Tank was huge – three full seats, each with plenty of leg room. Behind the third seat was a huge cargo area. The back gate rolled under and the back window rolled up (see the pic). Everything was automatic. It was all decked out with power options. When we went on vacation, we put the second and third seats down flat and placed a full-size foam mattress in the back and let the kids have at it (it’s a redneck term). I placed a suitcase beside each back door so the kids didn’t get near the door handles or automatic windows. Lunches and snacks were packed in shoeboxes, so we only stopped when necessary and for an overnight at a reasonable motel. They played all the way to Florida and napped only occasionally! It was a joyous trip – one for which we would be chastised today – but in those days . . .


Regardless, whenever we left for a vacation – either pulling a travel trailer or in a big old station wagon, my Daddy and Mama reminded us, “Remember now, your vacation starts when you leave home.”  It was a statement they had made all those years ago when they took my brother, sister, and me on family vacations; they repeated it some years later to Ron and me and our kids as we left home for vacation; so Ron and I have the same mindset to this day: the destination isn’t the focus of our travel. Each mile of the trip, itself, is the focus.

So, on these 21st and 22nd days, the trip itself – not Yellowstone –  was our destination. 

The trip today took us further east, through the high desert region of Burns and Hines, Oregon. 

The barrenness of the high desert region eventually gave way to bits of green, first found in small evergreens, then in pasture and hay fields, and finally in a few green corn fields, irrigated, of course. 

Lunch at rest areas in 95+ degree heat meant finding a picnic table shaded by a small pavilion, as trees were rare.  

To look on the map, one would think it a hop, skip, and a jump to cross into Idaho and up to the edge of West Yellowstone, but in reality, it was a long drive. It required another overnight, one which we had expected to spend at a Walmart parking lot or at a roadside rest area, but we had a problem with either: the intense heat, which permeated the surface of our trailer with no means of release without electricity to run the AC or even our little fan. So, I called ahead and booked us a site at Mountain Home, Idaho. The campground and campsite left much to be desired, but we were just thankful to refresh the inside of the trailer with AC!

Ron stopped along the road occasionally to cool the truck in this heat. 

The landscape was fascinating. In spite of the heat, I was thankful for these two days of the trip itself through Oregon and Idaho.  

Late in this 22nd day, the Tetons loomed to the east as we turned north toward Montana.

We settled in to our campsite just before dark. Behind us, chalets dotted the mountainside. To the west, the sun set, the end to another beautiful day of the trip itself. 

Tomorrow, our destination would actually be Yellowstone.

Click here to read the next post in this series,

#21 Mi tse a-da-zi

 

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You can locate all Adventure Awaits Posts on the main menu. If you’d like to read those from the beginning, click here for Post #1 in this series.

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#18 I Walk Among the Giants

From the north, we drove just a short distance into California before gps instructed us to turn east onto Highway U.S. 199 toward our destination campground. I had booked three nights here, which I thought gave us two full days to go into the parks to see the beautiful Redwoods ~ our purpose in coming to this southernmost point of our journey. I assumed we would reach our campsite, set up, and visit the parks the next day, but – once we made that turn onto U.S. 199,  we  discovered were already in the Redwoods:

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#17 The Fog Lifts

We both wished I had booked us another night at  Honeyman State Park along this Oregon Coast. So much to see. So little time. But this and each night’s camping  reservations had been made from over 2000 miles away . Not realizing all we would want to see, we had wished for more time at nearly every site we’d visited so far on this journey and would wish it again over and over in the weeks to come! But we moved on, leaving this beautiful park, 

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#16 Reaching the Pacific!

I think I’m a light sleeper, so it’s amazing how well I can sleep inside a thin-walled travel trailer, on the outer sides of a Walmart parking lot, semis and RVs pulling in and out all night.

But I did. Sleep well. And after a breakfast of pancakes and french press coffee fixed over the gas stove, we were on our way from Corvalis to Newport where we would discover the Oregon Coast on this beautiful sunny day.

 The logging industry was evidenced here. Plywood, stacked high on railroad cars was of high value in today’s market. Farms – not green farms as in Michigan – but hay – lots of hay. And old barns here, as all across the country, told stories of long ago. We’d already seen such diverse landscape in this beautiful state of Oregon – ice-capped volcanic mountains, dry desert buttes, hay fields – and we weren’t yet at the water. I was anxious to see the coast

 


Soon we turned south on Highway 101, another scenic byway, this one along the Pacific Coast, and we crossed a beautiful arch bridge, The Yaquina Bay Bridge, 133 ft. above the waters of the bay below.


We saw the dark blue waters of the Pacific Ocean to the west.

Anxious to get to the water, we stopped at the first beach pull off we could find. And we were simply amazed! 

Then we continued to stop as often as we could throughout the rest of the day. 

The winding roads of this southern Oregon coast mimicked those to which we’d become accustomed on this trip, but in contrast, these roads were set in clouds atop rocks extending well into the Pacific. 

Heceta Lighthouse on the cliff

Before we knew it, we had arrived at our reserved campground for the night. We would still cover much of the coast tomorrow as we continued south toward the California line.

We found Honeyman State Park to be perfect! 

We checked in at the small office and drove to locate our site in this beautiful park. Shady, Sun-filtered. Mossy trees. Everything I love in a campsite. Yes, it was perfect, at least, until we arrived! Yikes!

Water Spigot when we arrived
Water spigot after we backed in to our site!

When Ron and I were younger and took the kids camping, we struggled to back the trailer in to the campsite every – single – time! But we were well beyond that now. We never had a problem setting up the trailer at ANY site during this trip – until this one! 

In all fairness to us, you “campers” can look at our designated site and perceive the problem: The water spigot is on the edge of the drive – close to the drive – with no support post beside it.  (The wooden post you see is angled behind it.) When one backs in, one must crank . . .

Well, you see the problem. We, on the other hand, missed it!

Water started flushing out . . . oh, it was pitiful.. . . 

Two phone calls, campers walking by and pointing out the problem (as if we didn’t see it!), four park rangers, the water shut off to the campers for 45 minutes,  and over an hour later, the pipe is fixed.

Whew! Let’s take a walk and get away from this embarrassing situation! 

Although the campground is in a deep woods setting, the sand dunes are the key feature of this state park. Dune buggies run the dunes. 

We would have liked to have hidden when the tire of Ron’s truck broke that water pipe, but it’s difficult to hide with a pickup truck and a 24 ft. trailer! Ron kind of blamed me, since, as he backed up, he had called to me out his side window, “Am I okay on the other side?”

“Yes,” I answered. Never considering . . .

I assumed he had checked the area before backing up, so . . . 

But, unlike those early years of marriage and camping, there was no yelling – no anger – very little frustration. Not that we’ve reached any level of perfection . . .  I think we’ve just learned to put our problems in perspective!

We laughed about it then, and we laughed about it today, when I wrote about it!

By nightfall, the tent campers in the area were able to once again access water from the spigot, campsites downhill from the water spigot dried up from their flood of water, and Ron and I both slept well in the dark night of this forest.

See my next post, #17 The Fog Lifts. Click here.

Thank you, Eric Ethridge for your permission to use your awesome photo of the boulders on the Oregon Coast as my featured photo on this post. You’ll find more of his photos on Instagram: Eric Ethridge.

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The Calm After the Storm

Storms. They’ve hit hard of recent. All over the world. Oftentimes in a rage I can’t even imagine.

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#12 Into the Gorge

Oh my word – Mt. Rainier was beautiful to view much of the way from Yakima, Washington, south to the Columbia River Gorge.  First, Rainier was the backdrop of acres of fruit. How appropriate, for as we traveled, we munched on deep red sweet cherries from the area. Never so fresh!

Then Rainier stood white-capped and massive behind green fields of hay; farmers were cutting and raking as we drove on. Soon we discovered corn fields, which we hadn’t seen this far west since Minnesota.

At a later point, we viewed both Mts. Adams and Rainier at the same time. How very beautiful! Their peaks were covered in snow, and it was somehow physically refreshing to look westward toward them, as this day was extremely hot and dry. Eventually, most of the green farmland gave way to hot, dry field and rolling hills,  colorless other than a few small trees that can root in the rock.We stopped high upon a butte to look out over the valley below. Unlike the Wenatchee Valley, this valley was hot and dry and brown, yet it was beautiful. Green fields evidenced ingenuity of the farmers in the area.  It was not my favorite kind of landscape or climate, yet I loved it for God’s people were in the land and worked the land. This land had resources and purpose, just as all His creation does.

Soon we saw an unwelcomed site in this wind-whipped land: smoke. As we neared, we saw the blackened buttes to the east and helicopters dropping bags of water upon the earth below:

We drove past the smoke today, but in days to come smoke from fires such as this would fill the skies around us and traces would penetrate our lungs, as well.

Finally the blue water and green steeps around the Columbia River Gorge came into view. It was a welcomed sight.

We followed the river westward on the Washington side, high upon the edge of the buttes for miles and miles before we descended and crossed the bridge near Hood River. We said goodbye to Washington and hello to Oregon. It seemed a different land – green and cool. But it was still windy  – very windy! 

The next days in the Columbia River Gorge were refreshing – like living in a magical land! 

Click here to read the next post: The Magic of Multnomah! https://kathiwaligora.com/13-the-magic-of-multnomah/

Have you read my other posts from this trip? Click here to Start with #1 – The North Begins at Clare

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#8 Trains are Everywhere!

The mountains are calling and I must go.

~ John Muir

July 6

Last night had been one of those nights that when traveling RV, you sometimes plan – or they sometimes just suddenly occur – where you must sleep somewhere other than a designated campsite. If you read yesterday’s post, you know that we suddenly uprooted ourselves from Lewis & Clark State Park in North Dakota and headed west into Montana early in the evening. I looked at the map, of course, and searched my Map app, but the Montana map doesn’t identify Rest Areas quite like our Michigan map does. So, after driving a distance, and uncertain how far the next Rest Area might be, we pulled over to one in Culbertson, Montana, a quiet burg, and yes, there was a train track running behind it! Trains are everywhere in our travels! (See my post, My Pink Earplugs)

Nonetheless, we drove around the small parking area a couple of times to find the most level ground, had our supper, and settled in. It had been hot that day – the day we left Lewis & Clark State Park and had our window replaced in Williston. Very hot. And we were concerned about sleeping in the heat through the night, but these are the times one is thankful for the constant wind of the Northern Plains. In the quiet of the evening, a car occasionally pulled into the rest stop. One semi was parked a short distance away, and an old man slowly got out of a white pickup by the restrooms. I watched as he hobbled, bent and slow going, emptying trash bins, going in and out of the restrooms, and packing the huge black garbage bags into the bed of his pickup truck. Again, I made assumptions as I observed. Most likely, his social security was  not enough to live on. He either needed the county or state job to make ends meet, or he wanted the job – just to keep those legs and arms nimble. I observed stamina, although I could not truly see the expression on his face. He was a hard-working American, I knew that.

We had entered a different time zone again, and although it was about 10 pm there, it felt like Michigan’s 8 pm to us. Wind whipped our little trailer. I assumed it would simply “rock me to sleep,” and it did, but when I awoke later, the strong wind had decreased, the trailer was still. The pleasant, almost cool, dry breeze passed between the open windows on each side of our bed, and it was refreshing.

When we’re without electricity, I heat water on the gas stove, and Ron makes French Press for us, so our morning routine continues!  We were on the road at 7:30, and it was pleasant driving at 65°. We soon realized why Montana is called Big Sky.  Oh yes, it is. One Big Sky from north to south and from east to west. Small towns dotted the otherwise desolate highway, and each had at least one junkyard. Not only were junkyards found in the stops along the way but also in wayside fields. Cars, tractors, farm machinery – rusting and surrounded with weeds. Run-down homesteads – mostly trailers. Those who lived along this stretch of Highway 2 were not the farmers. The farms were set back – on side roads that seemed unconnected to Highway 2.

Farmers raised one crop: wheat. Both spring and winter wheat were mixed in the fields. It was a whisker wheat, Ron said.

Railroad tracks ran parallel to Highway 2 much of the way. These trains were often pulling oil tankers. 

The Buttes still lined the north and south horizons, but now, they also lined the west – where I was gazing, all throughout the morning, anxious for my first look of the mountains.  The day was overcast. The west horizon was hazy. Finally, it came. Not the buttes, nor plateaus, but the mountains! And we saw them beyond a run-down homestead. But they had a beautiful view of the mountains! America is a land of opportunity!

We entered the small town of Browning. It was not what I expected. Galvanized sided buildings were damaged from neglect. This city on the east side of the beautiful mountain range should be thriving, but it didn’t seem to be. Only the cultural center was beautiful. I saw many first nation people. I felt badly that they live in a broken down atmosphere, one in which their ancestors had flourished.

We entered the southern border of the park on Highway 2 through East Glacier. It was beautiful – even on this overcast day.

If the mountains outside this park are this magnificent, we could only imagine what lay ahead for us tomorrow, when we would enter the park and drive its steeps, its passes, and down into its valleys.

We stopped for lunch at a wayside monument at Marias Pass. The tall cement monument had been built to honor Teddy Roosevelt, but the bronze statue was the key point of this wayside. It was to honor a man named John F. Stevens who had surveyed this land for a railroad, far before any highway crossed it. Interesting indeed, and Ron and I were reminded of all those who came before us in this great land and the tremendous work they completed.

Now, it might just seem a little thing to you, but . . . We stepped into our little trailer to have lunch, and while we ate, it rained. Cars pulled in to the wayside. People stepped out, in the rain, covered with hoodies or ponchos – or not. They read the 4 placards placed at the sight, and they moved on. As a tourist, you tour – rain or shine! But when we finished our lunch and went across the parking lot to read the tributes and observe the train tracks, the rain had stopped. It was just another tidbit of confirmation that we were right where and when God wanted us to be.

Of course, one or two trains passed while we were there! Trains are everywhere in this part of the country!

Click here to read the next post, #9 A Day in the Park

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#7 Prairie Grasses Have Purpose and Deep Roots

“In nature we never see anything isolated, but everything in connection with something else which is before it, beside it, under it and over it.” ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Yes, all of nature is connected and has purpose. As we headed west from Michigan’s Upper Peninsula via Hwy 2, a fellow RV’er advised us not to bother driving through North Dakota and Montana – said it was boring with no striking views, but Ron and I like to make the connections. We appreciate it all. (Well, most of it anyway!) We found the Northern Prairie to be remarkable. And even their prairie grasses have purpose.

In the 1920’s and 30’s, evidently the farmers didn’t realize the importance of keeping those grasses throughout their land. They wanted to plant grains such as wheat and oats instead. When drought occurred, as it often does, dust storms blew the agriculture away. The soil was eroded. Until the rains came around 1939 and dryland farming methods were applied, this beautiful land was useless. Families starved. The prairie dust caused breathing illnesses, such as asthma, bronchitis, and silicosis.

(The root system of prairie grass compared to the root system of agriculture.)

What the farmers didn’t realize was that the prairie grasses had tremendous root systems. The soil in which they grew could not erode. The person rooted in Christ is the same. The Bible tells us that if our roots are holy, our branches are, as well. The roots support us.  Jesus said that if a man has no root, he lasts only a short time.  When problems come, the worries of life, and the deceit of wealth (notice that phrase the Lord uses) comes, we’re lost in the winds. We quickly fall away, the Lord teaches in his parable of the sower. Have you seen a person quickly fall away? Or has it happened to you? It happens when we’re not rooted.

Oh, how I need to be rooted in Christ in this world. It’s so easy to fall away, and I don’t want that to happen. The Apostle Paul tells us that “just as we have received Christ Jesus as Lord,” we need to continue to live in him, to be rooted and built up in Him, to be strengthened in our faith as we were taught, and to overflow with thankfulness.

He continues to warn us about those things that will diminish our roots in Christ: deceptive philosophy (we see/hear a lot of that these days) and practices that are based on human tradition rather than on the actual teachings of Christ.

Jesus ends the parable by telling us how our roots can go deep: it’s by hearing the Word and by accepting it.

The winds of these Northern Plains through which Ron and I are traveling are strong. They’ve whipped our trailer as we drive through and rocked it when it’s at a standstill. They blow the papers from our picnic tables and mess my hair every time I step outside. But in doing so, they remind us of the deception the world brings – because of Satan, our enemy – but that we’ll stand just fine in that wind, as long as we’re rooted in Christ Jesus.

Further reading: Mark 4:1-20; Matthew 13:21; Romans 11:16; Colossians 2:7 . . .

Click here to read the next Post, #8 Trains Are Everywhere

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#5 America the Beautiful

When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the rest of the world. ~ John Muir 

July 4

There seemed no better way to celebrate our freedom in this country than to do just what we were doing – driving wherever we wanted! And we did just that. 

As we drove across this little portion of America, we rejoiced with all the people we observed heading to worship together – the first and primary reason our forefathers came to this country. We smiled as we drove past people picnicking and swimming and celebrating their small town festivals. It was a typical Fourth of July in America but one I think in which people celebrated bigger than ever this year because of the distress of the previous.

Northwestern Minnesota looks much like the northern part of our (Michigan’s) Lower Peninsula. Beautiful. No farms other than hay. Hay for the cattle – both red and black angus here and continuing into North Dakota. 

Shortly, we entered North Dakota, through which we would travel its full distance today to set up camp at a state park near Williston, its westernmost state park before crossing the Montana line. Before our trip began, a fellow RV traveler had advised us not to take Highway 2 through Minnesota and North Dakota – said the land was desolate and didn’t offer any striking views – was boring. But we drove it, anyway, and heard its voice throughout the day. The land itself spoke to us of times past, of hard work, and of perseverance. We  listened.  And because we listened, we also learned. What better day to see this land and hear its stories than the Fourth of July! We were united with the people who lived here – both past and present, and now we had some of their stories to share.

At first, like Minnesota, North Dakota had only fields of hay and cattle grazing throughout pastures near and distant, but further west, the landscape changed. Buttes, lined both the north and south horizons, brushing our trail throughout northwestern North Dakota, still interspersed with grazing cattle but now primarily covered with bright yellow fields of canola. Miles and miles of it – as far as the eye could see, spreading out to the Buttes. , Unlike the native grasses upon which the cattle grazed, the canola was a more recent commodity, and similarly, another commodity,  foreigners in every sense of the word now sprinkled the landscape: oil wells! They were alien-looking structures, metallic and noisy, some large, some small, some with nearby flames on towering pedestals, as though to make a statement of their stature or worth. All in all, they were noticeably odd and contrary to the originality of these Northern Plains. All were surrounded with adjacent storage tanks and gravel trails for the tankers to haul the “harvest” of these fields. It was an unfamiliar sight to us, but commonplace to these parts. Rough, beaten down side roads evidenced the constant wear of oil tankers.

At the end of our long day of driving, the familiar voice of our “lady gps” directed us to turn south from Hwy 2 onto a 16-mile road, toward our destination of Lewis & Clark State Park on Lake Sacakawea. A large semi passed us, stirring up dust on this trodden gravel road. We looked ahead, realizing the entire 16 mile route would be rough, like a washboard, dusty, and battered! Ron’s frustration, which had immediately  reached a boiling point, diminished as we crept along and looked ahead. Soon, we looked down upon the beautiful setting of the park. Towering buttes and rolling hills provided the background for this picturesque setting we drove into – our little piece of North Dakota for the next two nights.

Of course, this park differed from any other we’d been in, but that was good. Today,  in quiet observation and in listening to the voices, we had recognized the value of diversity, if only in landscape and climate. It was a valuable lesson.  From our campsite, we looked at oil wells up in the Buttes, a distance away, their flames visible to us all through the night.

You can view all past posts on this website from the “Home Sweet Home” page!

Click here to read the next Post, #6 Lewis & Clark & Sacajawea, and a man named Josh.

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#3 My Pink Earplugs

We packed plenty of warm clothes for this trip to the northwest: jeans, sweaters, flannel shirts, fleece lined hoodies. We’d read of warm mornings at the campsite but cool temps in the mountains. Within the week before the trip, we began to observe different weather reports in the areas we planned to visit: a heat wave was taking place in Oregon, Washington, and Montana! My weather app showed 101° in Havre, Montana, a location where we planned on perching at a Walmart parking lot for the night. Knowing we wouldn’t have overnight electricity for even so much as our little fan, Ron said, “Kathi, find us a campsite in Havre.” The Lord quickly supplied. I made a call and encountered a friendly voice on the other end, just as I had so many times previously, in planning the trip. I’ve discovered a multitude of friendly people across this vast northwest we will be traveling! And I’ve discovered overnight availability when I least expected it.

Due to the expected heat wave we would be driving into, I realized that we just might have to turn on that atrocious AC in that little travel trailer of ours. I refer to it as atrocious because although occasionally necessary, as it very well might be on this journey, I don’t like it. I don’t like the door and windows closed, blocking the fresh air and open view. I don’t like the loud noise of the unit right above our heads, in the middle of our cute little home away from home. But, should high temps prevail at night, although atrocious, it might be a relief. Thus the earplugs.

After learning of the heat wave, hoping to block the sound of AC, I purchased pink earplugs, perfect for a woman’s ear, so they say.

We’re into the fifth day of our trip now, and the nights have cooled just enough that we didn’t need the atrocious AC, but the earplugs did come in handy. Let me explain why.

 Late Friday, we pulled into a small country campground, just past Duluth on Highway 2. It was clean and tidy and offered full hook ups and internet! This is great, we thought. We had just gotten set up when we heard the rumble. We first assumed there was a busy highway behind us which we hadn’t noticed, but the loonngg whistle soon gave it away. Yes, a train track was just a short distance behind the campground. Ron, hopeful, said, “I don’t think the trains will run at night.”

Ha!

In the morning, nearby campers spoke of trains running through every twenty minutes or so. Whistles blew often, they said. All. Through. The. Night. Ron, exhausted from work and driving many hours, had slept through it all. I did, too. But only because of my pink earplugs!

If you attended Sunday School when you were a kid, you might remember singing a song with the lyric, “Be careful little eyes what you see. . .”

The second stanza is similar:

 “Oh, be careful little ears what you hear;

Be careful little ears what you hear;

for the Father up above

is looking down in love,

so be careful little ears what you hear.

It might be a children’s song, but it’s based on teaching from the Bible, so it’s a message for all ages: We must be careful what we hear.

Sometimes we need to wear our pink earplugs.

The Father is “looking down” – not to judge us but to help us. He knows the danger to us if or when we listen to what we should not. He tells us it is a danger that affects our faith.

He’s given us His Word to teach us in order to protect us and in order to bless us. That’s His desire for us. Abundant life. And in that Word, He instructs us of certain things we should not continue to hear. We’re familiar with many of these things: gossip, negativity; however, in my recent studies, I’ve noticed a continual and strong message given throughout the whole Bible  – a warning about some things to which, when we listen, we can gradually and easily become desensitized to the dangers. (The enemy, Satan, just loves it when we become desensitized to those things God desires.)

The Lord tells us not to listen to mediums, sorcerers, and fortune tellers, but He doesn’t stop there. He warns us not to listen to what some people teach – some who claim to be prophets – some who claim to be wise – some who claim to have the answers. He tells us that these people speak ideas of vanity (the importance of self), they speak ideas from their own minds, not from the mouth of the Lord. He says that some of these people claim to teach in the His Name, but He makes it clear – their teaching is not from Him. The Lord did not send them.

Sound familiar today? I see it constantly on social media. It is more than subliminal in movies and television shows. Constant little tidbits of teaching that initially might sound spiritually okay but isn’t. It’s hurting us, and God knows it. He says we must plug our ears to it.

He warns us that our family or close friends might be listening to these tidbits of false teaching. But He says we must not listen to it – even if they encourage it. Wow! This is serious business. The train is rumbling.

Jesus tells us to consider carefully what we hear. Tells us it measures our faith. The Apostle Paul teaches that many people who appear to be Christians actually teach false doctrines and endless controversies instead of doing God’s work. He says they’ve wandered away from the truth to meaningless talk. He instructs the Church to deal with them and to command them to change. It’s important to the Church. It’s important to the Lord. The train whistle is blowing.

It’s God to whom we must listen, and we hear Him in His Word. The closer we listen, the more understanding we will be given. In fact, we’ll just keep receiving more understanding, the Word says. It stands to reason that when we’re listening to falsehoods, the more falsehoods will fill our minds, but when we’re listening to the Word, the more truth will fill us.

We are not under law. God does not force us to listen to Him. But we believers recognize His voice. It is the voice of the Shepherd. And we want to hear Him above other voices.

The rumbling is all around us. The warning signals are given. The train whistle is blowing. I need to use my pink earplugs to block it out.

~~~~~

If you haven’t followed Jesus as Savior yet, click here to learn more about becoming a believer.

Further reading:

Deuteronomy 13:8

Jeremiah 23:16; 27:9, 14

Mark 4:24

Luke 8:18

1 Timothy 1:4

2 Timothy 4:3

Click here to read the next post, #4 Trust the Magic