The Park Chauffeurs
My husband and I love Rocky Mountain National Park. We have been vacationing there ever since our honeymoon in 1987, bringing our children whenever possible. Recently, we celebrated our 25th anniversary there. We love it so much that we long to make it our home.
The prospect of moving across the country is a tricky thing in one's 50s, especially when our children are still close to home and Kevin's good job is keeping us comfortable in Illinois. During a trip to Colorado in 2012, I began to commiserate about my aching muscles and the unlikelihood of ever relocating there while we are still in shape to hike.
While sulking in my little cloud of doubt, I waited with Kevin at a trailhead for a shuttle to take us back to the visitors' center. A car stopped with a puff of dust, and an older man poked his head out the window to offer us a ride. His riding companion, presumably his wife, echoed his invitation. I was a little skeptical because I barely trust my husband on the curvy mountain roads, let alone a fellow who looked to be in his 80s. But Kevin said "yes" and we climbed into the back seat.
Half a dozen oxygen tanks left no place for me to rest my feet. My right foot was contorted in an unnatural way, but no one seemed to notice. When I turned my attention to our chauffeurs, I noticed clear tubes running out of the wife's nostrils to a similar tank in the front seat. I was perched on her backup supply.
The couple, Henry and Esther, made polite conversation. They mentioned that they'd both served in World War II. I did the math and realized they must be about 90 years old. As they drove down the mountain, Esther asked if we would like to join them on their evening tour of the park. Kevin and I looked at each other in the back seat, and Kevin said, "sure." Once again, I tried to reposition my homeless foot. Henry veered onto a road around Moraine Park (a beautiful valley inside Rocky Mountain National Park) and pointed at a gnarled pine tree. Years ago, they had named the tree "Esther's tree" after his wife. Esther asked us, "What part of Illinois are you from?" I replied, "The central part, around Bloomington/Normal."
As we continued to tour Moraine Park, slowing to view groups of elk, Henry told us that they'd moved to Estes Park (the town near the entrance of the national park) twenty years ago. Prior to that, they had vacationed in Estes Park every year, dreaming of eventually moving there. They finally moved from the Midwest when they were in their 60s. Esther turned her head and asked us if they were keeping us from something else we had wanted to do. Kevin replied, "no, no." Then Esther asked me, "What part of Illinois are you from, anyway?" I looked at Henry, but he seemed not to notice her repetition. He patted his wife's knee affectionately. I replied, "The central part, around Bloomington/Normal."
With both hands, I yanked my contorted foot across the top of the oxygen tanks, trying to find a more comfortable position. Henry was driving expertly around tourists' cars parked in a long procession to see the elk, handling his vehicle like a young man. I asked them, "Did you ever regret moving out here?" Henry thought and said, "If we had stayed in lower elevations, Esther wouldn't need her oxygen tanks, but we like Estes Park with the oxygen better than we like the lower elevations without the oxygen." Esther nodded in agreement and asked me which part of Illinois we lived in.
After an hour's tour, they dropped us off at the visitors' center. We thanked them and said good-bye. We didn't trade last names. Each of us knew the encounter was brief and that we'd never see each other again.
We returned home to Illinois. Through the mysterious intricacies of the Internet, we found Henry and Esther and sent them a Christmas card. Henry replied a couple months later and invited us to visit them on our next trip to Estes Park in 2013. We accepted their invitation, and this time, they chauffeured us around their home—a log mansion with a majestic view of the mountains. In 2014, we had a sweet time talking in our rental cabin over a plate of chocolate chip cookies.
In all our years of visiting Rocky Mountain National Park, no one had ever befriended us until Henry and Esther offered us a ride. In terms of time and effort, these folks have freely given us a few hours of their time. But because of the way God connects people at pivotal times, these new friends gave us far-reaching hope that perhaps our dream of moving to Estes Park is not as unlikely as we'd once thought.
Perhaps someday in the future, Kevin and I will be driving down the mountain, offering rides to hikers. And even if I'm on oxygen and am obliged to repeatedly ask, "What part of Illinois are you from, anyway?" I hope I am as kind and gracious as Henry and Esther, our park chauffeurs.
Delight yourself also in the LORD, and He shall give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the LORD, Trust also in Him, and He shall bring it to pass. (Psalm 37:4-5 NKJV)