Normally I’m reluctant to stay in old motels, preferring a good, clean Hampton Inn with doors that open into hallways instead of out directly into the world. But as we did our research about the things to do ( don’t miss Cadillac Ranch in Amarillo, for example) and iconic places to stay along Route 66 when we drove from Chicago to Albuquerque in June of 2023, we learned that we’d be missing a big part of the Route 66 experience if we ruled out motels. So we stayed at the Wagon Wheel in Cuba, Missouri and the Blue Swallow in Tucumcari, New Mexico as two of our “iconic motel” choices.
These motels have largely been “redone” over time to make improvements in plumbing and HVAC systems, but they have preserved the retro feel of the rooms, right down to issuing metal keys on triangular keyrings that have the room number on them. If you’re planning a trip down 66 anytime for the 100th Anniversary of The Mother Road, I highly recommend The Blue Swallow Motel. And if you’re into souvenirs, you can buy a keyring to take with you!
Back in 1974, we took a vacation to Walt Disney World with another family who were close friends of my parents. At that time, Dad was the pastor of First Baptist Church on St. Simons Island, Georgia, and his friend Joe Fennell was the husband of the organist in our church. Our mothers were close friends. In fact, when I hadn’t had chicken pox by the time they wanted me to have it before I got older, their children got it and our mother arranged for us to go and play with them so that we would contract it. Tiffany, standing third from left in this photo (next to me, the tallest kid in the green shirt) freely shared her germs. I kept a scar right between the eyes well into my teens from a popped pox.
The popcorn cart reminded me of the popped pox as I sort through pictures of travel this month. While I’m not particularly a fan of amusement parks, we made such wonderful memories there even when the Disney parade was nothing but a few characters walking down Main Street without lights and music and all the thrills of a big parade.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be on a glacier with all this heat in the Southeastern United States today? We were there several years ago, and we took a helicopter ride to Mendenhall Glacier, where we got to ride with the sled dogs. Fun fact: they pee and poop on the run. Meeting the next generation of Iditarod and other sled racing dogs was a highlight of that trip!
In February, we traveled out west to visit one of our daughters in Nevada. We saw beautiful deserts with sunset skies in violet purples, tangerine oranges, buttery and vibrant yellows, and deep rose reds. Many of the cactus plants looked as if they were singing praise to their maker. I painted a watercolor picture, but it did not turn out at all, so here is a photo I did not take that shows better what I had tried to capture in color.
Today, I’m blessed to host the Spiritual Journey Thursday 2026 for the month of July. Our group was asked to reflect and meditate on this phrase: “a light unto my path.” I invite your reflections and blog posts today as we consider the light that guides our way.
“Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path” (Psalm 119:105) serves as a reminder that divine wisdom and scripture act as daily, step-by-step guidance to help navigate the dark or uncertain moments of life.
when we travel deep
dark paths of uncertainty
His Word is the light
One of my favorite helpful resources for when I’m reading God’s Word has always been a concordance. Long before the many online versions of this resource emerged when internet use became more popular, I had a hard copy of a concordance and a study Bible with illuminated footnotes. No matter what popped up in my day or my season, I had a resource to guide me to just the right places in scripture to hear the words my heart needed. Today, there are even alphabetized lists for every topic imaginable, like this one.
In the happiest of times, it feels joyful to praise God for His many blessings. Life goes along without bumps, we go to work, cook dinner, take weekend trips, and meet friends for book club chats. We say morning prayers, “praying folks up” on the way to work like we are building prayer credit in Heaven to remain covering our loved ones even when God calls us home. Yes, I do that.
But in the darkest of times, even in the pit of a world up-ended when all the rubble is still falling, even when we can’t see five feet in front of us or think clearly, scripture and prayer are God’s guiding forces to help steer us through every cavern, every storm, every place of darkness – no matter how hopeless life can seem at times. He is our lantern and our guide. He shows us our blessings even in our struggles.
We pray without ceasing for God’s Word to light our paths forward – on days of joy, and on days of sadness, on days of peace and days of turmoil. He is there, lighting our path.
I remember buying a new pair of white Keds as a young adult and someone saying, “they’re so blinding white, you might wanna kick some dirt on ’em.” That has stuck with me every time I see a pair of new white shoes, not yet traveled or broken in. And as a lover of well-worn shoes, this photo shared with me by my daughter-in-law sparked joy when I saw the love of living in one of my granddaughter’s shoes as she was fishing on the muddy brink of a pond.
Last month, I attended The Stafford Challenge Writing Conference in Portland, Oregon with my dear writing friend Glenda Funk. She and her husband Ken were kind enough to take me to Multnomah Falls before I returned back to Georgia. I made such fabulous memories on that trip, and the Pacific Northwest holds beauty that is second to none. But as I write this, I’m reminded of Rainer Maria Rilke’s words about Rome from Letters to a Young Poet:
Finally, after weeks of daily self-defence, though still a little bewildered, one comes to oneself again and one says, “No, there is no more beauty here than elsewhere, and all these objects, which generation after generation has continued to admire and which the hands of jobbers have repaired and restored, mean nothing, are nothing, and have no heart and no value”; but there is plenty of beauty here, because there is plenty of beauty everywhere.
The question came from a fellow Georgian, a member of The Stafford Challenge at Lewis and Clark College in Portland, Oregon on the last day of our poetry conference.
Do you want to go walk in the woods? one called out.
Seven of us set out to walk in the woods together on an adventure to see the world in the forest floor in the cloud-shadows of Mount Hood. And this is how we made friends.
As July kicks off and I continue to sort through old photographs and newer ones, I’m thinking of travel and vacations this month – reflecting on the experiences on the road, on campgrounds, and on educational conferences where we’ve extended the business to include personal travel as well. The earliest traveling I remember is going to camp and fish at Fernandina Beach, Florida with my parents and my mother’s parents. Granddaddy would put the truck camper on and pull the boat, and my parents would pitch a tent while I crawled into the camper with my grandparents. Early each morning, we’d put the boat in and go out fishing. I would crawl up under the front of the boat and nap on the life jackets and a blanket to get out of the heat. During fishing time, I worked the live well by catching bait with a net and taking it to whoever needed a replacement.
We took the boat out of the water each afternoon. We’d scale fish, fillet them, and cook some for dinner and still put plenty away in coolers to take back to Georgia. The sulfury-smelling showers in those campground bathrooms smelled like rotten eggs, but the memories they bring back are pure joy. We roasted marshmallows after supper, and I’d sleep above the cab with the windows open for the cross-breeze while the adults sat up by the fire well into the night.
I’m pretty sure that’s where the love of camping started for me. When I had my own children who loved to barrel race, we’d load the family and horses up along with my then-husband’s parents, and we’d pitch a tent by their horse trailer for small-camp rodeos. Our favorite was Buffalo River in Tennessee, where we camped right next to a river. The kids rode horses and did racing during the days, and the campground had a live band with two-step and line dancing each night, plus a cafeteria so we didn’t have to cook all the time. It was the first and only time I ever tasted rattlesnake from a trail ride where someone shot one to protect the horses, then brought it back to camp and grilled it up in slices. In those days, we were tent campers.
Soon, we graduated to a pop-up that we bought for next to nothing because the top was dry rotting and coming apart. I burned up a sewing machine stitching the repairs, but it was worth it because it lasted several years before we sold it and got a pull-behind camper with Florida windows and old tires that needed replacing right away. We used it for years while the kids were growing up, and we did the same things: swam, fished, cooked fireside, and played cards all evening.
Fast forward to my second marriage, and out of the blue one day my husband decided we should take up camping. I didn’t think he would like it since he likes to go out to eat dinner so much of the time and has a hard time sitting still. But we started looking for campers, bought a used Keystone Outback, and took it for a spin. And surprise of all surprises, he actually enjoyed it. We kept it for a few years and sold it, then bought a Little Guy Max teardrop camper that we kept for a couple of years and sold. Then we got another pull-behind – an InTech Willow, and kept it for a year before deciding to go with an RV. This time, we traded it in and got a Tiffin Wayfarer that both of us are able to drive and maneuver with setup and takedown, along with a good warranty. I can even dump the thing. I wanted to always be able for both of us to have the skill set to get us home if one of us takes a fall or doesn’t feel well enough to drive. At our ages, that becomes an important consideration when out on the road.
As I trace the love of camping back to the earliest days of my life, I believe those seeds were planted deep and bloomed and thrived. And it doesn’t matter whether it’s summer, spring, fall, or winter – – I’m always ready to back into a space, fire up the grill, and sit by a campfire, rooted in relaxation. Early morning coffee under trees filled with birdsong and the peaceful solitude of nature never, ever get old.
1969, Florida, on the front of Granddaddy’s boat
1969, Florida at the Live Well
Mom and me, Spring 1971, Fernandina Beach, Florida
In the spring of 1984, Dad took our family of four to London for a weeklong vacation. Those were the best breakfasts – broiled tomatoes, toast, bacon, and eggs. We stayed at Bed and Breakfasts where we had to share a bathroom with other families on our same floor. These are the family photos that make me want to push a button and make it real again – – to be able to sit and chat with Mom. Time stands still for no one, though, and now it’s just my brother and I who are here to have those talks.
