Wise Words at Capernwray

This was actually written on Wednesday, May 29. 

           I tried to read this morning, but kept getting distracted. So I hadn’t finished as many pages as I would have liked when I went down for coffee break at 10:40, but I figured maybe a break and a cup of coffee would help clear my head a little. I sat down at a table, drinking my coffee quietly, and a kind, motherly British woman named Nicky—who just came up and hugged me the first day I was at Capernwray because she knew I was new—sat down next to me. She was talking to some other people at the table at first, but eventually I joined in a conversation she was having that was originally about sheep but somehow turned to giraffes in Kenya. A few people left and so, in way of continuing the conversation, I asked her how often she’d been to Kenya. We talked about her ministry trips there for a bit before the conversation turned to how selfish and materialistic we can be as human beings, and how we all might be better, less selfish people if we took six months or a year of service somewhere in the world. The class guilt that I’ve struggled with all my life—growing up in Ecuador, and then even more recently in this past year of playing Rachel Corrie—began to resurface, and I began to think of how privileged and undeserving I feel to be studying for twelve weeks in Europe this summer. I mentioned something to that effect, and then Nicky said something that I needed very much to hear and that I will likely remember for years to come.

            “We’re all trees, you see. And sometimes, as we’re growing, especially in the beginning, we have to do things and have experiences that help us to put down strong roots that branch out before we become truly strong and full-grown. Because a spindly tree with no roots can be knocked over by—a sheep that rubs up against it. But if you take the time and opportunities you have to grow those roots, that’s when you become strong, and nothing can come against you or knock you over. And once you have a strong trunk, then your branches can grow out wide and strong too, giving fruit and providing shelter to others. And we’re all different, you know. Some grow to be the tall trees that take the lightning; some don’t grow very tall but spread their branches out wide; and some will always have to be supported by sticks and wires; but we all serve a purpose. And God knows that.”

Traveling Alone: The Perhaps-Not-So-Interesting and Probably-Entirely-Too-Honest Thoughts and Experiences of a 21-Year-Old American Girl Traveling Europe By Herself For the Very First Time, Told in Six Episodes EPISODE THE SIXTH (AND LAST)

            I approached the nearest cab, tapped on the window, and he rolled it down. “Do you know Capernwray Bible School?” I asked him. Google Maps had informed me it was about a twenty-minute drive from Lancaster.

            “Yeah.”

            “About how much will it cost to get there?”

            “Oh, probably around 15 or 17 pounds,” he hedged a little. Still, I didn’t suppose that was terrible. And I really just wanted to get there.

            “Great. Would you mind if we put the bags in the back and I’ll just hop over the bridge to the ATM?”

            “Oh, I can take you to an ATM.”

            “Oh, it’s just right over the bridge—I can run over—"

            “Naw, it’ll be easier—I’ll just take you past one.”

            “Oh okay, that’s fine,” I consented. He got out of the car and came around to load my bags.

            “You certainly have a lot of stuff in here,” he huffed as he had to exert more force than he had apparently anticipated to lift my bag into the back of the car.

            “Yes,” I laughed, self-consciously, “I’m over here for several weeks and I guess I don’t really understand the concept of ‘packing lightly.’”

            “Brought the kitchen sink too, did ya?’ he chortled, lifting in my smaller bag and shutting the back.

            “Yes! That too,” I said with another small laugh as I ducked into the back seat.

            He stopped at an ATM in Lancaster and waited for me, as promised, but other than that, the ride was uneventful. I watched the scenery go by, investigating what would be my new surroundings for the next two weeks or so. I saw a road sign for Carnforth. Carnforth! A name I recognized. Brilliant. We kept going, getting farther and farther into the country. I watched the red numbers on the taxi meter begin to tick up past 14. Soon the only things I began to see were grass, sheep, and the occasional house. Ah! A sign that said Capernwray! Excellent. I realized fully, for the first time, that I was going to get to my destination. On time and everything. I was so relieved I could have kissed that cab driver.

            We began to wind around several very small roads, finally entered a gate, and then kept winding around small roads inside the gate before eventually pulling up in front of a—well—a castle. Oh. Oh, a castle. Oh okay.

            We finally stopped when the meter had ticked just over 19 pounds. I was so grateful to finally be standing in front of my destination that I gave him a 20 and told him to keep the change. Probably a better alternative to kissing him. He seemed pleased and smiled as he helped me unload my bags.

A sign in front of an enormous arched wooden doorway with dark iron fastenings and a huge black ring handle read “Reception” with an arrow pointing inside. The juxtaposition struck me as odd. Reception. Right this way. Through the big castle door that King Arthur himself might step through any minute holding a lighted torch in one hand and Excalibur in the other. Just step right in.

My bags put up a fuss getting up the stairs, but a nice guy who happened along just then helped me pull them up and through the enormous door.

“Where do you need to go?” he asked.

“Just here to reception, thanks.” He nodded and rapped on a closed frosted window for me, which proceeded to slide open, and then he disappeared before I could properly thank him.

“Hello, I’m Kendra—“ I began, unsure whether or not Amanda—the lady I’d been corresponding with—was one of the ones behind the counter.

“Hullo—Kendra! I’ve been expecting you. I’m Amanda,” said a younger-looking woman with an interesting British accent that I couldn’t quite place. “I’ll just come ‘round and take you to your room,” she said, starting for the door.

I followed Amanda through a maze of corridors (Of course corridors. It’s a castle. What else would there be?) while she explained some of the policies at Capernwray and talked business. It took both of us to haul my red suitcase up a flight of stairs and down another corridor. I went back for my blue bag and met her in what was to be my room. It was simple, but snug. And more than adequate. A small closet. A bathroom. Two twin beds. A nightstand. DEAR GOD, a bed. As if in response, my eyes stung vindictively, begging me to close them.

Amanda handed me the key to my room, led me around to a few more places, and then left me to my own devices. An overwhelming heaviness began to settle over me. I’d been surrounded by people I knew and had structured time for almost a month. Thoughts of now having no structured time and not a single acquaintance, as well as residual stress from the day’s travels, pressed in rudely on my consciousness, and I suddenly felt very, very alone. I walked slowly back up the stairs and down the corridor to my room, turning my key over in my hand and fighting the sting of tears. I felt silly. I’m just tired, I told myself. I’ll be fine. I’ll be able to think better after I sleep.

I walked in my door, assessed the room, and tried to figure out what was next. It was almost 5:30—teatime. I looked closer at the bed in front of me. There didn’t seem to be any linens on it. Crap. Was I supposed to bring linens with me? Bah. There was no time to go back into town today. Amanda was gone. Guh. I didn’t exactly relish the thought of sleeping on a bed without sheets.

There was a large towel, a small towel, and an itty-bitty bar of soap sitting on the foot of the other bed. I bent down to pick them up and my eyes swept the pillow. It was covered. Linens! Ah! They just hadn’t covered both beds. Another small wave of relief swept over me, and I welcomed it. I had made it. All by myself. Well, with the help of several kind strangers. I’d even had money to pay for the cab. And to top it all off, there were sheets on my bed. I meandered into the bathroom to place the towels. I peered at my haggard reflection in the mirror, unwrapped the itty-bitty bar of soap, and placed it carefully next to the faucet. I frowned. It suddenly seemed my biggest and most pressing question now had become this: Was that itty-bitty bar of soap going to last for two weeks?

THE END

Traveling Alone: The Perhaps-Not-So-Interesting and Probably-Entirely-Too-Honest Thoughts and Experiences of a 21-Year-Old American Girl Traveling Europe By Herself For the Very First Time, Told in Six Episodes EPISODE THE FIFTH

             As I was mentally cursing every heavy item in my bag, a man behind me offered his help. I acquiesced, and he pulled the bigger bag into the entryway. He looked like a scruffier, slightly less handsome version of Robert Downey, Jr., wore fingerless gloves, and his dark, curly, salt-and pepper hair peeked out from under a brown cap. “Shall I drag it for you?” he offered.

“Sure, thanks,” I replied, grateful for his kindness. I followed him and my red bag through the car with my smaller blue one. “Is there a place for it, do you think?”

            “Perhaps back here,” he replied over his shoulder. He dragged it all the way through the car, and I followed. There was room on the back luggage rack, and he hoisted it up to perch on the second level.

            “Thank you, you’re very kind,” I told him, then sat myself and my blue bag down in a pair of unreserved seats while he took another ahead of me and across the aisle. The train started moving and I realized I was sitting facing backwards for the third time in a row. Not that it mattered I guess. That wasn’t any sort of bad omen. Right?

            The man came through asking for tickets, and I again produced my three little blue slips of paper. He flipped through them and handed them back to me without comment. Bless you, Irish Ferries SailRail ticket. Bless you. Never in my life have I been fonder of three little slips of paper. They hadn’t failed me the whole day.

            Robert Downey, Jr. got off at the first stop. I smiled at him as he walked past, silently thanking him for his help. I reprimanded myself for not opening my mouth to thank him again.

Now that I was comfortably sitting on my last train, I relaxed more than I had all day. The knot in my stomach still wasn’t completely gone, but at least it wasn’t forcing its way up my throat anymore. I was going to get to Lancaster. Almost half an hour before my cab had agreed to meet me. I marveled at how the timing of every step had worked out. It certainly wasn’t the result of my own planning. At least, not that I could tell. Now, if there was just an ATM at the Lancaster station, all my worries would be taken care of.

            After several stops, I heard the voice over the intercom again—we were close to the Lancaster station. The voice went on to announce changes and my ears caught “Windermere.” Windermere! I’ve been there. It must not be too terribly far away after all. Maybe it wouldn’t be too difficult to go and visit again?

            I piled my bags off the train without too much of an incident, and looked around for an ATM but didn’t see one. I still had 20 minutes before the cab had technically arranged to meet me, but I figured I’d poke my head out and check. Just in case. I followed the signs for “Way Out,” and found the door. I looked outside and saw several cabs, none of which read “Big Blue Taxi.” He probably just wasn’t here yet. I dragged my bags back inside with me to a lounge area. Should I wait here, maybe? I had to find an ATM. There was a little café at the back of the lounge, and I left my bags by a chair, ensuring I could still see them.

            The woman behind the counter at the café was intently counting change with the cash register drawer open. I approached rather slowly, waiting to see if she would look up. She didn’t. Was she too busy counting? I hesitated to speak or make a noise, in case doing so might throw off her count. Several seconds passed. She didn’t look up. Oooookay. I shifted just slightly. She jumped. I apologized. She laughed. I laughed.

            “What can I get for you?”

            “Actually—could you tell me—is there an ATM anywhere around here?”

            “Yes, just back over the bridge on the other side.”

            I thanked her, and went back to my bags. I really didn’t want to have to haul them over the bridge. Well. Not just that I didn’t want to. I wasn’t even sure I could, by this point. I decided to wait till the cab came, load the bags in the car, and then ask if I could run across the bridge to the ATM. Perfect.

            I decided to wait outside instead of in the lounge. Various people trickled out, getting into cars or cabs or crossing to wait at the bus stop. I situated my bags together and perched just on top of the small blue one, clutching my purse to my chest. Anne of Green Gables was now blonde and sitting at Lancaster Station.

            I watched the minutes tick by on my phone. Cabs kept arriving and pulling in next to the curb. The drivers would throw me inquisitive looks but I stared past them, straining to see if perhaps the next car would be my ride. It was 4:25 before I started formulating my backup plan: I would play Anne of Green Gables outside the station until no later than 4:45, and if the cab hadn’t appeared by that time, I would hire another cab, since there seemed plenty to spare.

            4:30.

            4:45.

(To Be Continued...)