Anne Ryder’s Blog

I slept in my car last night. Check that. I slept in a rental car–economy model. Had I known I’d be sleeping in it, I’d have upgraded for extra legroom.

About 1:30 in the morning, 10 miles out in the desert, locked out of an empty house with a flat tire and a dead cell phone, I dug in my bag, took out my contacts, wiped my face, put on some moisturizer and extra socks and reclined the seat. I accepted it. I even laughed a little–out loud.
Did I mention my cell phone died?

I was expecting 500 count sheets and I got vinyl, and a car heater that I fired up every hour. I thanked God for it, and for that funky little car out loud, several times.
It’s cold in the desert at night, just so you know.

It was an unplanned but not entirely unceremonious start to a weekend retreat at the lovely Arizona home of a dear friend. She lives in a sprawling, built-into-the-land, tactile, sensual, indoor-outdoor home in the middle of the desert in Vail, Arizona surrounded by mountains. When I write indoor-outdoor, don’t be fooled. That means covered ornate tiled porches and an outdoor kitchen. The house has locks on the doors. I know–I tried to open every one at 2:00 this morning.

Years ago, I told my friend the land has a palpable energy through the wind in the cactus and the shadows on the mountains. It is far from the city lights. Wild animals drink from her fountain. This place is “out there” and it’s dark. And cold.
Especially at night in February.

My friend was supposed to be here but she got called away to care for an ill family member back home in Indiana.
“Go anyway.” she urged me. “Make yourself at home. It will be like a retreat.”
With my husband’s encouragement, I took her up on it. A little silence and downtime in sunny Arizona sounded like bliss.
After all, any excuse to see that land…
Be careful what you wish for.

I landed in Tucson at 10PM, rented a car and drove to Vail. But they’ve altered and curved some roads that lead to her home since I last visited. I got lost. I drove aimlessly in the desert for two and a half hours looking for the dirt road that leads to her place.

After midnight, I spotted a police car and flashed my brights. A very kind policewoman made a U-turn and pulled me over. I have never been so thrilled to have a flashlight shined in my face and flashing lights in my rear-view mirror. She pulled out a detailed map and directed me to the remote dirt road that leads to my friend’s home.

At 1:15 AM I thought was golden. My little car was poised at the entrance to the long bumpy road that leads to my friend’s house–straight out into the desert through the brush.  The rental car was like “The Little Engine that Could.” “I think I can, I think I can,” I thought, as we bumped down the road, at last arriving at her driveway. But just as I pulled in, the right front tire deflated.
It was a close call but we’d made it, that little car and I.

I walked in the pitch darkness to the garage door keypad (I didn’t have a key, just the combination) and confidently punched in the numbers, dreaming of the bed that awaited me. Nothing. I checked the combination. Fifteen tries later, I got the picture. I wasn’t getting in.
Alas, I had a plan B.  I remembered I’d packed a 9-volt battery in my luggage just in case something like this happened, (the mark of a true control freak.) I swapped the batteries in the garage opener. Surely it would work now! Nothing.

I crept around the house with a tiny pin flashlight like a desert burglar trying to open every door and window. Locked up tight.
I was thinking about Arizona mountain lions..wondering if they feed at night.
I decided to text my friend, on the off chance she was awake at 4AM Indy time. But it didn’t go through. There was no cell phone signal. Then, as I pondered what to do next, the cell phone battery went dead in my hands.

 I could have been angry and frustrated. But to my own surprise, I began to smile.
It was a comedy of errors. How could God not be in the details here?

Lets say, for the purpose of discussion, my spiritual challenge centers on control and surrender, with a sidebar of learning to be grateful in each moment.
We were off to a rollicking start.
I looked up. The sky was a bowl of stars, framed by the mountains. It was beyond beautiful. Exquisite. I said my third “thank you,” of the evening out loud. (The police officer was the first. The timing of the flat tire was the second.)

It dawned on me that I came for the land and the time to pray, not the 500 count sheets, and I had a decision to make, starting right then about acceptance.

I settled in for the rest of the night. Every hour, when I turned on the car for heat, I sent up some gratitude. It felt so good. I didn’t get much sleep, but I got in a lot of thinking and meditating. I thought about people who sleep in their cars every night in conditions much colder than mine–mothers, fathers and children–who dig through duffel bags and hope the next day will bring a break. I thought about people who sleep outside, not by choice but circumstance.

Again the irony struck me. I was on the outside of a beautiful home, unable to get in. I was just inches from the door, but it made no difference. I wasn’t going anywhere.

Morning light brought a smidgen of juice to my cell phone and I found the number of a man who does some handiwork for my friend. He not only let me in, he fixed my tire. I was awfully glad to see his face. I said “thank you,” to him too.

My night in the car taught me some things. I am as vulnerable as anyone on this planet. I am also as cradled by God. I am often reliant upon the kindness of strangers, and I need to be vigilant for opportunities to be kind and helpful in return. We are all connected and reliant upon one another– more than we know.
I need to brush up on my simple survival skills and lean less on technology. When it goes south, it can sink you.
Best of all, when I relinquish control, and accept, a certain freedom comes.
Peace follows.

One thing more: The stars in the desert at night are outstanding.
But I’m sleeping indoors–on the cushy sheets tonight.