Pegasus, aka Pegi has come to life.

It’s been a transformation fueled by Grace. Yes, Grace with a capital G.

And I have been simply a Witness watching it unfold . . . step-by-step-by-grace-filled-step.

Earlier this year when I realized that I’d be leaving Kauai for an indefinite walk-about, I imagined that I’d buy a vehicle in California (while staying with friends). But there was another plan afoot, a plan that unfolded right before my very eyes . . .

In August I went to Tennessee to visit family and experience the total solar eclipse. One evening at dinner my brother casually said, “Call my car guy; he goes to auctions and can find what you’re looking for. You can trust him; I’ve bought at least twenty business vehicles through him.”

So on that Monday when the total solar eclipse crossed America, I called my brother’s contact. “I don’t normally get vans,” he said, “but the person who was leasing it backed out of the lease, and then it somehow found its way to me. It has only 287 miles on it. I think it’s meant for you.”

K. Looks like I’m buying a vehicle in Tennessee, not California.

And through this one act of Grace about five thousand million have followed.

Really?

Yes, really.

Even though I haven’t lived in Tennessee for 31-years, my family is still there. In the blink of an eye, I was surrounded by people who wanted to assist me on my journey.

Who?

I’ll make a list.

• My brother who told me about his business associate.
• The man who sold Pegi to me (and was very, very fair).
• My mom who provided two thick L.L.Bean sleeping bags (from a trip to a Canadian island years ago while visiting the man who saved the snail darter), remnant carpet, my grandmother’s step-ladder, an almost 100 year old stool (that my mom needed to step on to get inside Pegi), the fuzzy mattress pad, a camp chair, jumper cables (I could go on and on and on . . . Thanks MOM!)
• Rob who works at Lowe’s (no relation to THE Rob Lowe, Liz : ) who gave me over an hour of his time one Sunday morning as we pondered how best to build a bed platform.
• My brother-in-law who that very same Sunday helped me build this just envisioned bed platform.
• My sister (and her husband) who provided a base-camp, towels and some plastic dishware. (AND a wonderful place to swim!)
• An efficient sales person at Bed, Bath & Beyond who marched out to Pegi with magnetic curtain rods and insulated curtains in hand, determined to help me find just the right gear.
• My oldest sister who let me use her sewing machine for hemming and adapting the insulated curtains so I can have some warmth and lots of privacy.
• A dear friend who brought four lemons and the powder needed to bless Pegi ala Indian fashion.
• A longtime friend (who works as a dental hygienist) who gave me loads of dental floss!
• A wonderful college sorority sister and her husband who let me use their home as my California base camp, AND gave me their Thul-eh!

Do you get the picture? Do you notice that it wasn’t just family but also kind sales people, friends, random strangers?

When you’re Riding the Trust Train, you realize that you’re ALWAYS surrounded by support. Always.

You don’t feel supported? You don’t feel that you’re being helped?

Stop. Take a breath. Maybe even close your eyes and let yourself notice all the help that’s been there for you ALWAYS. Even under the guise of challenges, annoying people. It’s all still help, assistance. Guiding you. Steering you to the best place for you to be in any given moment. Saving you from something that would have been much, much worse.

For this gal who’s Riding the Trust Train, it’s blatantly obvious that I’m not in charge. That a higher power is. That there is a plan in place. Even if I’m the last to know.

•   •   •   •  •

For a bit, I was caught in the whirlwind of building, sewing, pondering.

And then one day, it hit me.

I’ve created a home! My home. A home with wheels. A tiny-tiny-tiny-tiny-tiny tiny house. And it fits me like a glove. Like a well-worn leather glove.

“But, Sj,” you ask, “didn’t you realize that that was what you were doing?”

No. On a certain level, I didn’t.

On a certain level, I was the last to know. The last to get it.

For when you’re the witness, you just witness. Observe. Reflect.

And then with a gentle plop, I landed in my body and saw what God had wrought. And it was good. : )

Mahalo Ke Akua.

Mahalo Dayton, Kurt, Mom, Chris, Casey, Rob, Jan, Mark, Nancy, Hannah, Dwight, Evan, Chantal, Katie, Vicki, Helen, Rich, Bevin, Jocelyne, Mike, Sharon, Ken, Thor, Tanya, Tristan, Sienna, Liz, Jim, Kat, Claire, Paul, Timi, Ed, Janine, Deb(s) . . .

Thank you ALL for your kind and loving support.

If I missed you, I’m sorry. Thank YOU!

When you’ve received five thousand million acts of grace, a few might just slip through your fingers of remembrance.

Mahalo Everyone!

“Now what?” you ask.

Now I go park myself somewhere, show up, and write.

Write what?

No idea.

Remember, when you’re Riding the Trust Train, you simply trust. Listen to your heart. Follow the clues that lie all around you in the most perfect acts of Grace by friends, family, and complete strangers. We passengers on the Trust Train are never alone. Help is always just a breath away. Help is always afoot.

•  •  •  •  •

Stay tuned for a very SHORT video I made so that YOU TOO can experience the transformation of a Nissan NV 200 cargo van into a mini-camper van, aka Pegi.

✫ Sj out ✫