My New Beard

It was Christmas Eve, a day to begin relaxing and contemplating the birth of Christ more than two millennia ago, when I tucked my razor into a Whataburger French fry box and taped the lid closed. It was not a day of relaxation. We were packing everything that we owned for our move from Tomball, Texas to Riverton, Utah.

The packing and taping continued on Christmas day. It was a difficult holiday for everyone at home.

On Saturday morning I was scheduled to pick up a 16 foot truck at nine o’clock from the local Penske rental facility. I didn’t arrive at the Penske office until 9:30 but the truck hadn’t arrived yet. “The trucks in the yard need periodic maintenance or I’d let you have one of them,” the lady drawled. She opened her cell phone and dialed a familiar number. “Your truck left the other facility about 10 minutes ago. It will be here in 20 minutes.” I was miffed but I also knew that getting upset wasn’t going to get the truck there any earlier. By the time the truck arrived at 11 o’clock I was really miffed. To make the situation worse there were sunflower seed husks all over the floor of the cab where the previous driver had spit them and the steering wheel shimmied and shook as I started down the road. It wasn’t a good start.

A couple of the men from our church had come to help with the move. I pulled up in front of the house and found the sidewalk and driveway covered with furniture and boxes. We got the heaviest of the furniture into the truck, followed by a few of the boxes that were there. One of the men looked at his watch. “Well, we’ve got to go. Is there anything else that you need us for?” It was polite. I don’t blame the members for not showing up in droves, though, because we’ve moved our stuff from storage unit to house to house to house to truck over the last couple of years. I think they were just tired of moving the Clarks.

By the time church came around on Sunday my face was covered with what looked like fine powdered sugar and I didn’t have any socks to match my trousers. People were kind not to make a lot of comments about my appearance, but they were aware that we were probably packed up and ready to leave. Kari Hubnik commented after I had shown off my mismatched socks, “Like Candace says, ‘It just doesn’t matter.’” She was right.

We managed to get on the road on Monday afternoon with the plan of driving to Wichita Falls by nightfall. It was a long day of loading and driving, but by the time we reached Wichita Falls we found that the ground was covered with snow! I hadn’t expected that kind of winter weather so soon, but it didn’t matter what I expected. There it was. Annie and Jack hadn’t experienced snow before, so they found themselves leaping into the snow banks and rolling in the cold white blanket as they discovered it for the first time.

We drove from Wichita Falls to Gallup, New Mexico the next day and we spent the entire trip looking out at a vast blanket of white. We only stopped in Gallup because we were too exhausted to continue and we found the cheapest motel in town where we could crash for a few hours.

On Wednesday we continued the trip starting at 4:30 in the morning. The drive across the desert from Gallup to Shiprock was completely black. We drove across iced-over roads for much of the trip, slowing down to keep from tipping the truck over. We drove through snow flurries and fog, slowing us down even more. The sun finally began to brighten the sky as we passed through Shiprock and the drive lost some of its difficulty as we gained a view of the terrain. The weather during the rest of the trip gradually degraded as the snow fell more steadily and the roads became snow packed. The worst piece of the trip came as we climbed out of Price over Soldier Summit at 7,400 feet. The plows had been there, but the snow was accumulating faster than they could keep up and we were driving slowly in order to hold what little control we could.

We arrived safely in Riverton in the afternoon, several hours later than we had planned, and we were relieved to be at our final destination. Our rest period only lasted a short time, though, as we began pulling boxes from the truck. Thursday brought more unloading as we carried boxes into Candace’s daughter’s basement and unloaded the heavy furniture, finally emptying the truck.

I opened the box that held my razor on Friday, a week after taping it away. Candace surveyed my face as I pulled the razor from the box. “I think you should let your beard grow for a while. I’ll bet it will look very distinguished on you.” I doubt it. I’ve never seen a good beard on an old man. It just makes an old man look older. On the other hand, if I end up in the Middle East it could be a good thing. They seem to have more respect for an old man with a beard there.

I showed up in church that Sunday with a week-old beard. There was just enough to look like a beard, but not enough to look like a smooth beard. It was still a bit rough and it was the first impression that I left with the members of this new congregation. They have a few months to forget it, though, and I might just be lucky enough to have a second chance at a first impression.