In December of 1986, I married my gentle, witty, intellectual and talented husband, Kent. We had both just finished a year of Bible college in Minneapolis and had moved to a small cabin in the woods on a lake in Wisconsin. In order to be together and still make enough money to finish Bible college, we decided to drive trucks together. This was a good plan except for the fact that I was an elementary school teacher by profession. Being studious and somewhat mechanically minded, I passed the written test required in Wisconsin. The company for which Kent drove took his word for my driving ability, so off we drove into the honeymoon sunset. Since Kent was fairly new to the company we were presented with a different truck every two or three weeks with short two-day breaks in between. Along about the fifth different transmission, I got behind the wheel, shook my head and moaned, “I can’t do it.” I was overwhelmed.
“Yes, you can,” stated Kent calmly.
“I can’t,” I said, practically in tears.
“Yes, you can,” Kent repeated.
“I just can’t do it, Kent,” I whimpered.
Kent was adamant. “You can do it.”
I answered, “I’m not cut out to do this. This doesn’t even fit into my wildest dreams!”
