Sunset at Mather Point, Grand Canyon.

And Shelby at sunrise, after sleeping in the car...






And then there was the art we found outside Goldfield, Nevada, in the Mojave Desert.That's Shelby typing on the laptop...

Sung best at the top of your lungs in a Nevada desert:

So here we are in a Tijuana jail, Ain't got no friends to go our bail. So here we'll stay because we can't pay. Send our mail to the Tijuana jail.

Listen, if you had endured what we have for the past 48 hours you'd be acting a bit stump-drunk yo'self.

Last time I wrote we were on our way to the Grand Canyon. I'm happy to report we made it, after a brief stop at a adobe church on Aspen Street in Flagstaff. There was a sign welcoming all for "silent worship." It's been a long time since I've come across a sanctuary open during "off-days" so I pulled the car up to a yellow curb and ran in "for just a minute" I said to Shelby who likes to follow all the rules.

There was one other woman sitting on the blonde-pine pews as a DVD played "Come Thy Fount of Every Blessing". There was a huge stained glass image behind us and two rows of white & red lanterns strung above us. Attendance last Sunday was 345, according to the numbers posted to the right of the pulpit.

But the most striking thing about the church was that its white walls were graced with works of modern art. Blues, reds, purples, greens, yellow swishing strokes of acrylic. I loved it. Modern art in a church. Exactly where art ought to hang, Francis Schaffer would've noted.

We sang Come Thou Fount all the way up the mountain, past acres of white aspens. But construction work brought us to a silent standstill and we nearly missed sunset at the Grand Canyon, but we rushed to the ledge at Mather Point and saw some of God's own handiwork of modern and ancient art.

Well, I should say I rushed to the ledge. Shelby was overcome with an unknown fright of heights. She got all wobbly-kneed and curled up like a Cheetoe, backing away from the chain-link fence, alternately grasping at me, or her soaring stomach.

Dark comes quick at the canyon. We followed a line of red taillights back down to the nearest town, only to find out that there wasn't any room at any inn for 60 miles, despite having had checked and had a friend check availability at the hotels only 2 hours earlier. Good thing we had our sleeping bags handy. We pulled those out and slept in the car. No way we were leaving before that 5 a.m. sunrise. (I'll post photos later).

In my head I imagined a pink sun rising and people gasping, followed by a standing ovation for God. That's not exactly the way it went, but a reverent silence did fall over the people, who had been talking in hushed whispers of foreign tongues up until that point. It's good to know that in this day and age that God can still draw a crowd from all four corners of the earth, isn't it? Shelby and I were the only ones clapping.

We ate breakfast at Bright Angel, took some more photos and then headed for a KOA in Williams, Arizona where we took showers, blow-dried our hair, put on make-up and headed off to meet my Uncle James in Laughlin, Nevada.

"We are urban survivalists," I said. "We know how to make do in whatever situation we find ourselves." (I've changed my mind after driving through the Mojave Desert.)

For those of you who read my book, you'll remember Uncle James. He's my dad's brother. The one that robbed the bank and spent 11 years in the Atlanta penitentiary, after telling my dad he would take care of us should anything happen.

James has lived in Nevada for decades. I haven't seen him since the twins were about 3 years old. We talk often though. He's 79 now and living in a small apartment. His youngest son, Billy, who was only 8 when his father went to prison died last year after a life of drug abuse and petty crime. His oldest boy, Roger, who is my age lives in Denver and has made a good life for himself.

James has been begging me to come to Nevada for years. He said he had a photo of my father and some video of me as a baby with my dad. But he wouldn't share them unless I came to Nevada.

So I came.

He made arrangements for Shelby and I to stay at the Riverside casino. So that's where he met us. After a lunch of turkey sandwiches at the hotel, and after we unloaded enough of our things that James could fit in the car, we drove out to his place. Where we spent the rest of the day and much of the night.

James conforms to no one's request. He has a generous heart but that's coupled with an impulsive streak and right-minded way of thinking that fueled his life of running up against the law.

Now the money is gone. And so is his strength. James still has the same crewcut he's always sported, but liver spots cover his tanned arms and face. The abundant freckles have faded. But his eyes are steady and his conviction about whatever he's talking about just as sure as ever. My throat hurt and Shelby's eyes reddened as we took in the second-hand smoke from James's chain of cigarettes.

His one-bedroom apartment is what you'd expect from an aging bachelor. Old newspapers, calendars and date books. Newspaper clippings push-pinned to the walls. Stacks of books around the television and opened cans of pork-n-beans sitting on the stove.

We spent four hours watching six hours of video, trying to figure out how to make copies of the footage that indeed James did have -- of me as a baby in my father's arms. Shelby figured out a plan and implemented it and two hours later, I had a DVD of 30 minutes of family video that no one else in my family has ever seen.

And ohmy. Daddy is sooo handsome. And Mama, so young and coy and in love. It hurts to watch but I'm glad to have it. And there's video of Granny Leona walking, years before the arthritis that crippled her. She's with her mama, Alice Lawson, who've I've never seen.

It was a day of plunging emotions. Tears at the Grand Canyon because of the marvel of God and tears at midnight because of the depravity of man.

Then there's the Mojave desert, which we are still driving through.

All together now, loudly:

Just five hundred dollars and they'll set us free. I couldn't raise a penny if they threatened me.
I know five hundred don't sound like much (cheap), but just try to find somebody to touch.

So here we are in a Tijuana jail, Ain't got no friends to go our bail. So here we'll stay because we can't pay. Send our mail to the Tijuana jail.