A good life but messy...

So we are back--ten days away that included beautiful beaches, spectacular sunsets, lazy conversations, and deep rest. It was easy to fall into vacation mode when the first resort where we stayed had no television and a "no cell phone talking in public places” policy. In fact, they suggested that people lock their phones in the safe; let’s just say they were into serious relaxation. And while there was cell reception on the island in public places, there was no reception in rooms. As a result, you could see people sneaking off to a deserted pier or dock to talk,  quickly hanging up if anyone ventured near. 

It was simply heavenly not to hear a single phone ringtone or have to overhear a detailed conversation about the shipment that should have gone out or a boyfriend’s despicable behavior. But bowing to our digital age, there was no rule about texting or using an I Pad around the pool. There was plenty of that going on, including yours truly, who just could not resist checking e-mail and messages a couple of times a day.  Even so, it did not take long to get into island rhythm--going to bed early and reading late, sleeping until my body said it was time to get up, eating beside the ocean watching the blue heron that had claimed the tidal beach for himself. Our biggest concern was stopping Key Deer from snatching bread from the basket at the table’s edge.  After twenty-four hours, deep calm and relaxation spread to my core.

And yes, every night as I crawled into bed, my family kept watch on the bedside table in the midst of a little altar that grew with seashells and shiny red leaves of the tree whose name I cannot recall.  While glad I had brought those pictures, too soon, they became reminders of just how complicated life really is. We were only there for thirty-six hours when I noticed a missed call from our son in CA followed by a text message asking us to call. It could not be good news.

So in the glare of tropical sun, I walked to the end of the dock. Hearing first that the boys were fine and so were he and his wife—AKA-the best daughter-in-law in the world. But my DIL’s mom had received a scary diagnosis—the kind that stops you in your tracks. They still needed to do more tests, but her trip to CA that week had to be canceled and DIL and the grandson’s were instead headed to Texas. My heart was aching for their family and for my grandchildren’s other grandmother. After a few days we moved further south and then west in FL, keeping in touch with them and with Grandmother in Texas and fortunately as the week went on, her diagnosis began to improve. (She is still waiting for more definitive diagnosis but certainly things are looking much more hopeful.)

All this to say, I got to thinking about those pictures at my bedside. The ones that show only the smiling faces of a day when all was right in the world for my kids and their loves. Having them with me made it easier to be away. (After all, we don’t tend to take pictures of the really rotten days in our lives.) But at the same time, if I look carefully, I can still see the surgery scars on my daughter’s neck. After the calls, I was reminded again on a deep level of something that I hate. I cannot protect the people that I love from hurt, and pain, and yes, cancer. I do hate that, and I have spent countless hours trying to make it different.  Seeing those pictures every morning, all I could think is that they are smiling and happy in that moment AND that life is messy, complicated, and hard at times. Their life is messy, and so is mine. And so is yours, if you let anyone else get into your heart. It is part of the human condition and if you are going to deal with all that without going crazy or running away, it seems to me that it helps to have faith in something outside yourself.

I am ordained by the church to remind people of precisely that. The reminding others comes naturally and easily, but believing it and living it in my own life seems to be another ball game. As author Annie Lamott says,  “Faith includes noticing the mess, the emptiness, and discomfort and letting it be there until some light returns. Faith also means reaching deeply within for the sense one was born with, the sense for example, to go for a walk." And that is precisely what I did. Every day, I walked.  I walked and I prayed for my family and friends and for those they love and hold dear. I prayed for Grandmother and DIL. I kept in touch and yes, I worried, but wrestling with this whole helpless thing while soaking up the sun was overall a good thing—a good thing for me to recall when a crisis hits again.