In the Stillness

     As I finish up my shower, it feels strange to crawl directly into a big bathtub. I pull the top closed above me and rythmic music begins to be heard. It takes a moment of being in the water to realize that I don't have to make myself float. The salinity is so thick that all I have to do is just lie there. The music continues playing for another five minutes before I push the button on the side that turns off the light. Now there is just the rythmic music in the darkness. I feel muscles I didn't know were tense relax. The music continues for another five minutes before it fades out completely. Now there is just the darkness.
     Every breath is like the tide. I am fully aware of each time the breath moves through my nose and down into my lungs. There is a pause for just the briefest of moments. Then I am just as aware when my lungs give way to push it back out the same way it came in. My heartbeat is a metronome, ticking quietly in the background but always there nonetheless.

     In the darkness my thoughts begin to wander. I reflect on my life as it is, as it has been, and as I would like it to be. Faces join me in the dark. Friendly faces that I know have passed on already, but despite their passing they feel close nevertheless. I smile at each of them and feel it is returned. I find myself praying in the midst of an ever-changing cacophony of transcendent images. My prayers begin as they always do, with what I hope to receive. But as they continue, they evolve. The prayers of longing become prayers of gratitude for opportunity. These evolve further into prayers of gratitude for what I have been blessed with already and the wondrous experience that this life has been.
     Slowly this fades as well. Thoughts no longer have words attached to them. My breathing slows. Though I am still aware of it, the rythm has changed. It is slower and quieter. I am alone in the darkness, now without even my thoughts. I am simply overwhelmed... with gratitude.

     I rest easily, scarcely aware that it is happening.

     The music begins again. What starts as a whisper grows to chant. It is raising my awareness of the world around me. Deep drums beat to a steady rythm in the darkness. I enjoy their company. This continues for another ten minutes to signify to me that my time is finished here. I reach up into blackness and find a handle. I push it open and the light rushes in. I step out and rinse the salt from my body. Putting the same clothes on when I arrived, I am more aware of how each fabric touches my skin.
     I express my gratitude to the proprietor and make my way outside. Walking along the street, I find that my attention is drawn to the grass and the flowers whereas when I arrived my attention was always on the storefronts facing the street. Along the way back to the apartment, I am acutely aware through my shirt of when the sun is shining or shaded. I noticed flower patterns I have not seen in the previous three weeks I stayed here.

     What a wonder it is to see the world for what it is. How incredible to be fully aware of each individual movement my body makes. What a blessing it is to know that when everything is taken from our senses, the only thing left is gratitude.

Keep Climbing

Though you may not where the path will end, but it seems to be clear in front of you... keep climbing.

When the path is overgrown and the forest seems to be closing in... keep climbing.

As obstacles contort the path in front of you... keep climbing.

When you have the opportunity to see how far you have come, soak it in... keep climbing.

As the goals you set are just ahead... keep climbing.

To know what awaits you at the top of the mountain, you just have to do one simple thing... keep climbing.

Deeper Waters

     As I sink under the water, the world disappears from my vision. Liquid overwhelms every one of my five senses. My world has become so much smaller. Now my field of vision is scarcely 10-15 feet. I drift downward, knowing nothing of what the depths have in store for me. Slowly, the sea floor emerges. At first, it seems chaotic, without pattern or reason. Steadily, however, minute systems begin to take shape. Sea anemones lie in wait for their prey. Scuttlefish scurry across the sandy surface. Crabs crawl carelessly over the fields of kelp. Eels guard themselves under deep cover of holes in the rock. To the discerning eye, life is not only present but abundant.
   
     I have been blessed with many experiences that embody what people imagine diving to be. These experiences have been filled with beautiful fish, warm waters, and clear visibility. This is my first dive into the colder waters. My previous dives brought me many joyful experiences, but the life I witnessed today could not have lived in the warm tropical environments. I know that I was not there to bring light. I was not there to bring warmth. I was not there to bring any of these creatures with me to a beautiful paradise. I was simply there to be with them and appreciate them.
     I cannot help but notice the way this parallels my life right now. For many years, my sister had been separated from our family. We did not speak or visit. While we wondered how life was for her, it simply remained apart from us. It was cold. Now, however, we have spent the past three weeks together. We have visited. We have enjoyed our time together. We have loved one another. There has been no revelation that cleared all misunderstandings. There has been no miraculous healing of rifts or sudden blooms of life. There has simply been presence together. Nothing more. And nothing less.
     I am so grateful.
     I imagine this analogy spreading itself to more than just my relationship with my sister. I imagine how it looks throughout all of my life's relationships. There is beautiful life to be found near the surface. It is vibrant. It is colorful. It is pleasing to the eye and idealized in stories. But there is also life well below what we can see. There is life in the murky waters. There is life that prefers the cold. There is life that disdains the light from above and recoils at the sun's rays. There is life beyond our idealized settings. There is life where many of us believe to be none.
   
     We do not enter these spaces to bring warmth. We do not enter these spaces to bring light. We do not enter these spaces to bring some miraculous exodus. The life here is built for the depths and there it remains. I thank God that I can simply be present with it. I thank God that I can simply witness it's beauty beneath a surface that only appears foreboding. And I know now that when others let us enter the deeper places where their hearts reside, it is not to draw their hearts to the surface but rather to simply be present with them.
     I thank God for this revelation. I thank Him for the realization that sunlight, vibrant colors, and swarms of pleasing visions have their place, but beneath the shallows life continues to abound in the darkness, inhabiting the cold, and filling the depths.
     Where we can see life, there is beautiful life. Where we cannot see life, there is also beautiful life. If only we have the courage to be present with it. I have enjoyed my time in the shallows, but, from now on, I will also appreciate the very different kinds of life that can only be found in the deeper waters.

A Little Kindness

"No good deed goes unpunished."

That is the mentality that many of us have these days. There is division in our country, in our families, in our ideologies, and the list goes on and on. It is a virus that spreads and eats away at our souls, at our happiness, and at our peace. Thinking only of ourselves and of others only in how they relate to us builds walls between us that isolate me from you, you from him, him from her, etc.

I am grateful to be able to share an experience that realigned my perspective:

While my mother, sister and I sat at the 4-top table in the cruise restaurant, the 2-top next to us was sat with a single gentleman. He introduced himself to the waiter by name and shook his hand when he did so. The waiter asked if he would have anyone joining him this evening. The gentleman replied that it would just be him tonight, as his planned companion had been caught up with other plans. I couldn't help but overhear all of this because our tables are probably no more than 12-18 inches apart from one another.

"I couldn't help but overhear that you are dining alone this evening. Would you like to join us for dinner?" I asked.

"Oh, that would be great. Are you sure? I don't want to impose," he replied politely.

I insisted that we would love to have him join us. So, he picked up his glass and silverware and came around to take our fourth seat. The waiter took note immediately and simply continued service with us as one group. We very much enjoyed the conversations we shared, finding both similarities and minute differences intriguing. It wasn't until we were well into our conversation that he asked us if we had seen the Footloose production on the ship. We replied that we had not only seen it, but enjoyed it thoroughly. He asked us if we had recognized him. We shook our heads questioningly. He then changed his accent from its natural Scottish tone to an American drawl and asked if that would have jogged our memory.

It turned out that he happened to be one of the primary actors in the cruise production of Footloose. We didn't know it while we were dining with him because his character was very different than he was. In fact, he used the American drawl for his character on stage while his natural voice has a distinct Scottish inflection.
It was fascinating to hear how he trained for the play, how life was for him as an employee on the ship, and what kinds of experiences had brought him to be working on the ship. He even was kind enough to give us some pointers on how to get the most out of our limited time on this particular cruise.

Sharing the time together was great and so, when he mentioned that he was also in the cruise's other production Elements, we made sure that our schedule opened up to go see it. When we did get to see him on stage after dining together, it felt like we were seeing a good friend rather than a random face. We enjoyed it immensely!

There are great joys to be found in opening ourselves up to other people. There are connections to be had that cannot come from prescribed experiences. Some bridges will only exist when we have the courage to step outside our comfort zone.

I am very grateful that this man joined our table, both literally and figuratively. His willingness to share his experience with us opened the door that allowed us to move from strangers to friends and the rare opportunity to see life from a wholly new perspective.

A little bit of kindness may indeed open us up to being hurt sometimes, but that same little bit of kindness also opens us up to joyful connections with friends we haven't met yet. I, for one, believe it is worth the risk.

Can't Stand Still

Tonight the musical Footloose that we watched on our cruise ship resonated poignantly. The story demonstrates how a town comes together through the bond shared by a boy whose father left behind and a father whose boy died tragically. They bond over a shared grief and the wound that grief leaves in their lives. The difference is that the father has long been trying to freeze time to avoid his pain, while the boy has embraced dancing to keep himself moving forward. In his own words, he "can't stand still." In the end, they both agree it is best to let go of their past.

This story resonates with me for many reasons. With my parents separating when I was ten years old, there were certainly many times when I felt alone. With my father's death a mere four months ago, I absolutely relate to the grief that accompanies the loss of a loved one. I know both the desire to hold onto what was and the irresistible pull to move forward.

My mother, sister, and I spent the whole day together. My sister and I played a giant game of chess on the deck of the cruise ship in honor of Dad, who had both taught us to play and played with us when we were kids . We hugged each other. We both kissed our own two fingers and raised them to the sky saying, "we love you, Dad." Mom said he was looking down, smiling at us. "I believe that," Ellen said.

We enjoyed the rest of our day together. After my mom laid down for the evening, my sister and I went out to salsa dance. She taught me how and it was fun. We then joined a karaoke group. It has been years since my sister and I have been able to play together.

Do I believe my dad is looking down, smiling at us? Absolutely. He is proud of the way we are moving forward, both individually and as a family.

This is who we are and this is how we have lived our whole lives. We know very well, you can't stand still.

Yes, Dear

     "Well, y'know, there is that old saying that the man always has the last word...," my great uncle paused for a moment before continuing.

     "'...Yes, dear,'" he says with a hearty laugh.

      My grandmother's youngest brother is ninety years old. He is the last surviving member of eleven siblings. I am in awe as he tells the story of when the family was moving to the family farm less than a mile from where we are sitting now. His mother was pregnant with my grandmother at the time of their move, which means my grandmother was likely born in that little house. They moved there in a covered wagon. He tells us the history he remembers of when each of his siblings were born and when they passed away. He tells us the history of the farmhouse we are in now, built in 1897 just two years before the little church next door was built.
     It is such a joy to participate in the church service with them. Uncle Glen helps lead the service along with the traveling minister that comes to town, in order to deliver the sermon. The fullsize congregation of twelve members seems that any one of them could lead the service themselves and greets us warmly as guests. We see our names in the guestbook from the last time we visited. That was six years earlier for my mother and closer to twelve for my sister and I. At the service's conclusion, Aunt Ruth smiles when she pulls the two little children to the back of church so that she can start Sunday School. She looks to me and my sister, both of us over thirty years old now.
     "Do you remember when I taught you in Sunday School?" she asks.
     We both smile in reply and nod. We do.
   
     My mother talks about how she moved from the family farm with her parents very early in her life. By the time she was four years old, she and her parents had already moved to neighboring Ohio so that her father could find steady work. She explains she always loved coming back to visit Michigan. Farm country. This is home.
     We visit with other relatives we know and many we don't this afternoon. It is our family reunion. Not my mother's maiden family, my grandmother's maiden family. My great uncle says the prayer to bless the food and fellowship for the thirty some odd visitors there together. It dawns on me that he is the oldest living relative we have. What a blessing it has been to stay with him and Aunt Ruth these past few days.

     We enjoy our time, but continue to move on the following day. We meet my father's brother for lunch and enjoy a night with my mother's friend who lived with us while Ellen and I were younger than five. My mother shows us the house she grew up in and the house she met my father at. He was simply sitting on the porch when she delivered mail to his house.
     My uncle takes time out of his afternoon to show us the house his family lived in earlier in their lives. He explains that he was born in this house. It had been a terrible snowstorm and they could not go to a hospital. His father had walked a mile up a snow-covered beach to ask a nurse to come to the house. The nurse delivered my uncle right there at their home. He tells us of how his mother would take he and my father to the lake everyday to play till the sun went down.
     My mother takes us by the house that she and my father had built when they got married. She describes that they participated in a program that provided housing for expectant mothers who needed help. They had two mothers live with them for the duration of their pregnancy before they moved to Texas. The second woman is the friend we visited and maintain contact with even today. When we visited her, she tearfully expressed such love and appreciation saying that the time she lived with us allowed her the stability to change her life forever. It was a wonder to see the love shared between her, my mother and my sister.

 
     As we continue on, my mom showed me the plot that used to be the hospital I was born in. The hospital apparently had been torn down years ago. Nothing has taken its place since. We parked the car and I walked out into it. Reaching down and feeling the dirt, it is surreal to recognize that this is where life began for me.

     Throughout my many experiences traveling with family and friends, my thoughts come back to my great uncle's saying: yes, dear. It is a simple acceptance of another's priority over self. There have been innumerable studies that examine what predisposes success in relationships: business, intimate, and otherwise. None of these capture the simple truth that I learned visiting an older couple that had lived so much life and almost all of it together.
     It is our greatest joy to live for one another. It is our greatest service to put another person's life above our own. It is our one true calling: to live and love and serve one another. To live this simple truth is to find the greatest joy to be had in this lifetime.
     I am grateful for this lesson and hope to find ways to live its truth.

#boothabroad #almosthome