Returning from vacation

A pretty rough start, late on the first leg of an all-day journey, but in the chaos of the past season, I’m not surprised we forgot to confirm flight times, failing to note that our 10:22 a.m. departure had moved without us to 9.  Hailing from a tiny regional airport, the next one out wouldn’t be till 1:30.  But we were on vacation.  Already.  Having dropped off three kids at various spots on the way to the airport, changing sheets and towels and putting dinner in the crockpot for my mom’s arrival later that morning, and packing late into the the previous night (because we decided hanging out with friends trumped being prepared), I was ok with a little quiet time as a voyeur in our own little airport.  For four hours.  Todd was tense, visibly frustrated.  It would all work out, I kept telling him.  To his annoyance.  Our late start triggered a domino effect, and we were routed through Denver to Chicago and supposedly Baltimore.  But because of a mechanical failure we stayed overnight in Chicago (deposited by a wicked-fast cab driver weaving his way through late-night traffic at a slightly oldish hotel about 20 mins from the airport).  Left at 6 the next morning to make our eventual way to DC.  But that’s how vacations go.  Not like the glossy brochures.  Not always according to itinerary.  A vacation is a deviation from normal life, an opportunity to experience life in a different way.  For just a little while.  So in my eyes, we had already been doing that the minute we said goodbye to our lanky driver of a son as he left us at the airport.  Todd and I were alone together.  On our way to a continuing ed vet conference in North Carolina with a few days tacked on to celebrate our twenty year anniversary.  

Once we landed in Washington and left the confines of the airport rental car lot, the stresses of the city quickly relegated themselves to a distant memory.  Trees shrouded our paths, and we discovered the wonderland of Southern color, having arrived just at the peak of fall tourism.  Over the next four days we meandered through Virginia, Tennessee, and North Carolina, taking in the vistas of three national parks and spoiling ourselves with Bed and Breakfast retreats.  The same type of trip we embarked upon years earlier as newlyweds, feeling just as we did back then: too young for this sort of thing but not caring.  Enjoyed luscious breakfasts, cozy old-fashioned rooms, HGTV, staying up, sleeping in, and antique shopping.  Conserving where we could, we dined on trail mix and baby carrots for lunch from the grocery store but found quaint local restaurants for dinner, a challenging and rewarding endeavor each night.  We hiked mountain trails immersed in fall color, providing enchanting views new to our Western eyes.  Cascading waterfalls tempted us; we conceded, awe-inspired, never tiring of water streaming over shiny rocks and cliffs, meandering creeks and still rivers.  It was all so rejuvenating, soothing.  Cathartic. 

We perked our ears at random conversation, delighted by the drawl and cadence of the South.  We toured homesteads, mills, and farms.  We happened upon an obscure mountain cemetery plot bearing tombstones with no names and woke to birds right outside our sleepy bedroom windows every chilly morning.  In one B&B we camped out in a room from the 1800s furnished with a rustic, perfect-to-us, open-faced wood-burning fireplace, the ideal complement to the night air we beckoned in.  A dreamy combination.

We sampled grits and spinach cakes, fish tacos and fried chicken on waffles.  Hailing from Montana, we’re partial to beef and potatoes, but we felt pampered and spoiled at every turn.  We collected pinecones and acorns.  And purchased our souvenir of choice: national park cds; we have one from every park we’ve visited.  A few pens and candy for the kids, never anything fancier than that.  We tried on Little Switzerland and Gatlingberg, TN, paying $10 just to park our car for a rare lunch out.  Relished and savored Five Guys, not caring that it wasn’t indigenous fare; but we couldn’t abide the harshness of the town and quickly found a way back to the slow and winding Blue Ridge Parkway.  We likewise tickled our senses with downtown Asheville, NC, but with a similar exit.

One of the most interesting detours was an hour spent at the Dutch Girl laundromat in a seedy part of Asheville, about half-way through our trip, furnishing the ideal time to catch up with our college freshman son on the phone.  A natural people-watcher, I noted the various patrons, some who had a story or two to tell, having seen some life; a few middle-aged single men; couples from various countries, a young mother-daughter duo.  This breather reminded me of all the hours I’d spent in laundromats throughout my life, and I soaked it all in, grateful to trade bundles of traveled-in clothes for piles of fresh wares.  Truly lifted my spirits, as I imagine it does for most others who haven’t always had the luxury of clean clothes.  Something I really do appreciate, even on a good day at home with facilities right downstairs.  Just a note-worthy side trip.

Our laundry hour passed, and we basked in yet another evening without constraints.  Days continued to indulge us with the symphonies of crunching leaves and soothing creeks on their way to becoming waterfalls.  We knew no one, a freeing realization holding us to no standard, no worries about what we wore or looked like.  We were completely alone with each other, careless about concerns back home, simply completely content in our days together.

But in a still moment, alone in a charming Southern hotel lobby while Todd was in classes, I wondered what I thought.  Decidedly I felt rich.  Pampered, at ease, relaxed, loved, at peace.  But lacking.  I knew I loved these carefree days.  We were living a life from pages of our Country Living magazine. I realized if I continued much longer I’d come to resent this plush life that provided no opposition, no work, no contribution or service.  A life of leisure yet without focus.  But I savored our time away wholeheartedly because I knew it was temporary, simply a respite from what matters most.

I missed the association with people I know intimately, not just at a small-talk breakfast table or on the couch beside me in the lobby waiting for an airport shuttle.  Mildly and temporarily gratifying, but nothing like the longing I have to know and be known, hearts intertwined and willing to share.  Being a community member satisfies a desire to belong, whether it’s a school, church, neighborhood, family, or town association.  To be anonymous in a crowd leaves me lonely and hungry for something deeper.

A vacation by definition is short-lived, a bit of time-off from the pressures of everyday life.  And so it was just that.  Admittedly, it wasn’t easy to leave the rolling hills and waters, crisp mornings and leaves, but I inhaled deeply, impressing the details of our memories within the recesses of my mind, to be retrieved at a later time.  I wasn’t exactly excited to leave what we’d fallen in love with, like cutting off a whirlwind romance, but I anticipated the customary joy in feeling arms of loved ones squeezing us, purposeful work, a home craving attention.  I yearned to serve, to assess needs up close, to be nearby to help where needed, to surround myself with friends who have become like family and to care for my own little chickadees who enrich my every days like no shopping center or fancy restaurant meal ever could.

So as we returned to our stack of mail dutifully collected throughout the week, worries we’d shelved for several days, and a calendar filled with commitments rather than colorfully decorated leaf trails, I’m neither sorry we went or let down that we’ve came home.  I love both experiences and parts of life.  Exquisitely!  I’m rejuvenated from trying on a new culture and being in love.  Logged memories like these have a natural way of carrying us through the heavier periods of real life, of brightening inevitable gray days down the lane.  I can’t help but marvel at the precise timing of this particular trip, the abundant beauties we never tired of, and the confirmation of the love and friendship we’ve been blessed with for over twenty years.  All orchestrated to strengthen us and to remind us of the beautiful life we already enjoy.  Back home. 

Regular brushing

I remember when I was little asking my mom if she was going to brush her teeth a litlte extra since she was heading to her dentist appointment, and she taught me that no, she wasn’t going to do anything she hadn’t been doing all along, she brushed and flossed everyday, even going so far as to invest in one of those electric brushes.  Confident that she’d been doing her part throughout the days and months leading up to her appointment, it didn’t matter if a dentist was going to check her work or not.  Interesting.

It seems like when changes come that we aren’t anticipating, small hardships that seem to warrant a little extra support from the heavens, that we should up our efforts, give a little more, do something extra to prove our devotion and commitment.  Showing we deserve the blessings we long for.  And are petitioning for.

But aren’t we doing the parts already?  Or shouldn’t we?  Why should anticipating a day at the dentist make us scrub a little harder and why should a little hiccup in our life’s plans suddenly cause us to look to Him in a new light?  In desperation.  Haven’t we been taught to brush and pray, to floss and to do our part to develop a deep and abiding relationship with Him everyday?

I notice that when a challenge shows up I’m all of a sudden face to face with myself.  I tentatively look at my recent past, hesitantly assessing how I’ve been doing.  And to be honest, in a really difficult time I even wonder if I can muster the energy to do more than I’ve been doing.  I wonder if what I’m currently doing and have been doing is enough.  I’m pretty good at brushing.  And flossing. But I always kind of wonder in the deep recesses of my mind if it’s been enough. And if I need to do more.

I’ve never been great at cramming. I’m a slow and steady student.  The way I am in life.  But maybe there’s a pop quiz, a life issue I need immediate help with.  I have to rely on what I’ve been doing, the studying I’ve made time for, the relationships I’ve developed.  Oil in my lamp.  Drop by drop.  There isn’t a Costco gallon size available, it takes time and small but consistent contributions.

And so I hope the deposits I’ve made will be sufficient when I need to draw on them. 

Because I don’t know how to pray harder than I already do.  I don’t know that leaving my family to spend more hours in the temple is what’s required when what we really need is more time at our house together.  I don’t know that I should sequester myself in silence for hours on end devouring the scriptures for the first time when what I really feel to do is to use them as an example of how to serve others.   

A few extra swishes of that pink fluoride the morning of or an extra yard of floss isn’t going to change things when my dentist is going to be checking my teeth within the hour, and no matter how I tried to quickly rehash several chapters of my child development text as a college sophomore on the steps of the testing center with the test looming, I knew it was basically pointless.  You can see this principle at work throughout our average days.  We might submit to a crash diet before a wedding or wrestling weigh-in, but we know better, that it’s not healthy and won’t last.  People do the same with friendships, calling only in crisis but not putting in the regular care the relationship needs.  A garden doesn’t live with a once-a-month deep watering, and our souls don’t thrive with a once-a-week worship service that does nothing to change how we behave throughout the week.  The principle is the same: most relationships and successes are based on small but consistent deposits and care.  Not only in anticipation of a harvest or a sound report or because you might need something from a friend, but because there is comfort and peace in knowing you have done your part and there is joy along the way whether it’s the good feeling in our innards when we choose vegetables over chips, teeth that don’t ache, satisfaction from actually learning and assimilating new ideas in a college class or simply lovely memories and close, loving relationships.

But here’s what I’m learning.  So maybe the dentist has some advice for us about how to cut down the tarter, and maybe I didn’t get Piaget’s stages in the right order, and maybe I asked amiss, knowing I really hadn’t been doing my part to build the relationship like I wanted.  But that’s the beauty of life and learning and tests and check-ups!  We get to try again!  We are still here, it’s not the final!

Not only that, but He isn’t the dentist or our professor.  He is merciful.  All He asks is that we come to Him.  Offering nothing but our contrite and humble heart.  He will dismiss our negligence, remembering nothing of our forgiven past, just so grateful to have us close once again.  And the other parts of life are like this too.  We can change and decide we’ll brush better, study more consistently, forget the diet of the day and add carrots and the stairs.  We can ask a friend we may have used or neglected if we can start anew.

So a challenging time is a blessing.  Because it wakes us up.  It forces us take a look at ourselves and assess where we are.  And then we can feel confident that yes, we have made deposits, we have done our best to be consistent.  Not perfectly.  Definitely far from perfectly.  But I feel that He’s accepted my small and simple devotions, that my relationship with Him is close, it’s good.  And I feel that with friends and my scriptures too.  I, like you, have felt the joy that comes along the way.  And so even though I do feel I can do better in all facets of my learning and life and relationships, I feel like my small and simple offerings have laid the foundation, that He is no stranger, that He is as close today as He always has been.  Over the years I have come to know and love and trust Him, so that in a difficult time I already have Him as my dearest ally and don’t need to brush extra now that the hygienist is calling my name.

A toolbox for all occasions

I’m no expert.  Like I always tell you.  On anything.  But I’ve been around for awhile.  Learned a few things.  Had some heartbreaks.  A few set-backs.  But here’s what I’m learning about life’s  struggles.

There’s no sliding scale that tells you which ones are really hard and which ones are the ones you don’t need to stress about.  If it’s big to you, it’s significant.  Even if it wouldn’t be to someone else.  And oddly enough, just because you’re supposed to be broken up about something isn’t enough of a reason to act contrary to what you’re naturally feeling.  Who’s to say what’s normal or what your reaction should be, what’s hard or what’s easy?

The tools are the same.  Regardless of what you’re dealing with. Whether I’m dealing with a life-long struggle with jealousy, the death of my dad, or an overall question of purpose.  Maybe not trials in the traditional sense, but maybe little hiccups, a hill here and there to take note of.  So I’ve cried over misunderstandings with friends.  I’ve worried about my kids, are they even assimilating any of the spiritual teachings we’ve exposed them to?  What’s my part to play in the world?  I’ve been worried for my sisters with breast cancer and unemployment.  I’ve cried over regrets, not having been a better daughter to my dad, feeling so sad that it’s too late to make things better.  I’ve had hard days filled with guilt and pride and loneliness.  So maybe they aren’t hard things like a divorce or losing a child to an accident, but I’ve pulled out my tools, always certain I have what I need.

It’s not a large box, just a basic toolkit. Rudimentary supplies for both the apprentice and skilled laborer alike.  Accessible to all.

When I find myself wondering what to do with a challenge, it’s just natural to become a little introspective.  I can’t help but wonder if I’ve done something to contribute to the problem.  What part did I play in the misunderstanding, the sore throat I’m coming down with, why my younger kids don’t like to read, why the cars are all falling apart, and why doesn’t our money stretch further?  Just important to me to assess the information at hand.  And a lot of times, yes, I’ve contributed to the problem.  I said something flippant or indulged in gossip, I’ve stayed up a little too late a few too many times and run myself down.  I haven’t been as diligent with the younger set in our reading as I was with the older ones, we ran the car without oil for who knows how long, I’ve been a little careless with our money lately, we’ve had a few too many treats.  So yes, these are things I can take issue with and improve.  Learn from, do better next time, regroup and move forward trying again.  A small but natural exercise, recognizing that sometimes we’ve helped create a problem.

But a lot of times life just happens.  It’s not really our fault that rocks hit our windshields or that appliances break.  All at the same time.  Sometimes we have no idea we’ve said something wrong.  People get sick and others die.  Some years there’s an early frost that kills the garden. Occasionally a kid is contrary.  Thankfully, the tools I’ve relied on for years have helped me with all the scenarios, big and small.

I look upward.  I wonder what my part to do now is.  I ask Him about it.  I pray for people near and far who are struggling with such hard, hard things.  Families falling apart, health deteriorating, people losing their faith, accidents, set-backs I can’t even fathom.  I pray for our little family.  For strength and peace.  And guidance.  And to align my will with His.  Thankful for whatever He thinks we’re ready for.

I look to His word and counsel.  I want to know what He has for me.  But I’m not very good at this part.  I dabble instead of immerse sometimes.  Because I’m not sure where to start.  I listen to a lot of good talks, I read inspirational messages.  And I cling to the words of prophets and apostles.  And these help so  much.  But I know He has more for me.  When I’m ready to sacrifice and really study, to engage, to feast.  Because it’s worked before.  It just takes a little more effort on my part and I get distracted so easily.  Sigh.  But I soak myself in His spirit.  At church.  In the temple.  In my secret closet.  He always meets me.  He’s wherever I’m willing to go.  

I look to loved ones for support.  My family.  A couple of close friends.  My church family.  I’m pretty open in what I write, but things closest to my heart are reserved for my husband and sisters and mom.  A couple of close girlfriends.  And Heavenly Father.  They know me and my intentions.  They’ve forgiven me and have allowed me to walk imperfectly.  It’s reciprocal, and I trust them with my heart.  They are my earthly angels who never let me down.

I look for ways to get busy. I open my eyes instead of shutting them to the world, which is maybe a natural inclination.  Instead I’ve learned it’s better to ask who needs what.  What will cheer up someone else?  What does He need my hands to do today?  Easiest way I know to work through something that’s weighing on my mind.

And I write about it all.  In letters.  In my journal.  In the margins of my scriptures.  Quotes that touch me go in my quote book.  But that’s just me.  Words help me sort through my feelings and give me perspective.  And I hope—oh, how i  hope—they will help someone else down the road.  To avoid the pitfalls and mistakes I’ve made.  To learn from my errors so they don’t have to face the same struggles.  Especially my children.  A mother can’t help but hope for her children to be better than she has been, and so I record my failings and weaknesses and ups and downs for them.

Just a handful of tools that have worked on projects of all sizes in my life.  Problems of all proportions.  A small toolbox, just the basics.  I suppose you could try the fancy ones out there.  You could try shopping or drinking or being spiteful and bitter.  You might want to try blaming someone or looking for revenge.  You could try to show God you don’t need Him if this is how things are going to go. You could wallow and become shallow.  You could use those tools.  But we know that eventually they rust and break and become useless.  And get thrown away.

The toolbox our Father has given us is a gift.  It’s up to us to either tuck these tools away in a dusty garage and decide they are old-fashioned and too simple for the task we’re up against or to keep our box handy, close by, with the lid open, accessible.  Because it doesn’t matter if a picture needs straightened or our vision needs a tweak.  If a car is dying or a loved one is fading.  These are the tools at our disposal.  No job is too small or too big for the tools He’s given us.  I know that because I’ve used them.  It’s simply up to us.