"I need a vacation from vacation," I wanted to say soon after we came home after celebrating my husband's retirement by traveling for most of July. The aftermath of being gone for so long was substantial:
Catching up everything that didn't get done due to lack of reliable internet access.
Paying bills.
Dealing with on my mother's latest health crisis.
Following up with workers about why the latest phase in our house remodel hadn't been completed.
Digging out canning jars because the tomatoes and green beans are producing.
My immediate inclination was to throw a hissy fit and shout, "I need a vacation from vacation! I will never leave home for this long again. Not ever!"
Photo credit: Luis Villasmil on Unsplash.com.
My second inclination, which had to be the Holy Spirit's intervention because I'm not capable of such restraint on my own, was to reflect upon the dear friends and familiar places visited during the past month. Without conscious thought my eyes closed. The inner movie reel of our vacation began to play.
I saw delight light up our six-year-old grandson's face as he learned to Old Maid, Go Fish, and Slap Jack during the week he went camping with me and my husband. I heard his sweet voice when the time came for him to go home with his parents while Hiram and I continued our travels. "I could stay with you," he lisped through the gaps where his baby teeth used to be, "because I know you're going to miss me a lot."
I recalled the joy of welcoming each person's arrival at our annual week-long family camp in the mountains. The reunion, always a sweet time of fellowship and reconnecting, was doubly so after last summer's cancelation due to COVID. I pictured my three-year-old granddaughter playing with cousins, grinning from ear to ear, as she ran from here to there. Her favorite pink dress became more brown than pink as she frolicked in the Idaho dust from dawn to dusk.
I relived my surprise as we toured the tiny town where we lived four decades ago—the town that embraced us after our newborn endured major surgery and three weeks in NICU. The town that prayed, provided, and supported us while or son's medical issues dominated our lives for several years.
We drove by the house we lived in during that hard season. We stopped to visit our old neighbor from across the street—Hiram's co-worker who refurbished a wooden high chair, and gave it to us as a baby present. We visited for a good, long time. When we had to leave, he hugged us. "I'm sure glad you came," he said. "I'm sure glad you thought of me."
I thought of the grief shared during supper with another dear friend and co-worker of Hiram's in the same town. A few years ago, he lost his wife to breast cancer, the first person to befriend me when I was a first year teacher. "I miss Carol every day," I said. "So do I," he said, as our hearts broke anew and tears flowed. "So do I."
I remembered conversations with dear friends at their ranch north of town. I retold stories of the tricks their son, who was my student from first through third grade, tricks played on me out of school, and his seriousness during school. We rejoiced in his life and cried over his far-to-early death at age 28 from a freak virus. When it was time to leave the ranch and drive home, we could hardly bear to say good-bye. My friend hugged me long and tight and fiercely. "Thank you for coming to us," she said. "We love you both so much."
I opened my eyes.
The piles of mail and bills were still there.
My email inbox still overflowed with messages.
The canning jars sat in jumbled, dusty boxes.
My mother's health hadn't improved.
Our walls were still pocked with holes and the floors were still dirty.
Our present reality hadn't changed. My perception of them, however, had altered. I am able see our present inconveniences as Paul described them in 2 Corinthians 4:17 as "momentary light afflictions which are producing eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison."
Thanks to the relationships renewed and deepened,
thanks to great losses grieved,
thanks to sweet stories retold,
thanks to tears shed and laughter shared,
I'm no longer inclined to shout, "I need a vacation from vacation" at the top of my lungs.
Instead, I'm praising the God who gave us time and space to visit old friends whose kind and steadfast love, past and present, were and are evidence of Christ's enduring love in all our lives.
Jolene Philo is the author of the Different Dream series for parents of kids with special needs. She speaks at parenting and special needs conferences around the country. She's also the creator and host of the Different Dream website. Sharing Love Abundantly With Special Needs Families: The 5 Love Languages® for Parents Raising Children with Disabilities, which she co-authored with Dr. Gary Chapman, was released in August of 2019 and is available at local bookstores, their bookstore website, and at Amazon.
