This week while in SC & NC alone (the kids and Philip stayed in Vancouver), I uttered aloud for the first time the phrase, "I'm almost 40." I certainly have thought it before but this was the first time I'd heard the words and internalized their meaning. It was also the beginning of several realizations that goaded me to pause and ponder in a new way. I'm OK with turning 40 - there's no dread, no feeling of surpassing my peak or heading for decline. However, coupled with Philip's question of what I dream for 2015 and the fact that we're quickly approaching the celebration of our son's first decade, the words fascinated me. That 40 milestone that seemed a vague future possibility is upon me and it feels far less dramatic an achievement than it did in my 20s. Instead, I think it will be much more of an evolutionary celebration - celebration of giving and receiving love for many a year; of seeing our children slowly (but somehow lightening fast) morph into lovely young people; celebration of memories that the more permanent lines on my face represent. It's a kind of awakening.
Ringing in 2015 with Montreat's College Conference Planning Team
I don't know at all know what this means at the moment, I'm choosing to trust the path will make itself clear somewhere along the process. I've been away from my husband and children for 8 days and currently find myself on a very noisy turbo-prop plane journeying toward them. It's a contemplative time for me - uninterrupted by the vibratory sounds of the propellers. I'm headed home and simultaneously feel pangs of sadness because I'm leaving home. I hugged my sister and parents goodbye before boarding and that was sad - but for the first time included only a lump in my throat and no tears as the sting of goodbye was tempered by anticipation of getting my arms around my husband and children. I laughed when I used the plane's washroom as it seemed to echo my sentiment - it too toggling between past and present with its ashtray on a non-smoking flight.
I've been in my "growing up homes" these eight days - places I go for rest, challenge and permission to ponder outside of myself and it's been restorative in spite of sleep deprivation. I've remembered how many people and relationships are home to me and its this new home I'm journeying toward despite the fact that Vancouver knows little of my back story. The beauty is that it's being woven into my almost forty story.
My sweet nephews visited me in Montreat - love them!
The day will come, likely before I'm fully ready, when we will leave our Vancouver home and reconnect with our SC home. It would be dishonest for me to claim there are not mixed emotions and anxiety about that. We've all heard that 'you can't go home again' and I understand that phrase in a new way now. But I'm hopeful that we'll create a new home in a familiar place while grieving and treasuring the Vancouver home we'll leave behind.
It seems our lives have been full of coming and going - with all the expected feelings associated with each. Turns out - we've survived it all. One particular going included the gift of a children's book (a prophetic media form, I'd contend) titled The Invisible String from a dear friend. It's in storage right now (along with most all of our books and belongings) but its message rings in my ears - a message of connectivity among dear ones - via invisible strings. When I consider the invisible strings I share with people whom I hold dear, I visualize a web that blankets states, countries and continents. It's comforting to imagine this supportive web that we've bounced across and reminds me of the human connections that undergird and help preserve my sanity during the journeys.
So today as I ponder the anxiety that comes with returning to a place from whence I've come - different than when I've left - and the eventual farewell we'll bit to people I love in a place I love, I'm reminded of the words I heard this week in my Montreat home. One of our speakers spoke words of challenge and comfort as she recounted her story of being called away from a life she'd spent years building - back to a life she'd left. She was called to be an agent of change and grace and hope. Our prayer is that we can plug in in a way that will leave a mark and that our family will look for ways to matter in a new context.
I'm two planes away from my husband and children at this moment and with each minute closer to them I find myself a minute further from my parents and sister. It's a mixed bag - but it's sure lovely to be moving toward a reunion and not just dwelling on a departure.
Best. Welcome. Ever.
