Travel Fatigue?

I turned the key in the lock and swung the door open, all the while wrestling my bag over the threshold and into the breezeway. Bone weariness and achy shoulders told the story of a long afternoon of travel in and out of the rain. The familiar surroundings and scent of the house welcomed me home. "Thank you, Lord," I breathed.

I'm sure you, too, can relate to the old saying: It's good to go, and it's good to come home." 

The past few months the Lord has opened up a number of speaking opportunities for me . . . from small groups to women's events and even a quilting retreat. I have been able to share our story and offer encouragement and hope from God's Word with women of all ages. The best part often comes after my talk . . . the hugs, the sharing, and even the tears as we chat about trusting God with our stories. I marvel at the tenacity of many who tell me what they are facing. I pray for them all the way home. What a privilege.

At the same time, travel fatigue is real, especially for homebodies like me! 

Certain Scriptures have popped off the page during the weeks I've been coming and going. Like the verses in John 4: "[Jesus] had to pass through Samaria. So he came to a town of Samaria called Sychar . . . Jacob's well was there; so Jesus, wearied as he was from his journey, was sitting beside the well (italics added)." In another instance, He slept through a stormy boat ride until his disciples woke Him up (Matthew 8:23-27). 

Later, when Paul the apostle wrote to the believers in Corinth, he reviewed some of his experiences. Right in the middle of his list describing all kinds of dangers, hardships, and shipwrecks, he includes "on frequent journeys" (2 Corinthians 11:24-28).

How blessed we are in the 21st century. The modes of transportation available to us far surpass walking for miles and miles. And we usually don't worry about severe opposition, lurking danger around every corner, hunger, and exposure to the cold. 

There's a bit of comfort knowing that Jesus and Paul also felt bone tired as they traveled and served God. When I think about them I gather courage, purpose, and perspective.

It's been said, "Sometimes the most spiritual thing you can do is take a nap." I'm not usually a nap-taker, but I am grateful for a quiet place to rest and reflect. I sometimes think of the verses in Mark 6 when "the apostles returned to Jesus and told him all that they had done and taught. And he said to them, 'Come away by yourselves to a desolate place and rest a while'" (Mark 6:30-32).

Jesus understands travel fatigue. He invites us to rest.

Empty Yet Full

Empty . . .

An apt description of the house when the last one leaves after a holiday. Can you relate? No bags stashed here and there. No toys to trip over. No sippy cups in the kitchen sink. No crowded bathroom counters and towel racks. No half-open suitcases. No scattered shoes and boots in the breezeway. No extra cars in the driveway.

And more obvious, no adult children and grandchildren gathered around, playing games, laughing, or eating around the table. All may be calm and bright, but as the emptiness echoes its stillness, I feel the loss.

At the same time, my heart is full . . . full of memories. Talking until 2 a.m. the night my college-age daughter flew in. More hours of talking, talking, talking. Shopping at Kohl's because her internship is right around the corner. Listening to her play the piano and sing. Welcoming the older girls and their families. Catching up. Cuddling a two-month-old and seeing his wide smiles for the first time. Reading stories. Singing carols by a crackling fire. Taking my oldest grandson to see The Nutcracker the day after Christmas. Enjoying a roast beef Christmas dinner, along with my dad and a friend. Playing Jenga. Sharing gifts and stories. Missing those no longer with us.

One family came on Sunday the 23rd and left the very next day due to our three-year-old's bout with vomiting and diarrhea. After a hurried gift opening, we all had tears in our eyes when they pulled away to try to get home, mommy and bucket in the back seat just in case.

Today, I said my last good-bye of the season. Our youngest drove off in her daddy's 2005 Corolla, new wiper blades in place, EZ Pass transponder and GPS attached to the windshield and, just to make me feel better, a few maps tucked in the passenger door pocket. Since 2015, I've babied this car . . . inspections, tires, maintenance . . . because I knew this day was coming, the day when she would drive it back to school in the mid-west. Barry would be proud of her (and all of them) if he were here. 

After a good cry, I got busy. Putting things in order has always been my way of coping. Does it ever get easier? 

As I mopped the bathroom floor and folded towels, I thought about what happened after Mary's encounter with Gabriel. Luke 1:39 tells us, "In those days Mary arose and went with haste into the hill country, to a town in Judah" to visit Zachariah and Elizabeth. Although the Bible doesn't mention Mary's mother, I couldn't help but wonder how she felt when Mary said a hasty good-bye to take a 70-mile trip. Did concern for her daughter's well-being and safety occupy her thoughts? Did she wake up to pray in the dark of the night? 

Somehow this ancient un-named mother gave me courage as I said my own good-byes today. She invested years sharing biblical truth and practical knowledge, then moved out of the way to allow her daughter to follow God's leading. In the same way, I want to be supportive of all three of my daughters. I hope we've given them roots. Now it's time to give them wings (and wheels!). 

Empty? Yes, but with a heart full of thanksgiving and anticipation in a brand new year. 

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On Saying Farewell . . .

Remember the farewell song from The Sound of Music? The irony of the lyrics leaves me with mixed emotions every time I hear it. 

In real life, I feel the same way about saying good-bye. How about you?

I think it all began when, as a college freshman, I watched my parents drive away to return home some 800 miles away. Determined, I smiled and waved, but my tears gave me away. Truth be told, I felt half sick. What had I been thinking? Christmas vacation seemed to be light years into the future.

In the late '90s my sister and her family left for missionary work in Africa--before the age of cell-phone towers in the African bush. In 2001 our first-born decided to attend college in Arizona. As the city of Phoenix grew smaller from the plane window, my heart literally ached. And now, I'm on the verge of that final hug as I leave my youngest at her college campus, only to return home to an empty house. 

Life has its comings and goings.

Love has a price tag, but really, what's the alternative? Even though I sometimes find my cheeks wet with tears, I'm grateful for these relationships, I pray for each one, confident in God's continued work in all our lives.

This past week, my small group said farewell to our leader and mentor, who is moving to another state. It wasn't easy to say good-bye to the one who had encouraged us in God's Word, met with us individually outside of our weekly meeting time, and spoke truth into our lives, all with grace and good humor. Together, we had walked through heartache and joy, defeat and victory, disappointment and blessing.

In my living room, over lemon cake and coffee, our group shared stories and counted answers to prayer. We read Acts 20, the account of the apostle Paul's farewell to the people of Ephesus. I was struck with the similarities of this ancient story and Kim's ministry: "You yourselves know how I lived among you . . . serving the Lord with all humility . . . how I did not shrink from declaring to you anything that was profitable and teaching you in public and from house to house . . . And now I commend you to God and to the word of His grace, which is able to build you up and to give you the inheritance among all those who are sanctified."

"And when [Paul] had said these things, he knelt down and prayed with them all. And there was much weeping on the part of all; they embraced Paul and kissed him, being sorrowful. And they accompanied him to the ship."

Can you picture it?

Similarly, our little group prayed around Kim, committing her to God's keeping. Sorrowful? Oh, yes. Yet, we celebrated God's direction, His promises, and His good work in all of us.

I don't think farewells will become easier in this life. I'll still shed tears when I give my sweet girl that last hug tomorrow. But we can both be confident of this: "He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ" (Philippians 1:6).

On the Way Home, Part 2

Do you like to travel? If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you choose? Why there?

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I have friends who love the open road. Others look forward to an occasional cruise or a February flight to Florida where it's warm and sunny. One couple went to Australia to hike and breathe in the beauty of the Southern Hemisphere. And then there are missionaries and others who find their place to serve anywhere from Europe to Asia to South America and beyond.

Unlike these brave souls, I'm afraid I'm a little like Beatrice Curtis Brown's character, Jonathan Bing, who when he was invited to visit the king, sent back this reply:

If you please will excuse me, I won't come to tea;

For home's the best place for all people like me!

 

Lately I've been thinking about why "all people like me" might be more inclined to choose home if given the choice of whether to go or stay. For me? Having survived a car crash, the ever-present possibility seems to simmer on the back burner of my mind. On top of that, probably my introvert-ish nature craves the quiet, the predictable, the stable routines. It's a place I know in a world of unknowns. It represents family gatherings beside a blazing fire, writers' meetings around my dining room table, and hot cups of tea served with love to all who cross the threshold.

But I go.  

I go to visit my children in Lancaster where I play with two special grandboys and where the clip-clop of Amish buggies always stirs up a cloud of curiosity. My youngest daughter and I make our yearly pilgrimage to Lake Michigan to visit with my late husband's family, relishing in the sand, the wind, the waves . . . and the sense of belonging that comes with intentional gatherings and conversation. Last summer, we drove over 1000 miles to visit perspective colleges in the Midwest. On our last trip, we traipsed through no less than five airports coming and going.

And while waiting at the gate, I ran across these words penned by Elisabeth Elliot: "Traveling nowadays means what it has always meant; facing risks."* Then she cited the writings of an ancient apostle who shared his travel log:

In my travels I have been in constant danger from rivers and floods, from bandits, from my own countrymen . . . I have faced danger in city streets, danger in the desert, danger on the high seas, . . . I have known exhaustion, pain, long vigils, hunger and thirst, doing without meals, cold and lack of clothing.**

Talk about risk! These words put my travel frustrations in perspective.

So, maybe "all people like me" aren't as adventurous as others, not as apt to take risks. But often we go. We go because of the people we love. We go to be together. 

We go . . .because we want to be driven by love, not fear. 


Are you more apt to stay or go? Why? 

* Elisabeth Elliot, On Asking God Why And Other Reflections on Trusting God in a Twisted World, (Grand Rapids: Fleming H. Revell, 1989), 60.
**2 Corinthians 11:26, 27. 

On the Way Home, Part 1

Indianapolis Airport: Gate B7

Perhaps all the exhausting inconveniences held a little bright spot in an odd sort of way.

After a full day of waiting and watching our departure time bump in minute and hour increments from 12:40 p.m. to 10:30 p.m., our flight to Philadelphia canceled altogether. Weather issues on the East Coast, they said. That left my daughter and me standing in line at Gate 8 in Fort Wayne, IN. "I'm sorry," the ticket agent told us as he punched his keyboard. "I can't get you out of Ft. Wayne until the day after tomorrow. The only other option is to leave out of Indianapolis tomorrow at 12:22 p.m., fly to Chicago, and then onto Scranton.

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Indianapolis? Two and a half hours away? How would we get there? What good is a Tracfone at a time like this? My heart began to pound.

Another ticket agent who happened to be standing there began to scroll on her phone. “Here’s an option you might want to try.” She turned her screen in my direction so I could jot the number down.

Hoosier Shuttle. Maybe I could make this work.

Once we arrived at the motel, I called the number. Would anyone answer at 11 p.m.? I left a message and paced the floor. Soon my phone rang. “We’re booked at 7:30,” the lady said, “but I have seats for 5 a.m.”

We boarded the shuttle at 5:20 and sat on the front bench seat behind the driver and a gentleman passenger. Conversation began to flow in the predawn darkness. As the miles clicked by, I found myself listening to the man in the front passenger seat. With charcoal skin and a dark mustache, he wore a flat cap and glasses. Stories rolled off his tongue like thick molasses. One of six children, he was born in Mississippi. His dad picked cotton for two cents a pound. His parents didn’t have much of an opportunity to learn to read and write. Leftover prejudices saw to it that black ignorance remained the norm. “So they couldn’t better themselves,” he said. He told us his family had no running water in the house until he was fifteen or sixteen.

“How did you end up in Wisconsin?” the driver asked, referring to an earlier part of the conversation.

“The good jobs were in the north,” our new friend simply stated. “Many of my high school friends went to college to become teachers. Me? I went straight to work—made more money than them, too. I’m 62 now. . . . I’ve done okay." Later, the father of seven girls and one boy mused, “This is the best country in the world. You can better yourself if ya have a mind to.”

Topics jumped from the beauty and roar of Niagara Falls to how the Amish live to politics. “Ya know, the world is coming to an end.” He leaned up in his seat, pointing his long brown finger to make his point. “If the wrong leaders get into office and if they push the red buttons. Well . . . that’ll be it.”

“Where are you headed?” I asked as we neared the terminal.

“New York. I’m getting a car and driving it home.” He turned to me. “You live far from I-80?”

"About forty-five minutes."

He laughed. “There’s nothin’ at them exits all away across Pennsylvania.”

“Yep.”

I watched him enter the double doors, somehow feeling lighter having listened to his story, the story of a man so unlike me—a white woman from Buffalo and Pennsylvania who always took running water for granted and who’s never been to Mississippi or Wisconsin. I took a little of the conversation with me, and as we wait at Gate B7, I’m grateful for that little bright spot tucked in a couple of days of travel frustration.

And now, I just want to go home!


NOTE: Thanking God that we made it home safe and sound, even if it was twenty-four hours later than expected.