This week I was sitting under some very tall pine trees, enjoying my view of the lake and listening to the song of the loons. It has been a while since I had such a treat. I was armed with several books for this adventure. The weather started out hot and humid, not a Maine thing, but then quickly moderated to the high 70’s. Three nights ago, I even had to find a sweatshirt in July no less…. a very pleasant surprise!
It was the first camping trip of the season and I was rummaging through the cupboards putting things in order when I came upon a small bag, tucked in a corner, and filled with old CD’s from another life. In this summer of 2020 with all its weirdness, I was about to have a bittersweet surprise. As I sifted through the CD’s I reacquainted myself with some songs I had not heard for a very long time.
What a Fool Believes, The One That You Love, Islands in the Stream, I’ll Never Love This Way Again, Cherish, Hello, Time in a Bottle, Get Here, Take My Breath Away and so many others. The earliest ones were from the 70’s- the latest from the 90’s. This was just a sampling of my find, and of course I immediately loaded them into the sound system of the camper, a far better one than from back in the day. Before I knew it I was transported back to other summers, when we came to the rocky shores of Maine as often as we could. We came because we sought refuge from the hazy, hot, humid days of a PA summer. We came because we revisited the place where we camped as kids, when times were simpler and summers were a blast because work and money were the responsibility of the grown-ups. Our family would spend hours on the Seawall, a mile long rock stretch on Mt Desert Island (pronounced like dessert not desert), where, as an adult, I was content to just sit and watch the ocean come in and go out. Sail boats, lobster boats, seals and seagulls, bits and pieces of sea glass, urchins and shells were our companions as our kids played, dodging the waves they way we did when we were their age. I would sit on huge granite rocks smoothed by the constant passage of water and read or write letters. There were no cells phone, internet or laptops. At night I remembered falling asleep to the sound of the buoy bell of the Bass Harbor Head Light, or if the fog rolled in, thick and misty, the mournful sound of foghorns warning ships at sea.
Looking back, it is fair to say that the 80’s and 90’s were a difficult time. There were lots of losses and lots of changes happening, both of which made for some very tense relationships. I remember that during that particular Maine trip I thought things were going in a more positive direction. My job was great, it fit me like a glove and I had room to move up if I wanted to. Economically, life was better as a two income family. As part of my job I had contact with a psychologist and she was able to help me navigate the challenges of working with people with severe mental illness and living with someone with severe PTSD and depression. It helped me with boundaries which in turn not only helped at work but in my personal life as well. I did not have to attend every fight I was invited to, nor was I responsible for the actions of others, just my own. It took me years to learn to benevolently distance myself from drama that swirls around PTSD and broken family systems. But reflecting back on those thoughts I had that year, I realize how wrong I was. Like many life challenges it was going to get worse before it got better.
Of course now I know how life balances things out. Losses and fractures in relationships can sometimes move you in a new direction, directions you never seriously considered. The continuing oversight of managed care drove me nuts: how do you address a life-long severe illness in six treatment sessions or less? When I started the word was reduce hospitalization stays- show us results and we will approve the strategies. Then came the mass memory loss when we started doing just that. It was somewhere in the midst of these changes and some severe personal losses that I heard God’s soft, persistent call to the ministry. God does not operate on managed care time, thank heavens. All issues are not fixed or even uncovered in five or six conversations. I learned that losses and pain, just like great joy, lives deep within you and inhabits your inner life just like the crow’s feet, laugh lines, and wonky knees inhabit my aging body, and that is not bad or good it just is. I was always a person who strived to be content with life. I watched people who always wanted more- who were never happy unless they were on to a new sport or hobby and/or had to my one more piece of stuff for their house or back yard, and I knew enough to find everyday experiences that made life worth living.
So I learned to look for and savor the small, sweet, cherished memories that make such a difference in my enjoyment of life. A loved ones laughter or chuckle, the softness of a toddler’s wispy hair, the trusting grip of a baby’s fingers on yours, the immensity of the heavens watching the northern lights in a place where light pollution is minimal, the hug of my grown sons and daughter, these are moments to be cherished. These moments can take your breath away. There are so many everyday sacred moments and when you are so wrapped up in “other stuff” you can miss them so easily. So for all the difficulties of those decades I came away with some real life gems, and they have stood me in good stead. Do I miss those who are gone from my life: more than words can say. I miss their smile, their hugs, their laughter and the easy comfortable feeling of their presence. Do I hope that someday, somehow, someway we can find each other again- I sure do. Who knows what eternity brings?
Meanwhile, as Stephen Colbert always says, I look forward to some future summer, to finding an old playlist on my old iphone on a future camping trip. I will listen to the loons and replay the soundtrack of the 21st century, marvel at the summer of 2020, and be grateful for new life lessons. You are never too old to be grateful for God’s grace or to learn.
weftalone 