Walking in the Garden

    I've finished all the planting for the moment.  I've laid all the mulch for now.  I've dealt with sprinkler issues and arranged to have the rock ring in the front replaced with crushed granite.  I'm waiting to hear back from Contra Costa County's "Lawn to Garden Rebate Program" about replacing the one area of my yard that is still grass (well, dead grass).  At this point, then, all there is to do is maintenance: checking on the new plants to make sure they are not needing more or less water or just a little attention, looking for those weeds that are persistent and are trying to push through my weed barriers, trimming the trees a bit so they don't make walking on the path difficult. I add seeds to the bird feeders, I clean and refill the hummingbird feeder. I still get up every morning early and walk through the garden as I do this maintenance. I do the same in the afternoon when it is cool enough and often in the evening as well.

    Today I found myself thinking of these verses from Genesis 2:8-9 "During that day's cool evening breeze, they heard the sound of God walking in the garden... God called to the man and said to him, "Where are you?" 

    There is something incredible about walking among the plants (and animals) in the gardens that one has planted. I check in with each new plant that has not established itself yet, looking at its leaves, checking on its size and on the ground around it to see if it is settling in.  I talk to the plants, encouraging them, asking them if there is anything else they are needing. I talk to the birds and scold the squirrels trying to eat my tomatoes.  I love doing this.  It brings me a sense of calm, but also a strong feeling of wonder.  They are each their own self, which means that I ultimately do not control if they thrive or wither.  A friend passed on plants to me that he had propagated from his own yard, some of which have established and are thriving, a few that are struggling that I'm nurturing and hope will pull through, and some which died almost before I got them into the ground. There was nothing I could do about those plants. They weren't happy with having been moved from the cooler, closer-to-the-bay climate to the hot, smokey, dry summer of the Bay Area east of the Oakland hills.  Still, even those that have died are part of the wonder for me.  What likes my yard?  What seems happy to establish here?  What doesn't like it and just won't thrive here no matter what I do?  Who is each plant as the individual it is, even within its own species?  What does it need?  

    And again, I found myself thinking about this passage from Genesis.  In this story, God planted a garden, created animals and people, but once they were created, God no longer had control over how they would do or what they would do. They were creations, not puppets, each with its own thoughts and feelings and choices. The story of Adam and Eve is a story of making choices that were other than what God wanted. Despite this, God still chose relationship with them: they were part of God's garden, an important part, and even when they made choices God didn't like, God still nurtured and planted them where they would best thrive: no longer in that garden, but in the greater world.  That is the risk in creating (or planting, in the gardener's world) beings that are other, that are separate, that are themselves.  

    I found myself wondering if God also had that feeling of awe and wonder as God's creations made their own choices, even when they chose not to thrive well in the garden into which God placed them.  Does God delight in us just as we delight in the plants we put in our own gardens? I can't imagine God feels otherwise... when you create a garden: when you plan, when you dig, plant and nurture their lives, when you spend time and energy pulling the weeds that would hurt or kill the the plants you want, and when you touch the ground and plants and place them into the ground, deciding where they should go, it is automatic and normal to form attachments to those plants, to those beings. 

    And so, part of my delight in walking through my own garden is to walk with the God who delights in God's own gardens as well.  We are a part of those, an important part.  And our own gardens are joint efforts, not only with the plants and birds, but also with the God who created each and every plant, animal and person.  

    I return to work tomorrow.  But I have committed to walking in my garden each day before leaving for work.  It centers me, it brings me joy, it connects me with all life, and it connects me with God.    

Little Lamb

     I'm in the last week before returning from sabbatical and have been visiting with friends, working in the garden, resting, spending time with my family.  I've also done much reflection, both on life in general, but on the sabbatical in particular as well.  

    There was one event from this time that keeps coming back to me.  I was hiking on Iona and was in an area with a herd of sheep.  As I walked I heard this young lamb bleat for its mother.  A second later, the mother responded.  She was a long way away, but as I looked out over the meadow, I could see the little lamb running towards the sound.  Then the little lamb stopped, bleated again, waited for the mother to respond and then took off running again towards the sound.  Because they were quite a distance apart, this call and answer routine went on for a good five minutes.  But I found it both intriguing and compelling.  I couldn't stop watching and listening to this very normal, very beautiful drama playing out between this ovine mother and child. 

    It is a familiar situation with so many species of animals.  Babies go exploring, trying the world out on their own.  But eventually they become a little uneasy or a little hungry or a little tired, and then they need the reassurance of the parent that the parent is still there, still loving them, still available for them to come home to.  Even now, with young adult children I see this play out with my own kids.  Middle is still in Europe, exploring with his friend from college.  They have travelled from Norway through Portugal, Spain, France, Slovakia, Poland, Austria, Italy and more.  Middle is very independent.  Most of the time he travels on his own or with his friend and seems very competent and confident in finding his own way.  But every once in a while he reaches out.  "Just checking in" he says.  Usually he doesn't need anything, though he does drop hints about money running low (which I send over) or he mentions missing something (that I make sure I'll have on hand when he comes home in a couple weeks).  He values his independence, but there is still that need for reassurance and safe connection as well.

    Middle might argue with my assessment.  He might say he just values the relationship and that is why he calls.  He might say he's calling to reassure me that he is okay.  But this morning when he called, I still found myself remembering the sheep.  

        As a parent, I have found the independence of my children difficult at times.  I have and continue to love being a mother.  I enjoy hearing their stories, their thoughts, their feelings.  At this point I learn from them and have at times asked them for information about new technology, new or slang terms, or about information specific to what they each are learning or have learned at school.  I love spending time with each of them, and I love how specific the things I do with each are.  With Eldest, we go to Heather Farms park to walk, we get sandwiches at Sweet Affair across from Heather Farms.  If we have more time, we go down to Monterey together and have our routines there that include the aquarium, walks along the beach front, eating clam chowder in sour dough bowls and getting ice cream at Ghirardelli.  We sing together in harmony in the car as we go to these places.  And that is what Eldest and I do.  

    Middle and I talk philosophy, politics, theology.  I love these conversations with him and I always learn a great deal from him.  We love to hike together, to travel together to new places.  With Eldest it is the familiar, with Middle it is almost always the unknown and unfamiliar.  

    Youngest and I work puzzles together, including the ROKR puzzles that are permanent additions to our house.

    While Eldest and I sing together, Youngest and I dance together: putting in music and just moving to the beat.  Youngest has less intensity than the other two, so our relationship involves more teasing and playing.  There's an easiness there that allows us to do simple things like go to the grocery store together to just enjoy each other's company.  

    But while we have grown into these ways of being together as adults, they are still also doing the age appropriate stepping into independence.  While I am incredibly grateful that they still enjoy and seek out time with me, I miss them needing me as they used to. But the gift of the sheep Marco-Polo routine is the reminder that no matter how far they go, there will be times when they call my name just for that tiny reassurance that I am still here for them, something I will always and forever be.  

More Reflections On This Time

    I've had some time to reflect more on my sabbatical time, and what I found, once again, was that the parts I enjoyed the most were the unplanned and unscheduled surprises.

    Starting with my time with eldest and youngest as we toured the gardens in CA, the two gardens that we enjoyed the most were the unexpectedly large gardens of Davis, and Descanso garden in LA.  Neither were on the list of gardens we planned to see, neither made it into my sabbatical grant application, and yet, these two gardens were by far the most interesting, most beautiful, most serene gardens we saw.  Our time in both was the best we had of any of the gardens, and I find myself looking at the pictures I took from those two especially.  

    Then when David and I were on Iona, the hikes I took to parts of Iona that I didn't even know existed were an amazing gift.  The view from our room as well as the view from the hotel conservatory were also unexpected gifts.  The conversations I had with strangers were an amazing addition to my time there, and even the extended train trip back to Glasgow was a gift of scenery and time to just rest and be with David. The little hotel we stayed at in Glasgow was also a gift.  From the street it looked like a dive, a hole in the wall, difficult even to spot.  But when we went into the building and ascended to the 6th floor where the actual hotel was, we found a truly lovely place that had set out free homemade cakes and tea for its guests.  I ate an amazing mocha cake with my tea, that was a very unexpected surprise.

    On our UK tour, too, while there were scheduled visits I really enjoyed (such as listening to the story teller and the time with the forager), most of the times that I reflect on and enjoyed the most were the unexpected and unscheduled times.  I loved that the day David and I arrived in London, we learned that the Mousetrap was running that evening, tickets were available and we had time to go see it! What a gift for this Agatha Christie fan!  I also had time to hike out to Hyde park on my own and spend time really enjoying that garden.  The Kew garden in London as well as the gardens I found in Bath, in Weymouth and at St Fagan's National Museum of History that weren't on the tour, but that I took the time to find, stepping out of the scheduled events to do so... these were by far the best gardens we saw!  While others went shopping in Windsor, David and I found a garden with a Ferris wheel that allowed us an incredible view of the river and of Windsor Castle.  The hikes I took by myself in Lulworth and Lynton, also while others were shopping, were incredible!

    Even coming to Porto to begin the Camino was filled with unexpected and wonderful gifts: I loved walking around Porto with David, even though it was in pursuit of a dentist to look at my tooth.  With Middle, I loved walking around Porto to try to get him a better backpack.  As I mentioned before, we didn't find one for him, but instead, we found this amazing garden that overlooked the river.  This was completely off my radar, and yet, it was beautiful, serene, and to just walk around it with my son incredible!  Even needing to go home early had its gifts.  My friend who helped me set up my time and stays for the Camino kept in constant contact with both Middle and I as he finished out his pilgrimage.  Having that extra support and connection with someone I value so very deeply was also an unexpected but deeply appreciated gift. 

    Now I'm back and trying to garden in the mornings.  Here, too, I've found some unexpected gifts.  For example, last night I dreamed that one particular plant in my garden was crying for help and was sagging and not doing well.  This morning I went out to look at it.  I have planted over 30 plants this summer, but this was a very particular plant that I dreamed about.  Sure enough when I went out to look over all the plants, it was this very plant that needed a little extra TLC: it was wilty and struggling.  None of the others were.  I don't know what you might make of that, but I have my own interpretation.  It is wonderful to feel so connected to this life that I've been surrounding myself with.  

    As I mentioned in other posts, I can focus on what went wrong and was a disappointment, or I can take the space to focus on the unexpected and lovely gifts that come my way every day.  Today I am remembering and enjoying what was unplanned but beautiful.  I am grateful that for me, there are by far more unexpected wonders than unexpected disappointments.  

Gifts of Sabbatical

     Yesterday was a wonderful day.  It started with more gardening, specifically finishing that middle round section with more sheet mulching and also putting more mulch around my roses.

    Then I took BART into the city to play with a friend.  We went to the Botanical Gardens and the Japanese tea garden.  It was a wonderful time of talking, breathing in the scents and fresh air of the gardens, eating, and just being together.  

    Afterwards I took BART back to Lafayette.  I walked near the creek by myself for an hour, again breathing in the air, talking to God, listening to the birds.  I then met another friend for tea and good conversation. And finally I took BART home.  

    Through that time with friends, those wonderful conversations, both with my friends and with God, a few things became very clear to me.  

    First, even when I'm working, I really need to find ways to make time.  I need to make time for my friendships.  They are important for me and hopefully for my friends as well.  I also really need to make time to walk and to garden.  Even if it's just for a half hour a day of gardening and a half hour of walking, that time for contemplation, for prayer, for getting my hands into the soil is essential for my well-being.  I have to be more intentional about not working 12-14 hour days but actually taking the time to be the most whole I can be.  I won't be a good pastor if I'm too busy to care for myself and this isn't up to anyone else but me.  I need to model good self-care as well as taking that prayer time intentionally.

    Secondly, I really enjoyed taking BART to the city, back from the city to Lafayette and finally home.  I enjoyed not having to worry about traffic or crazy drivers.  I enjoyed being able to text or read or just look at the scenery out the train windows.  I enjoyed avoiding the rush hour craziness (I came home around 5:30, so I would have been right in the middle of it if I'd driven).  It was fun to people watch.  I found it freeing to not worry about parking times or parking places, to just be myself with my water bottle and phone and nothing else.  The new BART cars are also fairly clean and it was a nice reminder that public transportation is there for a good reason and is a really good choice when I am by myself traveling.   

    All in all, a truly wonderful day for which I am deeply grateful.

How Much Grief Is Acceptable?

     As I've been dealing with the recovery and continued work on my tooth as well as the illness that has finally claimed my body for a time, I've also continued to struggle with the grief of not being able to walk the Camino with my son.  As people have said, I probably will go back and walk the Camino another time.  A wonderful friend of mine has even offered to go with me, for which I am deeply grateful. But this opportunity to walk the Camino with my son feels like a one time chance that I won't get back. Middle, himself, while still continuing the Camino on his own, has stated that he doesn't see how he would have the time or resources to try to repeat this. While we don't know what the future holds, while my son is spending almost all of his time either in school far away (Fairbanks normally, though this year he was in Bergen, Norway), or working far away (he works at his school even through the summers and winter breaks), this time with him at this precious stage of his life felt extremely important. Eventually he will probably have his own family, and these rare and valuable opportunities to be together, just mother and son, especially in a situation of walking where there aren't the distractions of city life, work, or even chores that need to be done, will be harder to come by. Middle will be home for a week at the end of the summer before returning to Alaska, but I will be back to working full time, and his attention will be shared with the rest of the family, including extended family.  The opportunity for twelve days, just the two of us, has been lost, and I continue to feel that.

    But in the midst of this grief that I have yet to conquer, I am aware of how privileged my feelings are.  How many people have an opportunity to even dream about or imagine they will have the privilege of twelve days off from work to spend alone time with a young adult child?  How many people have young adult children who would choose to spend their time like this?  And how many would have the resources to travel in this way?  I realize that the dreams I had for this week, themselves, were privileges that relatively few have.  

    There are so many much more painful realities that people are grieving.  The loss of loved ones, the loss of freedom, the loss of homes to wars, foreclosures, fires or other natural disasters, and the list goes on, are all so much greater.  Grieving this time with my son, when placed in the perspective of all the other loses people face, feels like a luxury.  Does that sound strange?  And yet, I think it's a truth.  How much, then, can I justify this deep grief that I feel?

    But as you know, feelings just are.  They aren't good or bad.  They just exist.  And the more we can be gentle with ourselves around what we feel, the more quickly we can go through them to the other side. Perhaps it helps to remember that this loss is small in the big picture. What I think helps more is just recognizing that the depth of my grief is in measure to the depth of the love I feel for this amazing young man I am so blessed to call my son.  The pain mirrors the blessing.  Two sides of the same coin.  

    Additionally, and to be realistic, I think I'm also just weepy because my body is extremely tired from all the traveling, the time change, and the need to recover from extensive and on-going tooth work while dealing with illness! What has been physically exhausting has been emotionally exhausting as well.

    So today I continue to lay low and work to recover physically so I can also heal emotionally.  I am grateful for my son, even while we are apart once again.  And I'm grateful for my home: where I can spend the time recovering that I need in order to move forward.

The Best Laid Plans, Part 2

     So, despite everything, Middle and I started out on the Camino on the 22nd.  We walked from Porto to Vila do Conde and already found our journey filled with lessons.  We were walking the Coastal Route, but much of it was closed because they are rebuilding the Boardwalk.  It was really clear they needed to be rebuilding the boardwalk, but it did make an interesting walk for us.  I have to admit, there were times we cheated with cross country walking and even walking on the boardwalk on some places that were supposed to be closed.  Lesson one then: it is the journey, not the route.  Yes, that's a different spin on the saying, but that was an important lesson for me.  We get there how we get there.  There isn't a "right" way, there's just the way we travel.  And along that way we still encountered other walkers, had some wonderful conversations with them and even more with each other.  I had to put aside following the path exactly because it simply couldn't be done, kind of like life.  There's no right path, only the path we find ourselves on.  Learning to be okay with that is a helpful lesson.

    The second lesson was in the kindness of strangers, again.  The very first thing we did on our journey was stop at a cafe to get breakfast. As we got up to leave, I forgot my walking poles.  They were the only thing not actually in my backpack and I just plain forgot them because I have not been used to walking with them.  But we walked maybe three blocks and I became aware of shouting behind me: the cafe worker had run after us to make sure I had my poles!  She didn't need to do that: but she did, for which I was very grateful.  A second lesson: there is kindness to be found everywhere!

    Third lesson: I went with concerns about my ability to do this.  Many of you know I have had knee and toe problems (osteo-arthritis) that have at times made hiking painful.  I'd done what I could ahead of time: I'd received PRP injections in both sites and had been slowly working up to be able to walk the distance, but I was still concerned.  I found I was absolutely fine!  I have a good pack, good shoes, and the poles really helped.  What surprised me was that it was Middle who said, "I think I need to have my stuff schlepped.  It's too heavy and I can't do this."  Granted his pack is twice (at least) as heavy as mine because he will be traveling all summer around Europe and doing different things like climbing the Alps and camping so he needed different equipment and more of it..  But it became clear we were not going to be able to make this work for him if he had to carry all his belongings the whole way.  Still, the soonest we could order the schlepping service was for day 4.  So we would have three days of carrying our own stuff, and we would learn to stop often, to rest, to do what was needed to help us get through.

    All in all, it was truly a marvelous day.  And I found myself as always just truly aware of how blessed I am by the incredible son I have. Our conversations were amazing.  It is a wonderful gift to me that I have a 21 year old son who actually talks to me about philosophy, politics and religion.  It's not that we always agree, but that's part of the joy of the conversation.  We talk, we learn, we grow, sometimes we entrench in our own view points, but we share.  And for that I am grateful.  

    Day two, the 23rd, we walked from Vila do Conde to Esposende.  There were new lessons, some that I already know but had reinforced.  The primary lesson of day two was that I don't function well when I'm hungry, and when I'm active, I can't always recognize my own hunger.  At that point, if I do recognize hunger, I often can't decide where or what I want to eat.  Middle was not in a mood to make decisions either so there were some crabby moments between us when I wondered if we'd be able to make the trip together work.  When we arrived at the hotel (yes, we are staying in hotels: I was not interested in the whole hostel situation as it was described to me), we were both truly exhausted.  Middle had still shlepped all his stuff and according to our tracking records we'd walked about 17 miles that day.  Still, we felt good about making it and had a wonderful dinner to finish the day.

    Then we come to the night of day two.  As you probably remember from my previous post, on the morning of the 21st I went to a dentist our hotel found for me because of extreme pain in a back bottom tooth and all along my jaw.  The dentist didn't really speak English and my Portuguese is minimal, but she told me I had a bad infection in that tooth and had given me a prescription for antibiotics and ibuprofen.  By the evening of the 23rd, then, I had taken three full days of both and the pain was not lessening at all.  Most of the time it was manageable with the ibuprofen.  But if I drank anything (kind of necessary while hiking), or ate anything that was not room temperature (both heat and cold set it off), or laid down (like to go to sleep at night), the pain was still almost unbearable.  At one point we actually met an American endodontist who said that I really needed to get this dealt with and that there would probably be someone in Portugal who could do it, but recovery could prevent me walking a couple days at the least.  Also, I'd be paying out of pocket if I had it done in Portugal.  I told her I had antibiotics, but I only had been given 8 day's worth which meant there would be 4 days walking without it before returning home to have the tooth looked at and taken care of.  She did not think that was a good thing at all. 

    Then, as the night went on, I started to feel... well, not so good.  A bit feverish, I had a headache that was increasing, my skin hurt, I was starting to cough a bit.  I dismissed all of it: after all, I know you can get sun sick. And dealing with a little cold was not going to stop me.  But then David, who had left us on the morning of the 22nd to fly home, texted me around 4:30am to let me know that the cough he'd had for the last two days we'd been together had turned into being truly sick and he'd tested positive for COVID.  Oh great!  We'd been together 24/7 for the previous 3 and a half weeks as we went around the UK.  I did not see how it would be possible that what I was experiencing was anything other than the beginnings of COVID as well. 

    As I thought about all of this, at 4:30am, I thought that if it was one issue or the other: my tooth or being sick, I would figure it out.  But honestly, I did not feel up to dealing with both of these things in another country while trying to hike my way to Santiago.  So, with David's help, I changed my flight to come home on that third day, the 24th. I asked him to also get me an appointment with the dentist for the next day (today). Middle understood, though we were both sad.  He decided he wanted to continue the walk and would do it for the both of us. After all, we had all our reservations laid out....  

    Still, by the time I got to the airport I was starting to feel I had made a truly terrible mistake. In my mind, I had allowed my fears of dental issues and illness to be the decider rather than time with my son and doing this incredible walk with him. The Camino is not supposed to be easy!  But at that point, there was no changing it back. We'd used our travel insurance to change it in the first place with the excuse of the dental emergency and I did not see how they would accept another change. Still, I had a terrible day where I could not stop weeping, yes weeping, much to my embarrassment and that of those around me at the airport and in the plane.  I felt like I was the worst mother on earth and that I had truly made one of the stupidest and unthinking decisions I had ever made by abandoning my son because of fears around tooth issues and illness. 

    You all know the flight situation.  By the time I arrived home, at midnight last night, I had been awake then for 28 hours.  I tried to sleep (in the living room since David has COVID and is isolating in our room), but the tooth pain was a problem again. So this morning, after four hours of sleep, I tested for COVID (negative so far) and then toddled off to the dentist.  I needed a root canal, and immediately.  The Endodontist who did it said I had a severe crack all through the root of my molar as well as the molar itself.  The infection, despite the anti-biotics, was severe.  And this wasn't just a "go in and have it fixed" kind of thing.  I need to go back so he can do a little more work to remove all of the infection and then I will need a crown since the tooth is also cracked.  I can only eat "soft" foods until this is all taken care of, and I'm supposed to rest as much as I can. Okay, then.  So I guess it was the right decision to come home.

    But I am still heartbroken.  Truly heartbroken.  Of all the parts of my sabbatical, as you all may know, this was the part that I was most looking forward to: time with my son to walk the Camino was the main purpose and highlight for me of this time.  

    Still, as always, I feel my job, both professionally and personally is to look for the hope and look for the good.  So the good:

    I did get four important and meaningful days with my son.  Two in Porto and two walking.  I have once again been given the opportunity to learn the lesson of flexibility.  As Middle said it, "Plans aren't important.  Planning is." So we did the planning.  And the universe, or God, or whatever you blame for what interferes with those plans had other ideas. It turns out there are other important reasons to be home: other people who are close to me who are also in need right now.  I want to be here for them as much as I can, which is harder to do from Portugal. I continue to be grateful for my son: for his kindness, his flexibility, and his determination to continue with the Camino despite everything. He's made connections with other folk on the path and he will be fine, as much as a part of me still thinks of him as a little boy.

    And there we are.  The best laid plans often don't mean a thing in this crazy but wondrous journey we call life.  But there are gifts in all of it.  

    That's the update.  And now I'm heading to take more ibuprofen as well as another antibiotic pill, and to get some sleep!

The Best Laid Plans…

     Yesterday we arrived in Porto, found Middle, got to our hotel.  All good.  Today the plan was to experience Porto.  I had tickets at Livraria Lello, suppposedly the most beautiful bookstore in the world, and we were hoping to bop down to the river for a river cruise.  Today is David’s last day in Europe… he flies home with Middle’s belongings, so we also planned to organize and figure out how to have Middle keep what he needs and give David what he doesn’t.  We had it all worked out with plans to eat at specific places and to try specific foods, even.

    However, the day before yesterday I started to have an intermittent pain in my jaw and mouth.  I kept just hoping it would go away.  But this morning when we went down for the breakfast, drinking warm tea was almost unbearable. In addition, after yesterday evening's attempts to slim down what we needed David to take home (I got rid of a number of articles of clothing including my jacket, David threw out a number of articles of clothing as well, including some jeans, and Middle threw out more of the belongings he’d already pared down substantially in Norway. I had told him when he insisted on taking his skis to Norway that he would never be able to return with them but some lessons are hard learned: so skis, bag, poles, as well as many items of clothing and other assorted objects now belong to Norway, despite my warnings), we STILL could not fit everything that really needed to come home into two checked bags and a carry-on.  So, today’s plans were tossed.  

    Middle had the job of finding a new backpack for his continued travels through Europe with the hope of giving his old one to David to replace the smaller one we had brought as his "personal item."  My job was to find a dentist who was willing to see me TODAY since we are supposed to start the Camino tomorrow morning.  With the hotel’s help, I was able to find a woman who said she would go into her office to see me even though today her office was closed.  After fighting with our map app, we finally found the place.  She said I have an infection in one tooth that has spread to my jaw, she prescribed both antibiotics and pain killers which I then had filled at the local pharmacy, and encouraged me to see my own dentist ASAP to get this dealt with properly.

      Middle, in the meantime, went on a hunt for a larger backpack for himself.  He wasn’t finding what he really needed, so I joined him and we spent the afternoon walking to the different sports shops in Porto.  We were still unable to find what he needed.  It is now 5PM.  Day shot.  Not very successful on the one hand.  We will spend more time this evening paring down even more so David can leave at 4am tomorrow morning for home.  Hopefully they will LET him check two bags… if not, we will be in real trouble.  

    But again, we have choices about how to view this day.  While we did not do the touristy things in Porto, Middle and I certainly saw a great deal of it as we searched for camping or sporting goods stores.  We got in some good walking which will be good prep for the next couple weeks.  We saw some lovely gardens.  In addition, I met with the kindness of strangers.  The dentist that saw me hardly spoke any English and it’s been so long since I spent that summer in Brazil that my Portuguese is pretty much forgotten.  Still, she came out on her day off to help a stranger and would only take a hug as payment!  Kindness indeed.  It was also a very good thing that today when the pain became unbearable I had the space and help of the hotel staff to find someone to see me.  I won’t have that space over the next couple weeks.  I am glad it happened here.

    So yes, the plans went awry.  Sometimes that’s life.  And many times it’s okay that things don’t go as planned.  We just have to look for the good.

Some days…

     Sunday we continued our England travels by exploring the national parks of Exmoor and Dartmoor.  We stopped in Lynton, where most of our group spent their time shopping.  Of course, we took off, walking out to the Valley of the Rocks… incredible views!  

    We also saw a number of truly beautiful gardens on our way out of the city… all in people’s yards.  Afterwards we took the Lynton and Lynmouth Cliff Railway (which is “the highest and the steepest totally water powered railway in the world”) down to Lynmouth, a little village at the bottom of those cliffs.  We learned about the flood that came and destroyed the city, killing many and taking many homes into the ocean.  David and I continued to be a bit rebellious and while others were exploring cafes and grabbing lunch, we walked along the river to beautiful views of falls, flowers and small gardens.  We then headed to Porlock for lunch, but it being Sunday, everything was closed. So we went on and had a short stop in Minehead, which is a little larger community.  While the rest of our group again ate and shopped, we went on a search for gardens and found some lovely flower gardens. 

    Afterwards we spent the night at Bovey Castle.  We arrived there fairly late with just enough time to eat and go to bed and we left early yesterday morning for our Monday adventures.  It was a disappointment to all of us that we were there for just a few short hours.  For me, I’ve never stayed in a place so nice before and honestly felt a bit intimidated.  It was beautiful!

    Monday, yesterday, we only had one real stop: we went to Dorset for the things I was most looking forward to about this tour: we went to Athelhampton Manor and Gardens where we had high tea and then explored the manor and Elizabethan gardens.  We were given a tour of the manor by a highly educated historian.  He was interesting, but I started to panic when what was supposed to be an hour tour approached the second hour mark.  I didn’t want to listen anymore, as interesting as it was: I was worried there would not be enough time for the gardens, so I snuck out and went for a marvelous stroll in the gardens by myself, to be joined a half hour later by David who had stayed for the end of the house tour. Truly lovely.  

    Last night as well as this evening we stay in Evershot, a small village of 230 residents!!  But the grounds where we are staying are once again INCREDIBLE!

     The last two days were very good days for us!  

    But one of those two days was not such a good day for our bus driver.  Our driver has worked for tours for six years, and according to him, has never had problems.  But many of the roads he was driving on were TIGHT in their turns and extremely narrow, which meant that when we were faced with a car coming the other direction, sometimes there were real issues about which car would back up, how far, and how turns would be made at all by such a big coach.  Up until now, our driver has done fine. But yesterday as he moved way over towards the hedge wall to give enough room for a fast on-coming car to pass, there was an ominous crunching sound.  Sure enough, the hedge wall was hiding a brick wall which significantly scraped the bus. Then, as he went around one very steep curve, the back of the bus hit the ground and knocked loose a part of the rear fender.  Finally as we were on the M5, suddenly those of us near the front saw the blur of wings and heard a loud BAM as a pigeon flew into the windshield.  Our driver was beside himself.  But his day did not completely end there… The tour guide told him what room he was supposedly staying in at the hotel and told him to ask the front desk for the key.  He did so, was given the key, and when he opened the door to the room, he was greeted by a completely naked elderly woman just stepping out of the shower. He apologized in response to her screams, hastily shut the door, and went back to reception to find he was actually supposed to be in a different room.  Our driver could not figure out why everything in his day seemed pear-shaped. 

    What was a glorious day for us was a BAD day for him.  People can be in very close proximity to one another and yet have completely divergent experiences.  Those experiences tend to effect how we see and ultimately understand the world. Even when we are in the same space each person’s experience is vastly different and therefore effects our feelings and thoughts.  Is it any wonder that we have a hard time understanding one another?  Objectivity, while important, can be elusive for any of us.  For me, this so obvious example of people in the same situation experiencing the day in such opposing ways was a reminder to be more grace-filled towards those around me.  Much of the time we just don’t know what others are going through.

Back in England

     Thursday we started the day by visiting Glastonbury and the historical Abby grounds.  The people of this little village believe Glastonbury to be the most spiritual place in the world.  Hm.  I would agree that it was what we call a “thin” place: a place where the divide between what is corporal and what is spiritual seems to thin a bit.  This felt especially true for David, but that is his story to tell.  The Abby grounds are where, according to the abby, King Arthur’s remains were found and reburied for a long time.  There were also some lovely gardeny areas on the grounds which were beautiful to see.

    Afterwards we went to Plymouth and went on a short “cruise” around the bay from whence Sir Francis Drake and later the Mayflower set forth.  I think that would have been more interesting if it hadn’t been pouring rain and so windy that the places the cruise director pointed out we were pretty much unable to see…

    In the evening we were in Devon and in Dartmoor in particular where we had the wonderful gift of hearing a story teller talk about Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s inspiration for The Hound of the Baskervilles. We also heard about Pixies and witches and it was enrapturing just to hear this fantastic story teller weave her tales, sharing with us local legends.

    Friday then we spent along the coast of Cornwall.  We visited Looe and had a wonderful walk along the beach, then went on to Penzance (yes, as in the pirates of…) and finally to St. Ives where David and I found a number of beautiful garden areas as well as walked along another beach.  

    Today is Saturday and I’m having some tummy troubles: too much rich food.  Too much food, period.  My body has had enough.  Nonetheless I (probably foolishly) set off to go where we are led. We started the morning by going to Tintagel Castle where, supposedly, King Arthur was conceived…

    The hilly and aerobic walk greatly improved my mood.  After that we went to Padstow… Also beautiful. David and I, ever on the hunt for gardens, only briefly spent time on the wharf.  The rest of the time we found paths and discovered memorials, wildernesses, and incredible views.

    Then we went to Port Isaac, where Doc Martin was based and filmed. 

    My learning about my travel style deepens.  On this tour, we have been taken to specific places with specific things in mind for us to see, often having to do with shopping and visiting city-like places.   But my interests are off the beaten path.  So when given free time, we find our way out from where the rest of our tour is roaming.  It really works for me as I’m able to see what I came here to see: the wilds, the gardens. I’m also finding that many of the best “gardens” are in people’s small yards, or in the country landscapes of England.  The flowers that naturally grow here (many valerians, fox gloves, Queen Anne’s Lace, Elderflower, daisies, even mustard) are so beautiful!  They line the pathways and roads, creating a natural beauty we can only begin to duplicate in our yards.  I’m not saying the tour is un-valuable.  We learn a lot of history from the tour guide, and we go to places that were not necessarily on my radar at all: the talk with the forager was amazing, as was listening to the story-teller.  Not sure we could have found either of those on our own. But my favorite parts of this England/Wales part of my sabbatical have been the time I’ve had with David, walking at our own pace and in our own space: seeing what is often known only to the locals or others who are willing to venture out a little farther.  As the tour continues we are opting out of more of the dinner “optional events” to do our own thing.  The meals that these options provide are, as I said above, too rich and too big for me anyway.  I’d rather avoid the expensive overeating (for me: no judgment on others’ choices) and see what small mom and pop shops, cafes and restaurants are selling to those who live here.  

    The other advantages for me of these tours: first, I don’t have to drive, so I’m free to just look around at the scenery.  Secondly, they give a taste and inform us about what we might want to dig into more deeply if given the chance to come back someday.  I know I want to return to that history museum in Cardiff, for example.  I would like to explore more fully the national parks here for their beauty and connections to nature.  We didn’t really see the Cotswold other than driving through, and I would love to have a chance to really visit some of those small house gardens which I’ve heard are amazing.  

    All in all, I’m deeply aware of the gifts of this time.  I’m also tired, and I find myself missing the people who are normally such an important part of my daily life: my kids, my congregation, my lectionary group, my extended family, my friends…All of you are often in my thoughts and I hope you are all well.  I am halfway through my sabbatical as of today, which has both flown by, and at the same time drags on.  Time is weird that way.  I continue to look forward to the lessons of tomorrow.

Good places, Bad places?

     When Youngest and I were visiting colleges, we took some time in Oregon to look at one in particular.  I talked about it in another post at the time and don’t need to repeat what I wrote there: it wasn’t the right school for Youngest, which is fine: that’s why you do these tours, to find out what you like and don’t like, what fits and doesn’t fit.  What I do want to say is that it was also a mother-daughter vacation for us so we also drove up to and through Portland.  We left that city feeling that the city had rejected us at every turn.  We went to the zoo, only to discover you had to have tickets ahead of time and there were none available for that day.  We went to the international rose garden, and all the roses had been cut back to the ground that very week: there wasn’t a single rose to be seen.  We went to the Japanese Garden and it was closed that day for work. We went to Powell’s City of Books and were unable to find parking (a rarity for me) anywhere within a half mile of the store. We tried to go to the Portland Art Museum, but it’s closed Monday-Wednesday and so we could not go.  Finally, we just drove to our hotel.  But we were stuck in traffic that meant it took over an hour to drive the 6 miles to the hotel.  When we arrived, we found it was a dump of a hotel: not a place we even felt SAFE, let alone a place to get clean or to sleep soundly. When we left, we shook the dirt off our shoes and accepted that Portland did not want us and we were okay with that.

    David and I feel the same way about Cardiff where we stayed for the last 2 days.  We are with a tour that had difficulty even arriving at the hotel because apparently the first night we were there, so was P!NK, and so the city center where our hotel was located was packed with people all having come to party and see P!NK.  I don’t like dealing with that kind of huge crowds and David needed to work so we stayed in our hotel room that evening rather than braving dinner in town.  Our room looks over the train tracks and is almost on top of them.

  Additionally, while this was supposed to be a very nice hotel, our bathroom was dirty, there was a piece broken out of the bath, the fan doesn’t work, and the shower is so tight, as well as curved, that it’s hard to stand in it. But more than any of this, yesterday morning I woke up with three giant, very itchy and angry BITES on my face from something in the room. Additionally, we’ve been trying to wash our clothes by hand in our room, and that, too, has been a disaster because they aren’t drying fast enough in this humid room with no working fan, meaning smell sets in: ugh!

    Much of yesterday we had unscheduled time, so since I am here to see gardens, we googled the “best gardens in Cardiff” and set out.  The number one garden listed turned out to be a sports arena.  I have no idea why that came up as one of the best gardens since there was not one garden plant to be seen.  Another was torn up completely, fenced in, with piles of concrete and tractors.  

    A third was a small playground.  Giving up on the gardens, we then went looking for traditional food from Wales for lunch.  We’d been told by our tour guide to look in particular for Cornish pasties and Welsh cake, but we couldn’t find either.

    In the afternoon we went to St Fagan’s National Museum of History.  For my Cleveland friends, it is very similar to Hale Farm and Village.  For others, I’d say there are similarities to Williamsburg in that it is an old historic village.  It was awesome, really.  But our tour guide gave us only 80 minutes to go through the entire area which is over 100 acres of historic sites and buildings. I felt like David and I were zooming through to try to see as much of it as we could, and to my great surprise and disappointment, at the end I found an incredibly beautiful castle and garden area that we did not really have time to see.  I certainly didn’t have the time to truly enjoy it as I would have liked.

    Still, the day was not a complete loss.  Though we only saw the St. Fagan’s National Museum in a huge rush, what we did see was amazing.  In the morning we also visited Cardiff Castle, which was very interesting.  And in the evening we had a very nice dinner with our group that included being entertained by Welsh singers and a harpist.  That was truly lovely.  

    Returning to our hotel then, I was completely unable to sleep since the room was hot, the fan didn’t work, and there was no light sheet I could use but only a heavy comforter that meant I was either too hot, or had no covering. Despite what was positive and enjoyable, then, I felt the same sense of being rejected by a city that I felt when we were in Portland.  I also feel the same sense of “that’s fine” about it.  As I said in an earlier post, I’m not a city girl and this was definitely a city!  

    As I reflected on this, two thoughts came to mind.  First, it is easy to globalize one’s experience.  Obviously the time in Cardiff was really mixed: some wonderful things (the castle, the museum, the dinner), some not so wonderful.  But it would be easy for me to globalize and say it was not a good time.  Similarly it is easy to globalize a good experience, when the reality is that everything is mixed.  We absolutely loved Bath, for example.  But that doesn’t mean the time there was perfect.  One of the less ideal experiences we had in Bath was that our tour guide took us to a “very special English tea experience” where we were going to have “famous Sally Lum buns.”  Yes, we had tea: the same kind of tea I drink on a daily basis. And these famous buns, as far as we could tell, were large half hamburger buns. I love breads of all kinds, but I don’t even count hamburger buns as true bread: white flour, airy, with little taste, only good with something between them and even then, I often remove the top half of the bun because it’s just too much and is more utilitarian than edible.  It was an expensive yet disappointing “tea” experience.  But it was easy to ignore in light of all the wonderful things we saw and experienced in Bath.  I think, then, that it remains important to focus on gratitude and the things that are life giving and positive. I don’t need to waste energy on what was less than ideal.  But focusing on what is good brings me joy.  I choose.  And I don’t always choose for the best.

    My second thought was that there are places that resonate with a person and places that don’t.  I’m not actually sure that the reasons can always be accurately named.  Sometimes it is just the day that one is having, sometimes it is an experience, and sometimes it just comes down to something intangible: a sense, a smell, a sound that leads to one feeling good or not so good about a space.  First impressions, maybe.  For myself, I’ve learned that my first impressions are usually wrong, especially when those impressions are less than positive.  Just as it is unfair to people to judge them based on first impressions, perhaps my first impressions of places are equally to be viewed with suspicion.

    So, while I felt, like I did in Portland, like we were dismissed by the city, I’m not ready to pass judgement (and perhaps similarly for Portland).  And instead of labeling our time there as a bad time, perhaps I can just say, more truthfully, that our time there was mixed.  Even as I write this, I remember that while the gardens we were aiming to view were not the gardens we wanted to see, the walk to those “gardens” was actually quite lovely: we walked along the River Taff, in a lovely green belt of trees and grass, apart from the streets of the city.  Maybe my naming of the day as a “bad day” might have caused me to forget the beautiful part of the walk in favor of remembering the disappointment.  It was a different experience than we had expected, but not, on the whole a bad one.  

    So my lessons for today are to be cautious in my judgments and to focus on the good.  Not such bad lessons.

Traveling

         My sabbatical (according to the extensive grant application I wrote) is focused on healing time and towards that I said there were several activities that were healing for me: gardening, hiking, and writing being three of those.  Towards that end, I divided the three months into different sections:

1. Rest and work on my own garden

2. Travel through California with my girls to see and visit gardens throughout the state to learn and gain more ideas for continued work on my own garden.

3. Visit Iona to hike, pray, write.

4. Go on a garden tour of England and Wales with David

5. Walk the Camino with my son.

6.  Continue to work on my garden at home.

Yesterday I finished part 3.  In a reverse of how we began our time in the UK:

 We walked to the ferry,

Took the ferry from Iona to Mull.

Took the bus across the Island of Mull.

Took the ferry to Oban.

Took the train back to Glasgow.

Walked to our hotel.

We had nothing else scheduled for the day, which turned out to be a good thing.  I mentioned in another blog post that there would undoubtedly be challenges but I would strive to see them as adventures.  Yesterday was our day of “challenges”.  First, the water was extremely choppy because the high winds continued.  As a result, the ferry arrived on Mull a bit late: it just couldn’t go the speed it usually does.  That meant the bus left late, though it had waited for the ferry to arrive.  Then, as we were on the drive around Mull, the bus actually broke down.  By the time they were able to do a “bandaid repair” on the bus to get us the rest of the way around Mull to the repair hub (which was only about .2 miles from the ferry terminal), the ferry had left.  That meant we all waited for the next ferry, two hours later. This set a number of people back, but we had actually sort of prepared… we’d bought a late train ticket to get back to Glasgow, just with a sense that we didn’t want things to be rushed “just in case” there were problems.  so we caught the train just fine, but apparently one of the train lines had had a fire, which meant the train we took was re-routed a different way to get back to Glasgow.  What was supposed to be a three hour train ride actually took SIX!!  AND, the train terminal where we were supposed to exit was closed, so that added a short extension to our walk at the end.  It all worked out fine: again, we had nothing else scheduled for the day and we had more interesting conversations with locals.  One man in particular wanted to talk politics with us (which I’m happy to share with anyone interested) but also wanted to give us some of his Scottish snacks, which were interesting. Another family talked about what they had done in Scotland and where they were headed, and another couple shared with us what they thought we ought to see while in London.  What continued to be interesting to me is that many of these folk also shared about recent losses they’ve experienced: one woman sharing that her brother had just died, another that his wife died nine months ago.  I don’t know what I carry that invites this, but I’m always happy to be a support and to listen.  It just continues to feel like an unbelievable privilege to me when folk go deep with me: and to have these strangers choose to do so was another unexpected gift.  When we finally arrived in Glasgow it was fairly late. We ate our Scotland-required fish and chips for dinner and then went to bed.

Today then was another travel day.  We took the train to London from Glasgow: a beautiful ride that again took a large part of the day.  More interesting conversations: one with a nurse whose daughter is getting married this weekend and another who works to provide supported housing for the mentally ill.  That was an amazing conversation, and we had a lot in common to talk through.  We arrived here at 2PM which gave us enough time to be regular tourists for the afternoon: seeing Buckingham Palace, the Elizabeth Tower (Big Ben), Trafalgar Square as well as several beautiful parks: St. James Park, Parliament Square Garden, the Queen’s Gardens, and ending it all with high tea at the English Rose. This evening we have the great treat of going to see The Mouse Trap live in London’s west end!  I can’t wait!!  It’s the longest running show in the world and as a big Agatha Christie fan, I couldn’t NOT see it!  Tomorrow we return to focusing more on Gardens and Parks.  We are planning to go to the Kew in the morning and then I will walk Hyde park while David works.  

The main thing I learned from all of this was that I really don’t care to be a regular tourist most of the time. I’m glad to say that I’ve actually seen Buckingham Palace and Big Ben. But we didn’t go inside either: Neither of us were interested.  What I really value is talking with people, experiencing a bit of the culture and walking in the gardens, parks and natural landscapes of the areas.  When we arrived at the train station here and disembarked into huge crowds of people rushing, pushing, trying to get to wherever each was going, I felt overwhelmed and like I just wanted to hide. We had to take a subway (or the “underground”) after the train and it was even more crowded, loud and overwhelming. On the one hand, I appreciate not paying for taxis or cars but actually traveling the way most people travel.  But I found myself texting the kids with the phrase, “Once again, I’ve been reminded that I am NOT a city girl!”  That is definitely part of it.  But also, I feel like the tourist traps, or the things that people usually come to see keep those who visit them at a surface level of interaction with a different place and people.  I’m not so interested in that surface level interaction.  I want to know how people think and feel, I want to get to know the landscape and the land itself, I want to see the animals and watch them in their home places.  

I find myself increasingly grateful for the few days we had on Iona that were just mine to walk, to write, to attend services, to talk to folk, and to just be.  I’m glad we began our European time there, and I’m aware that I could easily have spent much more time there.  It was a centering gift; and a time that I will reflect on often for the gifts it gave. I’m going to end this for now as we need to take the underground to see our play this evening.

I hope all of you are well. While I miss you, I feel connected to you all still through my writing: it feels like I’m writing letters to a friend.  So thank you for reading these my letters to you.

 

A Little Piece of Heaven.

     Today I did the hikes I had wanted to do yesterday: in particular to St. Columba’s Bay, over towards the quarry and then back around and up to Port Ban.  Incredible, all of it!  I will try to upload a video from the Bay for you below… again, with the pictures issue that I’m having, I’m not positive I can make that work, but I will try. Today’s hike was a bit over eight miles.  Yesterday I walked ten miles, though the obvious difference was the terrain.  Yesterday was gentle hills on paved or gravel roads, today was hills, rocky terrain, on paths that were many times barely discernible. The other, more profound difference was how the hike to St. Columba’s Bay felt, and seeing/touching the water of the bay in particular.  Both days I walked alone. While David is here on Iona with me, he is not a hiker.  Additionally, his work has required that he has to still manage to get in 40 hours of work during the three weeks he will be with me in Europe, so he is taking the unscheduled, quiet days on Iona to try to get some of those hours in.  I was actually looking forward to having the quiet, meditative and reflective as well as prayerful time to walk by myself.  None the less, the solitary walk to the North of Iona yesterday was stressful for me: or it produced anxiety for me.  I didn’t see anyone, and I felt nervous about that.  While Iona is pretty safe, I carry with me the reality from home that 50% of women in the United States will be assaulted during their life times, many of those more than once. Walking by oneself as a female is generally not considered wise or safe. If someone had approached me, there would be no one else around to call to for help.  I couldn’t shake it.  I kept trying to just breathe and be in the present, but was unable to do so.

    On today’s hike I also saw no one until I was almost all the way back from St. Columba’s Bay.  But it felt different.  There was no anxiety.  There was instead a calm but strong sense of being where I needed to be in the moment.  I was searching for the trail much of the time, as well as trying to hold my phone with its trail app to make sure I was at least in the right vicinity while at the same time using my poles in the hope that the extra support would prevent my knee acting up. The wind today was still quite strong, and at one point the clouds let loose and I ended up quite soaked.  And yet, despite all this, I kept being astounded by the beauty at every turn, the wildlife and the joys of hearing the sheep and birds talk to one another and occasionally even to me.  It was incredible.  Not a “destination” but really the point of being here: the hard journey which was rewarded at every turn by something beautiful and unexpected. 

    As I stood on the beach I felt tears pouring down my face in awe and wonder at what was before me, and found myself repeating, almost unconsciously the mantra “Thank you, God” over and over and over. The video I attach will not do it justice, and yet, it’s all I can do to try to share with you this little piece of heaven that was the gift of the day for me.

And a few photos: 

Becoming

We’ve only been on this journey 3 and days.  But so far the number of interesting conversations I’ve had with strangers has been beyond my expectations. Below I name just a few of those interactions:

On the bus bridge between BART stations I had a conversation with a woman who had just come back from walking the Porto-Santiago part of the Camino: the same path Middle and I will be walking. We had a wonderful conversation about knee problems and how to make the walk pleasant and possible.  We talked about our sons (she walked with her adult son as I will be walking with mine).  It was truly a delightful and unexpected conversation.

While waiting for the ferry to Mull, I ended up in a conversation with a stranger who worked on Iona for 24 years.  She shared with me about her life, her time on Iona, her little house on Fionnphort, and then she also shared that her husband had died 9 months ago, what happened, what that has been like for her and how she is surviving it.  While that part of the conversation was not necessarily “fun,” it was valuable and deep.

In my blog post yesterday I shared about the conversation I had with the young man studying to become a Jesuit priest.  That conversation about our lives, faith, trust, spirituality, continues to cause reflection and learning for me.

This morning at breakfast I ended up in a conversation with a couple at the table next to us.  The man worked as a head librarian for the highlands while his wife owned a book store.  Now retired, they are active in the Church of Scotland as elders and we spent an hour discussing all of our connections and what Iona has meant to each of us.

At lunch today, I ended up talking with a large group of folk who are here on pilgrimage from the US.  Many are pastors, some Presbyterian, and some from the Bay Area! They encouraged me to join a group called “clergy with cats” on FaceBook so we can stay connected.

These are a few of the conversations I’ve had so far.  I’m sure there will be more conversations like this: we have only been on the road since late Saturday, and much of that time involved confined travel situations.

But what I have learned from reflecting on these is a couple things: First, almost always there are ways we can connect with those around us: there are things we share in common, and opportunities to learn from the differences.  Each of these connections with strangers included gifts.  Each conversation provided chances for me to learn more deeply about the world and about others, to restore some faith for me in humanity in general, in the kindness of the world, and in the deeper connections and similarities we all share. 

Secondly, with each conversation, as I looked over at David, he was laughing and shaking his head.  I asked him if it bothered him that I was having all these conversations with strangers, and his response was, “No, of course not!  This is just YOU!”  But what I realized is that I don’t, or at least I haven’t, seen myself this way.  What I mean is that I generally self define as shy, as introverted, as socially awkward and as withdrawn.  I see myself as a person on the outside of what is happening around me much of the time. But seeing myself through David’s eyes, I have come to realize that maybe the shy, withdrawn version of myself was more about my own sense of insecurity than anything real about who I truly am.  I’m growing past those insecurities, and as a result I feel more able to be who I really am.  I’m moving more into a place of not caring as much about other people’s judgements of me.  I am more willing to take the risk of being disliked and feel less intimidated into trying to be the person I believe other people want me to be.  I’ve seen this in other parts of my life as well. My eldest child has much of my social awkwardness, but they also are not afraid to be who they want to be.  They wear clothing that doesn’t necessarily fit into current styles, and they still (at the ripe old age of 24) are willing to grab my hand in public.  They burst into singing in places like grocery stores and while walking.  It’s not that they are unaware that others find these behaviors odd: they simply don’t care.  And I’m finding that I don’t either.  Eldest gets to be who Eldest chooses to be, and I feel nothing but pride at their decisions to live as they want, even when that means others around them don’t or won’t understand or appreciate their choices.  Being around Eldest has also given me some courage to choose for myself as well.  When they start to sing, sometimes I will join them, just because I want to, for example. 

Moving past other people’s judgments also encourages me to move beyond my own self-judgments.  Today, for example, we are on the incredible Island of Iona.  As I planned my time here, I saw it mostly involving walking, hiking, meditating, praying, and attending services.  I did walk this morning and it was wonderful and lovely.  But currently it is raining, it is extremely windy with a bitter gale that I simply don’t enjoy.  So, I am sitting in a beautiful conservatory in the inn and writing.  I am listening to the wind and the rain, but within the confines of a dry and comfortable space.  My inclination in making this choice was self-condemnation, “Barbara Ellen, you SHOULD be taking advantage of your time here to walk, to hike!  You will regret it if you don’t!”  Maybe… or maybe I will appreciate that this is my time, and I am doing what is making me happy in this moment, looking out at the ocean while sitting surrounded by geraniums and listening to the sounds of nature around me. Life doesn’t always happen in the ways we expect.  And that is more than okay. 

The conversations I’ve been having with strangers are just one part of moving into being who I want and choose to be.  Sitting and writing instead of walking in the rain and wind is another piece of that as well.  I am so grateful for today and for this time.