My lifetime road trip!
I had six messages waiting for me when I checked my e-mail tonight, a shock to my system. But I found I was glad to get them all and didn’t mind answering any of them.
Katy said she and Mark had bought a dog for the kids, and though they had paid a good deal of money for it, the cute pup, unbeknownst to them and the breeder, had mange. To make matters much worse, after a day or two of cuddling him, so did they. But once they got a nasty pink lotion from the pharmacist and covered their bodies with it twice, and after they had washed everything that could be stuffed into a washer, the unfortunate incident was behind them. The puppy loved them, and except when he howled in his cage at night, they loved the puppy.
Molly reported that on the way to preschool last Friday, little Hank had said their car smelled like chicken and toots. Jada scowled at him across the backseat and said he was so gross. “You don’t know what you’re missing by not taking the kids to school,” Molly said.
I wrote them back and gave them a summary of my little adventures at Santa Cruz Island, the Santa Barbara Zoo, and the Monterey Bay Aquarium, where I had bought stuffed otters for the girls and penguins for the boys. “I’m enjoying these days,” I wrote, “finding in them what I’ve been calling ‘tender graces.’ But speaking of ‘tender graces,’ ” I added, “I need a grandkid fix. I’m longing to feel their sweet arms around me.”
Liz e-mailed from her daughter’s laptop and said Vernon was home and as ornery as ever. “Despite the scar down the middle of his chest, he’s feeling better than before the operation.” I thanked her for the update and said I hoped to check on Vernon myself the next time I was in the Phoenix area.
Willa wrote and said the buffalo wanted her to say hello. I wrote back and said wasn’t she glad she had bought the civil pair, who have time and an inclination for pleasantries?
Andrew wrote that Marlene had gone out to lunch with him today. “She’s agreed to come to dinner at the house next Friday night when Allie is home. I told her about your visit and what you said about the importance of the history she and I share. She seemed to find that interesting. I just thought you’d like to know.”
“I’m thrilled to know,” I wrote. “In case you haven’t gotten the hang of it yet, I’ll pray for your evening together.”
The last message was from Zack. “I’m planning on picking you up at one tomorrow unless you write back and tell me not to come.”
“Are you almost done with that book, or what?” I replied. “I love the inn, I’ve had a wonderful Sunday, and I’ll see you at one tomorrow.”
September 25
“I stopped by Rent-A-Roadster and picked this up for our drive,” he said as we approached a two-seat Mercedes in the parking lot. “You’re going to see this coast in style.”
I had heard of the 17-Mile Drive, and it was beautiful, but so was everything else we saw, and viewing it all from the convertible was nicer than seeing it from my car—a sunroof just can’t compare. Instead of going to a nice restaurant for dinner after a day driving over a good percentage of Highway 1, we stopped at a deli and put together a picnic and found a spot on the beach to spread out the blanket Zack had thought to bring. It might have been the best meal I’ve had on this trip.
After we had eaten and put everything away except the bottles left in the six-pack of Coke, we weren’t in a big hurry to leave the deserted beach. Cars zooming by in the distance and a tanker on the ocean far on the horizon reminded us we weren’t alone on the planet. But it seemed as though we were, and perhaps for this reason, Zack took me to the place in his heart he said he could seldom bear to visit, the last weeks with his wife, Maggie.
“Actually,” he began, “the last two months were bad. Maggie’s sister and Carley and the boys stayed with her while Jason and I were at work. Eventually, though, I’d come home after hours of meetings and wonder what in the world I was doing. By the last month, I’d go into the office very early and leave before lunch so that I could spend as much time with her as possible.
“She loved me despite my inattentiveness to her during much of our marriage, and lying beside her on those afternoons, my choices began to make me sick. I think we took two real vacations the whole time Jason was growing up. We even had to cancel our twenty-fifth-anniversary trip to Hawaii because of an emergency at work. It really was a crisis, and the company pulled out of it, but the trip was never rescheduled. A few weeks before she died, she said she hoped when she was gone that I’d do more with my life than run a company.”
Zack, using a stick he’d picked up on our trek through the sand, dug trenches next to our blanket as he talked. Part of me wanted to say, Why don’t we drive through Pebble Beach again? But part of me thought this was another one of those divine appointments, and my job was to listen.
He tossed away the stick and turned his attention to the tanker, which wasn’t making much headway on the horizon. “I told her,” he continued, “that would be pretty ironic. And pointless. She said it might be ironic, but not pointless, not for me anyway. She said she wanted me to get much more out of life, that she had wanted that for a long time. Maggie was filled with hope and peace as she prepared to leave this world, things she must have cultivated for years while I worked ten hours a day, sometimes six days a week.
“I quit my job in June, a week before she died. I told her I had agreed to teach business courses at MU in Columbia the next fall. ‘I hope you don’t mind leaving St. Louis,’ I said. She said she didn’t mind at all.”
His wife’s saying, “I don’t mind at all,” when she knew she wouldn’t leave that bed did it for me. I grabbed my sweatshirt off the blanket between us and wiped away the tears streaming down my face. Zack smiled at me, tears brimming in his soft brown eyes, and took a deep breath, determined, it seemed, to finish this story.
“I was lying beside her when the time came for her to go.”
Ah, I thought, a tender grace.
“ ‘I’m sorry,’ I told her, which could, and did, apply to so many things. She put her fingers to my lips to quiet me, and then she closed her eyes and gently slipped away.”
I handed him my sweatshirt, and we sat for a long while, handing it back and forth. It wasn’t as helpful as a box of tissues, but it sufficed.
“We are a pair,” I finally said.
He’s driving back down tomorrow, same time, to take me kayaking again. He said Monterey Bay is an even better place for it than Santa Cruz Island. He’s also making me a reservation at a hotel in downtown San Francisco for Wednesday and Thursday nights. I think he’s enjoying showing me the area.
I told him I had thought at one point that I might go all the way up the coast to Seattle, but I’ve decided to go no farther north. Seattle and Portland and Yellowstone can all wait for another day.
“Good choice,” he said. “Anyway, you couldn’t go all the way to Seattle without ferrying over to Victoria, you know.”
“That sounds lovely. But another time. I’m ready, eager even, to head east. Although I’m considering taking a slight detour to see southern Wyoming.”
Zack had spent unprecedented time with his grandsons in the last several months, so he understood my sudden and overwhelming desire to get back to my family.
“There’s no danger of home becoming a tomb again?” he asked.
“I hesitate to sound so confident, but I’m sure it won’t. It might be a refuge, as home should be, but not a tomb. I’m a mountain climber now, a mule rider, not a zombie.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I sat down this morning and mapped out the rest of the trip. I’m hoping to get to the end of John by the time I get home. When I let Tom’s Bible ride along with me, I had no idea how much it would affect this journey of mine.”
“Your husband would have known, I’ll bet.”
“Yes, and I should have.”
“How’s Acts of Faith coming?”
“Slow. Did you know that book has no stopping places? Chapters are of
ten too long to work. It’s the only book I remember reading that required me to bookmark at a paragraph. I’m still working on it, though. But it’s John I’m committed to. Many things are contributing to my healing, but nothing more than that.”
Zack had pulled into the driveway of the inn to let me out before returning the roadster. “I’m sure you need to get on with it,” he said, “but I don’t look forward to your leaving.”
I turned to him and smiled. “Isn’t that something?”
I read from John 14 when I got back to the room. “I will not leave you as orphans,” Jesus told his disciples, and he promised to give them the Counselor, the Spirit that would abide with his disciples forever. He had come, and his followers experienced peace beyond understanding. I’ve had such a sense of the Spirit’s presence in my life during these weeks on the road, and I think it is he who is leading me toward home.
Gratitude is welling up again: Thank you, thank you, thank you!
September 26
We paddled through the kelp forest along Cannery Row. The exercise was invigorating, the scenery was beautiful, and the critters were delightful. We saw otters everywhere. I would never have done this alone. That’s what I told Zack while we ate an early dinner together.
“I can’t thank you enough for giving me the opportunity to explore Monterey Bay in a kayak.”
“It was my pleasure. You looked like you were having fun.”
“I had a blast, but I’m feeling guilty about your book.”
“Don’t worry about my book—it’s right on schedule. You and I haven’t gone anywhere before one in the afternoon, and I’m an early riser.”
“My husband was an early riser. I’ve always thought rising before seven to be primitive. On school days, I had to get up at six, and in thirty years of teaching I never made friends with that hour of the day, never stopped groaning when the alarm went off. I think that’s why I like sunsets so much—it’s the only time I’m awake to see the sun do its thing with the horizon. A few weeks ago, however, I did see a spectacular sunrise over the Grand Canyon. I, and at least a hundred international travelers, loved it.”
He was smiling.
“What?”
“You’re funny.”
“You’re nice.”
He reached across the table and put his hand over mine for the briefest moment. “This is nice.” Leaning back in his chair again, he said, “Being with you is nice. I’ve dated a few times in the last year or so, but it just wasn’t fun. I pretty much gave it up.”
“I’m sorry, but I understand. I can’t imagine dating.”
He laughed.
“Can you imagine kayaking with a new friend?” he asked.
“Tell me that’s not the same thing.”
His smile and his eyes, kind and warm, make me happy.
“I went to the opera with an old friend in Phoenix two weeks ago and haven’t once thought of it as a date. It was . . .
what?”
“A shared experience?”
“That works.”
“Well, my shared experiences haven’t been fun either. And don’t be sorry. Teaching has been fun, writing has been as fun as such hard work can be, taking in the world around me has been fun, having time to be with my family has been fun. That’s a lot of fun, don’t you think?”
“Tender graces.”
“What?”
I looked across the table at him. “Tennyson’s ‘the tender grace of a day that is dead will never come back to me’ has become for me ‘the tender grace of a day.’ ”
“Shall I add Tennyson to my recreational reading?”
“I don’t know about that, but the abbreviated line probably works for you as well as for me. The things you called fun are among the many things I have begun to see as the tender graces each day brings.”
He looked at me in that intent way of his and smiled again.
“I think of you as a tender grace,” I said.
Ruby and Pearl don’t have an e-mail address, so when I returned to the room this evening, I wrote them a note on the hotel stationery that began, “The Lord is sending me back home to Missouri before I make it to Oregon .” I told them Willa and I might do the Oregon coast and Portland next summer and that I’d give them a call if that happened. I told them they had blessed my life, and I enclosed my phone number and address in case they ever want to make a trip to Missouri. And in the spirit of Willa, I added, “You would love Branson!”
I e-mailed the kids then, the message they’ve been waiting for: “I plan on being home about a week from now—next Tuesday or Wednesday. I’ll call you Wednesday, but if you have nothing else scheduled, please plan on coming for the weekend. I want to have dinner on Saturday to celebrate both my return to the land of the living and Molly’s birthday. I want soooo much to see my babies. My big kids too. I love you.”
Then I sat down to read a section of John 15 about the vine metaphor. I think grasping this truth is one of the keys to living an abundant life. I think it explains where I am today. He is the vine, and we are the branches, and as long as we remain connected to him we will be healthy, capable of producing “fruit.”
I am a healthy branch these days, Life and Light no longer my antithesis.
twenty-five
September 27
From my hotel room downtown I can see the ocean. San Francisco is a fascinating city, probably the most compact city in America. I wish Tom and I had come here. He would have loved it. When I arrived shortly before noon, Zack had left a message that he’d pick me up at three for a city tour unless I called. Three gave me enough dawdle time.
“Do you like the hotel?” he asked when I met him in the lobby.
“Very much.”
“Are you up for a tour?”
“Don’t I look like it? I haven’t clicked across a hotel lobby so fast since I was in Dallas.”
“That’s a story, isn’t it?”
“Well, not much of one. To answer your question, yes, I’m ready to see San Francisco.”
He drove me down streets made famous in movies and television shows. That’s one thing I liked about New York. Afterward I watched Law and Order with an experienced eye. “Remember seeing that, Tom?” I’d say while we ate dinner in front of the television. Now I’m eager to go home and watch television shows and movies set in San Francisco.
We abandoned the car at Fisherman’s Wharf and boarded a boat for a tour that took us around Alcatraz. When we returned to land, we spent the rest of our time walking Fisherman’s Wharf, perusing shops, though we had no intention of buying. “You can be glad Willa isn’t with us,” I said, which called for a brief explanation. I made a short story long when I told him about the buffalo pictures.
When the sun began to set, we realized we were starving and stopped to eat at a nice restaurant on the wharf.
“My son and daughter-in-law wanted me to bring you to dinner at their house,” he said. “But I didn’t think you’d want to do that on this particular trip. I told them maybe another time.”
“Please tell Jason and Carley that I appreciate their thoughtfulness. I also appreciate your understanding. You’re a sensitive man, Zack Landers.”
He laughed.
“Are you thinking Maggie wouldn’t believe someone would say such a thing?”
“Something like that.”
“I read once that the suffering that comes from losing someone we love has the potential of making us better. The old person dies, and a new one is reborn. I think your wife would be so proud of the new you.”
“I hope so. Thank you for the very nice thought.”
He left the car parked at the wharf and walked me back to the hotel. One of the long streets was the equivalent of a ten percent incline on my treadmill, and he took my hand and pulled me the remaining few feet to semilevel ground. We took a few side trips to see the lobbies of several hotels near the one I’m staying in simply to marvel at the opulence.
“We’re a long way from the Su
dan,” I said.
“Still plodding along in your book, huh?”
When we made it back to my hotel, he walked me into my lobby and over to the elevators and pushed the Up button. “The usual time tomorrow?” he asked.
“I’ll be ready.”
“We have one more day before you leave. I thought you might like to explore Sausalito, and I have a surprise for you tomorrow night—if you trust me enough.”
The elevator door opened.
“I trust you.”
In chapter 16, Jesus speaks again of going away and the Holy Spirit coming to us. Intellectually, the indwelling of the Holy Spirit is a difficult concept to get hold of. Experientially, it is simpler. He is like an ever-present Jesus: comforting and confronting, guiding and equipping, enabling and enlightening. His presence is the greatest of gifts. I’m sure Andrew thought I was a little weird when I said the Spirit was good company. I hope someday it makes perfect sense to him when he sits on his patio and looks at the hills.
Even though I wish beyond what I can say that I could look up and see Tom sitting across the room waiting for me to finish typing so that we could go to bed, I believe that in Jesus, I have everything I need. I’m sure only someone who has tested his claims can understand that is not a paradox.
September 28
I read a chapter in my novel last night since I happened upon one of a rational length. When I turned out the light and stretched out under the cool, luxurious sheets, I realized that I am getting used to being alone in a queen-size bed.
I loved sleeping with Tom. Our wedding night was the first time I had slept with a man. I was twenty-two and quite ready to be with someone—considering that someone was Tom Eaton. In between lovemaking, amateur on my part but wonderful nonetheless, we lay there talking and laughing.
The first morning of our married life was as memorable as the joy of our wedding night. My eyes still closed, I awakened, trying to discern what my feet were touching and finally realized it was Tom’s sturdy and hairy legs. Thus began the comfort of sharing a bed. It was a comfort I cherished for thirty years, one of the things I have missed most. The very human side of me can hardly stand getting used to his not lying beside me.
Tender Grace Page 18
