In this year now past, the wind blew my life in so many directions in such a short span that I experienced a new marvel: the utmost grace for the moment, fully entering into the “now” without laboring over yesterday or tomorrow, and knowing Abba’s presence no matter the distance or place.
This grace was present even in the conversation that stands now as the greatest irony of 2011. Almost precisely one year ago, we had just returned to Cape Breton after weeks of winter driving from Nova Scotia. to New York City. to Pennsylvania. to Nashville. to Michigan. and then all the way back to Ontario-New York-Connecticut-New Hampshire-Massachusetts-Maine-New Brunswick-Nova Scotia-Cape Breton, just half a step behind a blizzard that gave us hundreds of miles of interstate all to ourselves. The conversation was more correctly just one simple statement. Big happy sigh: “Isn’t it wonderful that we don’t have to go anywhere in 2011? Except for April in Australia, we have the WHOLE YEAR to stay right here at Shushan and not go ANYwhere.”
I think we are a little too old to be so naïve. I’m actually a bit surprised God was so polite He didn’t let us hear Him laughing. But though the year was filled from beginning to end with the unexpected, it was full to the top with good gifts and grace for every single moment in every single place the wind has blown us.
There was a whole winter in Cape Breton, as expected, with the blend of invigoration and unanticipated immensity of wonder, a gift that we want never, never to forget. There in that remoteness are most precious friendships of the eternal kind, and hours of fellowship around the table or around the fire that fill our hearts with a warmth that endures, all adding up to “now” moments beyond counting.
There was Australia, as planned, and it was wonderful, as expected. Overlooking spectacular Sydney Harbor from the top floor of the time-honored Customs House, we celebrated life and hope on David’s 60th and Adina’s 30th birthdays, with all the joy and gravity of such an historic event. There were the Blue Mountains and the Hunter Valley, camping, gardening, story times, hugs, and snuggles to our heart’s content.
And there was (unexpectedly) a quickly arranged flight to Michigan. David ‘s father was suddenly hospitalized with a rough bout with pneumonia, and I went to help. He was released, and I stayed on—and in those weeks more than anything, I absorbed the atmosphere of sixty years of a most genuine affection and true friendship. What grace there was, and someday I may find the words to describe the kind of love that adorns and dignifies the vulnerability of these latter years. Oh, let us love one another, for love IS OF GOD, and is the most amazing grace of all.
There was Pennsylvania. My precious mother, and all her gracious and full life in the midst of summer’s bounty, sleeping in her garden under starry skies, gentle and radiant with peace and good health. And our beloved Adelle, our magna cum laude fashion school graduate, glowing and brimful of growth and momentum.
And then there was unexpected Ethiopia. Ethiopia with three very dear Canadian friends, women of exceptional excellence. Ethiopia was a walk with our Father as He showed us just a glimpse of what He sees and knows as the God of the whole earth. His knowledge went like arrows into the depths of my heart. The grace in this journey was immense, and not without pain. There was the discovery of the finest and the best all intertwined with the darkest and the saddest; the beauty and the dignity of a great history enmeshed in an intensity of degradation and loss. Oh, Ethiopia. My heart was here expanded, and troubled, and marked for the future. This too was by grace.
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· And then there I was, in Tanzania, THERE I WAS! in Tanzania! for an unbelievable four weeks with these faraway ones over whom we hover with our night-and-day prayers. There I was, sharing dusty paths with our beloved granddaughters, and picnics by the sea or by the mango and papaya and banana trees, or under the coconut palms as the sun set and the stars appeared.
Then came New York City in splendid autumn with beautiful Adelle—how we love that girl and her city—strong and courageous Adelle.
And Thanksgiving once again in Pennsylvania, finally a trip with my David! with my dearly dearly loved nieces and nephews gathered from all their various traveling and blossoming, and the annual talent show that each year seems to outdo all the years before. And great spiritual refreshment, heaven-on-earth for me.
And last, but very, very, very far from least, came December. As with the water changed to wine, Abba saved the best for last, and crowned the end of such a year with a crowning surprise, a crowning desire fulfilled, a tenderly hidden dream come true, in the regathering of all our far-flung family. ALL our far-flung family, Every. Single. One.
And regathered to not just anywhere, not to the Holiday Inn of Farmington, or the conference center of Philadelphia, but to the land where toys were lovingly stored, and apple trees lovingly planted, and paths lovingly cleared through the woods, and clearings lovingly maintained, all for a future day such as this, when our children and grandchildren could come together and fill their hearts with memories. The land where bonfires awaited, and fireplace fires, the cushioned porch swing and the piano, the pond and the stream, panthers! and rattlesnakes! and rain dances, hot dog roasts and tickle fests, piney lean to’s and sleeping forts, and comfy days and nights. Oh, how we would like to have found the pause button, and stop the world turning for just a bit longer. But the happiness goes on, melded into a shimmery brightness, shining at year’s end like a glowing star at the very top of the tree.
Perching on this high place looking back over such a year, rising like the very tallest of the snowy peaks in the rosy sunset is the presence of I AM, who granted all these blessings and all the constant blessings between the coming and going, with the grace to live in the moment, not yesterday, not tomorrow.
Many years ago, our youngest set her sights on a little speck far, far, far, far away in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. We set her on her way, but my heart felt it could hardly survive such a distance. I had always enjoyed the poetry of the 139th Psalm, but in those days it became my daily sustenance, my ever-present reality, providing a bedrock of faith for the ever-ascending prayers of my heart. And the One I knew as my beloved Father I began to know more intimately as the Lord of all the earth, whose Presence encompasses the nearest near and the farthest far, to Whom no place on earth is unknown nor moment of time is lived apart from Him.
And in the shadow of these wings, enclosed by His love behind and before, with my trust in the Lord of the earth, I step into this year with all it may hold of the expected or unexpected.
