Adrift

I may be one of the few people disappointed when their week of jury duty is cancelled. I was informed that since there were no trials scheduled for District Court, my obligation was complete. I was looking forward to a week when I could spend my evenings with family in Puyallup, saving the time of driving from Olympia to Tacoma. Now, I suddenly have an open calendar, and had to create a different list of the things to do, take care of some delayed phone calls, reschedule some appointments, fill my time. If I was being graded on my life skills, I imagine being described as “surprisingly slow to adjust to unexpected changes.”

Whether or not John Lennon originated it or only repeated common wisdom, it is still true: “Life is what happens when you are making other plans.” Trying to plan my days is a way to regain control over what felt beyond my power for so long. The days of Larry’s illness required careful planning and specific routines. There were limited choices, little spontaneity, restricted freedoms, constant vigilance, and stress. It was my consuming reality. Evidently I am still working through the reality that I am dependent on myself alone, to take action, to meet my needs, to discover and create community. Obviously some days are better and easier.

Over the last year I have been diligent about making plans. Aware of the triggers of holidays and birthdays, events and places that would be filled with sweet but sometimes hard memories, I have prided myself in finding new experiences, doing common things in new ways, creating new memories, banishing the lingering shadows and sadness. Jury duty would have been one of those new, independent things. Those who keep track of my life on Facebook remark what a great time I am having. Of course. What else would I want people to see?

Last week I drove over Snoqualmie Pass, enjoying the reds and yellows and oranges of leaves against the evergreens. I spent three days at Lazy F camp with other retirees. I was determined to make the hike to the cross at the top of the hill. It had been more than twelve years. I tell myself I was halfway up when it felt like work, and the trip down would have been rushed, and just as hard on my arthritic knees. I told my companions to go on without me. Instead, I turned and leisurely strolled down the trail and onto the camp grounds, following a creek and finding the labyrinth, giving myself time for the solace of nature.

 As always, a hymn crept into my consciousness and accompanied me on my course.  It was planted in my heart the night before as we worshiped. Our singing, and the location, reminded of the abiding faith of a friend I had visited daily (12 years ago) while he was hospitalized for three weeks. Each time I left, he and his family, keeping vigil, sang together “In the Lord I’ll be ever thankful, In the Lord I will rejoice! Look to God, do not be afraid. Lift up your voices, the Lord is near, Lift up your voices, the Lord is near.”

Words I need every day. Reminders. Gifts of faith. I will not be afraid. I am finding solid ground.