memories of kauai

i'm back from Hawaii.
i know, for some of you it's like i never left, like the blink of an eye.  but i did.  can't say i have the tan to prove it, but i do have sand around the edges of my dryer and some new shells scattered about the house, and, most of all, memories.  want to hear some?...

...it's mother's day and i'm sitting on a manicured lawn which borders a small beach.  my hair is ridiculous -curls curlier than i've ever seen them, splayed around my head, thick with salt.  again, i wish for some sort of hat to cover up the travesty.  the sun is setting.  i rip a piece off the costco roasted chicken with my hands and shove it in my mouth.  scott smiles beside me.  on the beach, my children are building a hill of sand.  they've named this hill "fat joe".  when my son told me it's name he said it a little sheepishly, knowing that i don't like to hear the word "fat" as a descriptor - but i assured him that naming a hill of sand 'fat' is appropriate.  they squeal every time the waves surround them, and cheer for fat joe surviving the onslaught.  they are sun-kissed and filthy and happy down to their bones.  i turn to scott and say "best mother's day present ever".

...we are at secret beach: a series of tiny inlets, framed by mounds of volcanic rock.  we climbed over a few of these before settling onto this stretch of sand.  behind me is more rock and then a jungled cliff-face.  ahead is pounding surf.   beneath me, warm sand.  to my right, a jumble of dry rock.  to my left, wet rocks as the waves crash against them, sending spray up and over to form a small pool.  my husband is in this pool, his back against the rock, smiling at me.  it's deep enough that when he crouches down it hits his shoulders.  suddenly, an enormous wave crashes and scott is under a waterfall of water, laughing and yelling.  i think to myself:  "scott is standing under a waterfall.  i am sitting on a towel reading.  i have to get up."  i'm not the type that loves to play in the surf, not being a great swimmer.  i also abhor being cold.  warm sand and a good book is my circle of happiness.  but something bloomed inside me, when i jumped up and ran into that water.  when i was kissed under a hawaiian waterfall.  something like satisfaction.

i am floating in the ocean, the sun hot on my back.  i hear my breath moving in and out of my snorkel.  salt stings the corners of my eyes.  i hear a little squeal through the water, it's scott.  he's pointing to a school of white tropical fish eating along the edge of the reef.  there's fish everywhere i see, all colours, shapes and sizes.  i love the little round black ones with white polka dots, they make me think of Audrey Hepburn.  a fashionable lady in fish form.  and those longer ones with the florescent purple streak along their backs.  for a moment i am transported above myself, and i see that i am being filled with beauty and warmth, more than i am able to receive.  i squeeze scott's hand.

i am standing in water up to my waist.  the car is packed with all of our suitcases, and we leave for the airport from this beach.  here there is an oval pool, protected from the waves by another rock cropping, but unique in that the rock reaches fully from one point on the beach, to another - one half of the oval.  as i stand holding my daughters hand i see a glint of blue in the water.  as we stare a school of large blue fish with bright yellow side fins comes into view.  my smile must reach my ears.  smaller silvery fish are swimming around us, and then, oh my goodness!  they are circling us - around and around they swim with my daughter and i forming their epicenter.  it is an extravagant parting gift.   i think that i must remember this moment later when stuck in a cramped plane.  and i do.

we arrived home to a cacophony of colour in the form of front lawn flowers.  our personal paradise.  how incredible is my life that my home boasts as much beauty as my vacation destination.  i stand amazed.

now it's back to work and vacuuming and painting and gardening - this abundant life.  hopefully i carry the lessons of beauty and warmth and rest that i experienced.  hopefully i am more grateful and humbled and awe-struck:  some holiness gleaned in the holiday.

emmaus

this Easter season, I spent a lot of time meditating on the story found in the last chapter of Luke - the disciples travelling to Emmaus.  in it there are two disciples and they are leaving Jerusalem, weighed down by the grief of the crucifixion.  it is sunday.  Jesus has been dead since Friday, and although the Bible does not detail what happened on the day between, I am positive it was a drowning experience. unrelenting waves of hopelessness and bewilderment.

a week prior these two may have been in the throngs of people welcoming Jesus into the city, laying their coats down for the donkey he rode to walk upon.  they had plans, they had hopes and dreams that were being fulfilled in the person of Jesus.  their entire lives were centered around this - they followed him from city to city, they digested his teachings, maybe they worked crowd control on one of his healing nights.  maybe they were in the temple when he rampaged through, and silently cheered him on. they must have lived with the thought "it's happening!  it's happening!" for weeks on end, sure that Jesus was the long-awaited Messiah, come to free them from Roman rule, but also it seemed from disease and hypocrisy and maybe even death.  no more death.
and then Jesus is arrested.
and he doesn't deny the charges.
and he's crucified.
and he's dead.

and hope is crucified with him.

where does a disciple go from there?  what does one do when your life's' purpose has been murdered?
not stick around, that's for sure.  as soon as it was lawful to travel, as soon as the Sabbath was over and there was light enough to travel, they were gone.  off to Emmaus.

there are days in my life where I feel like i'm plodding along, possibly looking for escape, bewildered and wondering.  why aren't things turning out as I hoped they would?  where is God?  how did i get there and how do i get out?
I can definitely empathize with these disciples, and picture them, unkempt, tired, eyes red from nights of tears, stooped and shuffling along in the rain.  the road seems to stretch forever before them.

and they meet another traveler.
and he begins to change the lens of their worldview.  he pulls out old stories and scripture they hadn't heard for years, and suddenly their perspective is changing.  they start feeling some excitement - which i'm sure was a little terrifying.  their hearts start to burn.
they sit down to dinner and this traveler breaks the bread.  wait a minute....did i just see?....were those nail scars in his hands?!!!
and he's gone.
and they're up from the table.  and they're running, sprinting, back to Jerusalem.  back to the city that stank of death and fear and hopelessness - they can't get there fast enough.

all hope is reborn.  truth has come burning into the hearts of the disciples, and they tie their shoelaces tightly and RUN!  I see them laughing and hooting and praising, looks of wonder and joy and incredulity on their faces.  

"remember when he said...."  

              "when did you know?" 

                             "i can't believe it!!  we have to tell...."

like you, i wish that resurrection could happen without dying.  i wish that the fire of sunday didn't require the bleak hopelessness of saturday, and the agony of friday.  but each year Easter reminds me that it does.  i look around my garden at the little green shoots springing out of what seem to be dry and dead stems, and i'm reminded again.  life from death.  and this life, stronger and more beautiful than the previous one.  and the death has, against all odds, been made worth it.