Tag Archives: Travel

Should You Pull The Trigger?

Grief, , , , , , , , , ,

In less than twenty-four hours my father and I board the plane in Romania and head for home. Its been a fantastic week. New friendships started, old friends greeted, new foods eaten, lives shared, encouragement given and received for the journey ahead. As I prepare to leave, I find myself energized and expectant about the future.

Three years ago I was in the same position. My father and I had just completed a similar trip to Romania. I returned home full of excitement about what was to come. One month later, Kristi was diagnosed with cancer and we were plunged down the rabbit hole that is cancer treatment. Expectation was thwarted, dreams crushed and hope smothered.

That was an awful time, not so far removed that the emotions are deeply buried. It doesn’t require much effort to dig them up. If I wanted. But I choose not to. I choose to not burden this experience in Romania with the negative events that followed my last visit. “You are wise, Chad. You would be foolish to live in such a way.” I can hear the comments now. But that choice wasn’t automatic or quick. Loss and grief of this magnitude color all your decisions.

Obviously this trip has brought to mind the previous one and the events that followed. Its been a natural trigger. I knew it would be before I even agreed to come. I knew I’d be faced with this situation again. But rather than cowering in fear of what comes next, I’ve chosen to walk through this trip and the events that follow with expectation of a different outcome.

When dealing with loss and grief, you encounter trigger events all the time. As I wrote here, many of those events are little things that surprise you. You have two choices when you encounter trigger events, especially those you see coming: Avoid or Embrace

Avoidance can be especially helpful, especially when the grief or loss is fresh. I took my children and skipped out on the usual Thanksgiving and Christmas celebrations the first year by going to the other side of the world. We still celebrated but in a way that was so new and unique that it didn’t drag us through all the emotions and pain we were still processing.

But this year I embraced all the holiday celebrations. We fully decorated the house, even doing it before Thanksgiving. There were many trigger events throughout the season that I had to wade through and process. But I was prepared this year and we had a wonderful time together as a family. Poignant with loss yes, but filled with joy nevertheless.

As you approach an event that you know is going to trigger feelings of grief and loss, ask yourself, “Is it OK to pull this trigger?” “Am I ready for this?” There’s no shame in saying no. Its your call. Don’t feel obligated to move forward when you’re not yet ready. The time will come. You’ll know it. And then you can pull the trigger, step into the event and live. If you’re not there yet, know that the day will come. There is hope.

If you’re trapped in fear of trigger events, avoiding them at all costs, and have been stuck there for a while with avoidance your only coping tool, try some training. You’ll be amazed at how good a brisk walk, bike ride or jog will make you feel. You’ll feel better prepared to face those events and pull that trigger to get life moving again.

“PULL!”

Habitual Change

Inspirational, , ,

I knew driving on the left side of the road would be a challenge, but as we left the city behind on our second day in Australia I thought I was doing alright. After picking up the rental car I had managed to do a u-turn in town without violating any traffic laws or colliding with any locals. Plus I had found the right road out of Cairns towards our rental apartment in Trinity Beach and we were on our way!

I was hyper-alert because of everything feeling backwards, but all was relatively calm and smooth. Then came the first roundabout that necessitated a lane change. As I checked over my shoulder, my left hand automatically flicked the turn indicator lever up to merge right. I heard a strange whooshing noise and as my gaze snapped back forward I was immediately surprised and consternated by the fact that the windshield wipers were going full speed and no blinker light was flashing on the dashboard. What!? Arghh! What’d I do wrong?

Oh yeah…the blinkers are on the right side of the column in Australia and New Zealand! I quickly rectified the situation but kept the children laughing for the entire 30 minute drive as I signaled my intention to turn by activating the wipers at most every opportunity. My howls of protest and wild machinations to identify the right lever kept them in stitches. I could only chortle along with them as I applied my utmost concentration only to fail again and again that day. My left hand just wouldn’t stay put after being called on for thirty years to flick that lever. Humbling? Pretty much.

Fortunately the pedals were not switched around, the gas is still on the right, brake to the left/center and clutch on the far left if present. If those had been different I’d have been a cabbage (New Zealand slang). I was still pretty close to making cole slaw though. Turning left meant a near turn while a right turn crossed traffic. It was a constant and massive flow of foreign input that had to be accurately processed in real time to maintain our safe travel.

Turns out our brains are pretty amazing. By the end of the week in Australia my gray matter was starting to create new neural pathways. The stress of making turns had abated. I was able to converse with the children instead of locking myself into focused silence. If I set off the wipers it was usually only one time at the start of a drive. That audible and visual cue jolting me back to the new reality and reminding me to be ever vigilant with my right hand to indicate the turn.

Fast forward two weeks and I had mastered shifting a manual transmission with my left hand while driving the winding roads in New Zealand. The blinkers came more or less natural and turns weren’t an issue at all. I still climbed into the car on the wrong side twice while in the islands but other than that I was fairly comfortable. By the time we ended our twenty-one day tour through Middle Earth we were all looking forward to coming home, none more so than me. I was eagerly anticipating getting back on the right side of the road so 30 years of habit could take back over.

However, a funny thing happened the first time I slid behind the wheel here in the U.S. In fact, there was no wheel. I climbed into the right side of the vehicle only to be confronted with an empty dash. Once properly ensconced and underway I had to make a left turn into my sister’s subdivision. There was an island in the road. Without thinking I turned to the left side…my wipers indicating my intended turn.

The kids were cracking up. So was I. But I was also stunned. Thirty years of habitual action had been effectively re-wired after just thirty days of driving on the left side. Driving is typically performed at such a core level that we routinely talk, sing, read, apply makeup, eat and more while driving because its so automatic. We don’t have to think about it. The car just goes where we want, the blinkers coming on when they’re supposed to. I knew I had worked hard during the trip to make sure the 2000 miles we drove would be safe, but I never figured that relatively short effort could actually make a dent on such an ingrained habit.

But it did. It took me a good week of regular driving back here in the states before I wasn’t thinking about driving anymore. The implications are profound. What other habits do I have that I consider to be so ingrained I can’t change them? Changing behavioral patterns takes work, but I’ve discovered that even behaviors that are performed so automatically as to be almost subconscious can indeed be changed and that change can be affected with relative speed.

Losing Kristi last year has of course caused me to change many long held behavior patterns out of necessity. And then over the last 20 months I’ve changed my lifestyle to become an endurance athlete. However with the revelation last month I’m looking at all my behaviors in a new light, because now I know that even slapping the pejorative label of “habitual” on an attitude, behavior or emotion doesn’t mean its insulated from change. In fact, change can be just around the corner. What’s on your habitual list that needs changing?

A Gentle Nudge

Inspirational, , , , , ,

My eye’s flicked open and I was awake. I shouldn’t have been though. Just three short hours earlier I had finally wrapped up the final must-do item on my trip prep list and flopped down on my bed. In the moments before I drifted off to sleep I wondered if my phone’s alarm would ring out loud even with its “Do Not Disturb” mode engaged. So I whispered a simple prayer: “Father, wake me gently right before my alarm.”

I thought planning this trip would be the biggest challenge before we left. I discovered, that hands down, shutting ones life down for six weeks trumped the scheduling. Every time I crossed one item off the list, two more would take its place. It wasn’t until the last night that items finally seemed willing to give up their place in the queue to empty space. When the last buckle snapped shut on my backpack I knew I had beaten the list but at the cost of sleep.

So when I finally hit the sack early Saturday morning I knew I’d be in deep slumber when 5:15 rolled around. But after my prayer, I didn’t worry about waking up. And sure enough Father gave me a gentle nudge. As I lay there in the pre-dawn darkness I wondered how close it was to wake-up time. The thought had barely formed when, sure enough, I confirmed that “Do Not Disturb” doesn’t silence the alarm.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed; it was time to travel. As I stood up, my swirling head confirmed the lack of sleep, but I smiled and relaxed. Father is present and he cares enough to wake me on time so this adventure gets rolling on schedule. The children have been at a fever pitch of excitement for several weeks building to a crescendo in the days leading up to blast-off. I didn’t want to screw up the first day. No worries! That waking nudge was the best gift I could have received here at the beginning.

It was Father’s confirmation that even here, at 36,000 feet over the western Pacific, His Spirit is with us as we cover the final three and half hours into Sydney. And that is my goal for this trip…that each of the children experience His presence, knowing that this is indeed our Father’s world. So my prayer is the same as two nights ago: “Gently wake us up Father to the reality of your presence. Let us respond to your nudge and let your Spirit guide us along the way.”

And now, eleven hours and 6000 miles from LAX the children are doing great at adapting to international long haul travel. Matthew’s biggest thrill has been receiving the free sleep mask. He’s sacked out next to me with his neck pillow and mask in place. He wakes periodically, shaking me from my reverie and asks again, “Do I get to keep this mask?” He responds to my yes with a grin, a fist pump and then he snaps it down in place and flops to one side. He hasn’t been pestering at all, just cute as a button in his Star Wars PJ’s as he takes in the wide-body jet with wide eyes.

The flights from Austin to LA were smooth and on time and we arrived at my sister Amy’s house excited to see her family. The cousins spent the entire 36 hours in constant motion and play of one sort or another. I thankfully got a full night’s sleep and Sunday’s dawn promised a perfect SoCal day. It didn’t disappoint. Our time together closed with an early Thanksgiving meal whipped up by Amy. Thanksgiving of course isn’t celebrated in Australia so stuffing ourselves with stuffing was nourishing to body and soul.

Our checkin for the fifteen hour flight to Sydney couldn’t have been smoother. No lines and twice more I was reminded of Father’s presence before we even cleared security. During checkin, the lady working the desk said, “Only four?” as she cast a glance at the children. Yes, only four. “I come from a family of eight siblings” she noted positively. How nice… “only four” is typically a comment reserved for home-school conventions. Usually people are gasping at four. This was just a little reassurance that Father’s favor doesn’t worry about family size.

Then just a few short minutes later one of the TSA officers took a shine to my little flock as we loaded our bins to go through xray. “Dad, are these your fine boys? And those lovely ladies too? Beautiful family sir. What a blessing! Step right this way”…and he whisked us through the simple metal detector instead of the full-body scanner. Nice!

As we settled on the plane I realized Matt and I sat in the wrong row. We had to move forward…to a bulkhead row. Three feet of leg room. No one reclining in my face. No extra cost! Yes! And the checkin lady had blocked out the seat next to us so the five of us have six seats between us in which to spread out. Yep, the nudging continues.

Sunset was in North America. Sunrise will occur on Australia. Yet we’ve never left His hand.

B-Gone, B-9, B-Healed…Its a way of life.

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Magnitude Of Loss

Grief, , ,

As I sat on the floor Tuesday morning and sorted the boys’ school books into their backpacks, the gaping void that Kristi’s passing left sucker punched me and I was a mess. Tears steamed down my cheeks while I double checked their supplies. Matt didn’t miss my obvious emotional struggles and he passed the word to Luke that “Dad is sad.”

Soon Luke was hugging my neck and then I heard sniffling and sorrowful whimpers emanating from the pantry closet where Matt had retreated to let his own tears flow. We all pulled it together enough to get the boys off to their first day of lessons at our friend’s house. But I was on the edge of tears all day. Kristi had become so competent with everyone’s curriculum, the scheduling, and the actual instruction that it had become second nature to her. Plus she loved it. These last several years she had come to revel in her roles as mom, wife and educator. Not that it didn’t challenge her to the core, it did. But it was her call and she embraced it.

Just as the boys were leaving the piano tuner showed up. We hadn’t had it tuned since right after moving from Liberty Hill, over two years ago and it was sounding decrepit. The girls started piano lessons again yesterday afternoon for the fall and Katie has four piano students of her own, so it needs to sound good. But as the piano tuner and I talked, he couldn’t remember coming out to our new place and he gave me a baleful look when he heard the condition of the instrument. I had to explain why we hadn’t had him out in the last year. He expressed his condolences on Kristi’s loss and set to work. But every note he adjusted hammered my heart strings with the reality that I won’t hear Kristi play again.

The piano was also Kristi’s domain. She had eleven students when she was diagnosed and even picked up a few of them again during her brief remission. If educating was her call and mission, music was her joy. But as the piano tuner bade us farewell Megan seated herself before the keys and soon lovely music from the movie The Man From Snowy River was dancing in the air. Life does go on. But Tuesday’s events unmasked the raw nerves that have been buried in all the stress, travel, adjustments and daily life of the past two months.

Yes, it’s been almost two months now since Kristi died. Entering her dominion this week as the Fall schedule kicked off in earnest has revealed the full magnitude of her loss. Yesterday was better. I only cried a few times. I got a little more figured out about the school and activity schedules. This evening is Megan’s first volleyball game of the season. Life is progressing. And we are not alone. We are under the dominion of Christ who continues to comfort us in our time of sorrow.

The upcoming trip has also provided exactly the energy I was hoping. In the week since telling the children, it has come up again and again as we anticipate various aspects of the impending adventure. It keeps us from feeling sorry for ourselves and lifts our gaze into the future and off our present sorrows. As we ate dinner together last night we discussed ‘deep vein thrombosis’, a potential blood clot condition that can affect travelers who sit for long periods during international long haul flights. Megan thought that term was funny and as only she can do, affected a humorous accent and made a funny remark about it. Matt exploded in laughter and when he gets his tickle box turned over you can’t help but join him. We all laughed ’til we cried. Then we laughed some more.

When the dishes were done and after the neighbor’s dog cared for (they’re traveling), we gathered in the living room and I read another chapter from C.S. Lewis’ The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. Yes, life does go on. And though the sorrow may last for a night, His joy, holy laughter comes and brings healing.

B-Gone, B-9, B-Healed…it’s a way of life.

The Journey Goes Ever On

Grief, ,

How are you? How are the children? They’re so frequently asked I find I’m wanting to develop a canned response. But then I remind myself that people do care and really want to know; its why they’re asking. They just don’t know what else to say. Usually I don’t have time for an adequate response but if I did it would sound something like this:

Busy? Absolutely! Wiped out by day’s end? Every night. Sadness? Yep, it’s certainly present. But moribund? No way! While I know we are all, as Luke said last week, “Still recovering from the shock of losing mom” and that affects and colors everything we do, we are moving forward with life, energy and a surprising amount of joy. God is good!

I can’t help but smile in gratefulness at our children. Sure they can be petty and they irritate each other at times…normal immaturity, but when Luke ambles up to me, hugs me tight and whispers, “You mean the world to me dad!” I melt inside and gather him up in a bear hug. Or when Megan bounces up, every bit the quintessential 13 (almost 14) year old, and plants a smiling kiss, braces and all, on my lips and says, “I love you dad.” I know I’m blessed and can’t help but stay engaged with and keep building this living legacy that best captures the life and spirit of Kristi.

The fall home school semester starts next week, and I’d be lying if I said it was going to be easy. But staying connected to this community and maintaining educational continuity is essential for the children’s healing. Their entire social fabric would be irreparably rended should we change course (or courses, ha!) at this juncture. I am going to be assisted by two families who live nearby. They’ll be taking the boys and covering core subjects with them for three days a week. Add in the fourth day at co-op and that leaves just one day for us to cover our new unit study subject… New Zealand.

Why New Zealand you ask? Because this week I unveiled the surprise trip to the children! We are embarking on a family adventure “down under” to Australia and New Zealand during the holidays. To say they’re excited doesn’t begin to capture the enthusiasm and anticipation that’s already bubbling up in conversations and smiling grins. Our unit study will help them learn more about the people, economy, landscape, history and culture so they’ll be able to better process what they’re experiencing while we are there.

The trip will provide extra motivation to the children to buckle down and get their school work done before we go and it offers us a chance to reset our holiday memories and experiences. That time of year can be tough when you’re missing your wife and mother. This year we will be brimming with anticipation leading up to trip, there will be the trip itself and then when next year finally rolls around, we will be reminding each other about the new lands, strange animals, wondrous reefs and cool accents encountered this year.

The kids still can’t believe we are actually going…that we are talking about flying into Sydney, Aukland and the like. Of course it’s bittersweet. I wanted to take Kristi there. I spent three weeks in Australia during college on a study tour. I promised myself I’d get back there someday. When you realize how short life is, you take action on your dreams.

So we are going. Tickets are booked. Passport applications for Megan, Luke and Matthew go in on Monday. Then we plunge into school, volleyball, drama (theater) and more. Your prayers as I shoulder the home educator mantle are appreciated. Sometimes it still seems like a dream, like I’ll wake up and Kristi will be here and this will all go away. Matthew voiced that very thought on our way home tonight from dinner with my sister.

“Wouldn’t it be cool if mom was walking around the house when we get home?” That stopped the chatter in the car. Yes, it would be cool. And it would wipe away the surreality that each day brings. No we aren’t moping around, the children are cheerful, even joyful. So am I. But Luke nailed it. There is that sense of floating through activities that accompanies shock. You know you’re doing what your supposed to be doing but it all seems to be happening on the other side of a clear glass pane. Like you’re a spectator, watching your life play out but not in ways you expected.

I know it’s part of the process. I’m not in a hurry to short circuit it. My primary goal is stay connected to each other, our family and friends. With Christ as our cornerstone, the pioneer of faith leading us on each day I have hope for the future and even excitement that one day soon we can all say G’Day Mate…and mean it from the depths of our being.

B-Gone, B-9, B-Healed…it’s a way of life!

18 + 480 Mountain High

Grief, Inspirational, Training, , , , , ,

As my body eased into Donner Lake on Wednesday afternoon all my skin attempted to crawl up on top of my head to avoid the frigid chill of the clear mountain waters. But I would not be denied the shock of the cold and plunged beneath the surface and pulled hard to make the raft floating on the surface of the sapphire colored lake perched 6,000 ft up in the Sierras.

The boys had preceded me in the aquatic frolic and lay sunning themselves on the dock. Swimming in a mountain lake without a wetsuit is an exercise in controlled shivering. As I climbed up the ladder to the dock I made sure to shower them with some liquid refrigeration eliciting the expected howls of protest from sun-warmed bodies.

While the girls were happily ensconced on the sandy beach we all felt ourselves begin to get into the rythym of the mountains and let the therapeutic beauty saturate our souls.

As we prepared to leave the lake and head to our friends’ house for dinner my buddy suggested we rent a bike for me and I could take a ride with his wife (who likes to ride but doesn’t often get the chance) while he watched their two young children and our four helped with dinner. We snagged the last bike that was my size and before I knew it she and I were pedaling along through pine-studded meadows, climbing up granite mountain grades and racing down the backsides. What a bonus! I got a bike training ride in with a great friend in one of the prettiest places around. Talk about a mountain high!

Dinner was filled with nostalgic visiting and reminiscing about Kristi and what she meant to this young couple. All too soon we had to take our leave and drive to another friend’s house for the night and to grab some quick winks for a very busy Thursday.

The flood-gates of emotion opened as I began to spread Kristi’s ashes around the perimeter of the mountain-top dance floor. I proposed to her on this very spot, twenty summers ago and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to find the hand-built site. But after casting around for the trail, I finally spied it and we plunged under the forest canopy. Ten minutes later the children and I popped out on the rocky knoll overlooking the great central valley of California.

Like the lake plunge the afternoon before, I knew this moment would require my determination to forge ahead in spite what would follow. We all embraced and shared several moments of tearful grief before the children took their own turns with mommy’s ashes. Each spread them in their own way and while full of sorrow it was a sweet time.

What started with a nervous question and exultant response that night under the stars so many years ago has now brought forth four fabulous children and matured a young man into one with some gray wisps of experience on his temples.

After a prayer, a camp song (I Like Bananas) and some laughter, we sat down to a picnic and I shared all about how I built the floor with friends and surprised Kristi there on that evening. We all picked stickers out of our socks while we ate and I told them that was the ruse I used to kneel down and keep Kristi unsuspecting while I fished the ring box out of my boot.

I didn’t know how the event would come off, and tried not to have expectations. I knew I’d be crying and I know its hard for children to express themselves. But I think it was a good time for everyone, there on that mountain top and Kristi will always be a part of that place now.

The balance of the afternoon and evening were a blur of touring the camp where she and I lived and ministered for 10 years and where Katie, Megan and Luke joined our family. Then we visited the ministry where my parents lived and worked and where I grew up from ages 10-18. Finally we celebrated with several former colleagues and friends in a mini-reunion of sorts at an ice cream and candy store. That was literally and emotionally a sweet time. Dinner was hamburgers cooked over the open fire on a mountainside with friends.

Today, Friday was a chance to catch our breath after the day of flying on Tuesday, the trip to the high sierra on Wednesday and the whirlwind of Thursday. We slept in (for Texas time) and then shared a relaxed lunch with yet more friends (my apologies that we haven’t been able to see everyone who asked) before ambling back to Kristi’s parents house this afternoon.

Kristi’s sister Kim is here tonight with her children and we are all, John and Bev included, heading down to Mt Hermon tomorrow which is where Kristi grew up going to camp and where she and I met. But that’s a story that has yet to be told and I need some sleep.

Suffice it to say that the weekend will be equally as emotional as the preceding two days, but my heavenly Father reminded me once again on top of that mountain that I’m loved, that my children are loved and that we are tenderly yet firmly held in the center of his loving affection in the middle of this journey. That brings peace and comfort that no mountain high can match.

B-Gone, B-9, B-Healed!