Reflecting on the "F" Word

It's been a particularly emotional couple of weeks for me and that's saying something given that I'm always emotional. I think it's fair to say the "F" word was the source of my emotion overload. Yes, family has a way of affecting us like nothing else can. It can bring out the best in us and the worst. It can be a source of great joy and utter misery. We may relish the laughter of shared memories, and at the same time struggle with the disappointment of unmet expectations. We can take comfort in the power of forgiveness, or live with the bitterness of unresolved issues. Family is a big bundle of crazy that we can't imagine (though sometimes we wish we were) living without.

My family has tapped into my every emotion in the past two weeks. It started with Rob and Ian traveling to Mexico City on a week long church mission trip. I was concerned for their safety, proud of their willingness to serve, and a bit envious that the two of them were spending that special time together. I also was lonely. With communications limited to three brief text messages, for the first time in my marriage I acutely felt Rob's absence.
I discovered I missed my husband. While it sounds terrible, I confess that I'm not someone who pines for my spouse when we're apart. With phone calls and email and Facebook updates, it's hard to feel truly separated. But when Rob wasn't here and I couldn't call him and didn't know how he and Ian were, and there was no opportunity to share and take comfort in the mere the presence of the person with whom I share my life, my heart hurt. I was reminded of how much I love him and how blessed I am. Missing him was good for me.

Two days after Ian and Rob returned home, I left for three days, thereby maintaining the warm fuzzies that came from missing them. I headed to the mecca of Waretown, NJ along Barnegat Bay for a getaway with my parents and sister, brother-in-law and nephew who were home from Colorado for their semiannual visit. Time with my sister Dawn was spent laughing at painful memories of falling off my bike, competing in plank challenges (which I won both times), swatting green head flies on the boat while crabbing, and playing numerous games of Bananagrams (of which I am the champion). Unfortunately, on the first night of our visit, my mom learned that her sister Janet had died, nearly two years to the day that her sister Glenna passed away. My mom was one of five girls in her family. There are only two of them left, and this causes my mom considerable grief and pain.

When Irving Berlin wrote "Sisters, sisters, there were never such devoted sisters" he clearly had my mom and my aunts in mind. There existed a bond between those women that I've never seen before and likely never will experience personally. Interestingly, the closeness they shared is is in sharp contrast to the relationships my aunts often had with others, whether it be their husbands or their own children. In fact, in my Aunt Janet's obituary, there was no mention of her oldest son. They stopped talking decades ago, evidence of how easily relationships can be destroyed by an unwillingness to forgive and forget.

Last summer's photo.
We forgot to take one this year.

Irving Berlin did not write a song about my sister and me. While there is no bitterness or underlying root cause for the distance between us (literally and figuratively), I must confess to a level of disappointment with the way things are versus the way I'd like them to be. I would like Dawn to move home (or within reasonable driving distance). I would like Dawn to at least want to move home. I would like her to be sad when it's time to say goodbye. I would like it if we would start telling each other "I love you." While I don't expect to achieve the level of closeness my mom had with her sisters, I know Dawn and I could have more, but I don't know how to get us there.

Dawn's visit home coincided with my church's annual mission trip to western North Carolina. A truly family affair, this trip brings together all ages for a week of work and fellowship that has to be experienced because no description can do it justice. Obviously I did not go on the trip this year because I wanted to spend time with my sister. Abby, however, more than adequately represented the MacShimer family.

Abby on the roofing site with her MPC family.

Since she returned home on Saturday evening, I've lost count of the number of times Abby wished she were back in Banner Elk. For the first time in her life, Abby, who thinks a 30 minute car ride is torture, was sad to see a nine-hour car ride end (she had traveled with friends). Despite the fact that she was leaving for Avalon on Sunday to spend time with three girls from school, Abby actually seemed weepy when she repeated for the umpteenth time that she "didn't want to be home," but wished she could return to NC (which makes me sad, though I'm trying not to take it personally).

Car ride buddies (plus the Hicks girls)

The Sunday church service following Banner Elk is always wonderful. Those who went on the trip wear their matching t-shirts. We watch a slide show of photos from the week. The praise band (which for the first time included Abby on guitar!) plays the same music, and a few individuals on the trip share their experience in place of a traditional sermon. Naturally, I cried during several parts of the service, partly because I was disappointed to have missed being there, and partly because I was overwhelmed with love for my church family. While the church, like our flesh and blood family, has its own issues, the grace and forgiveness that we extend to one another provides a foundation for the strongest relationships I've ever known. And I don't know if it's a "Christian thing" or if we're just lucky, but my MPC brothers and sisters so openly share their love. There's no awkwardness in a hug. There's no discomfort in saying "I love you." What a gift!

As I reflect on the experiences of the past two weeks, I realize how blessed I am to have more than one family who loves me. If you've been separated from a loved one, I pray for reconciliation and healing. The bonds of family should not be so easily broken.

No Fish, but a More Than Fine Time

On Friday I was peaceful and content. Peaceful and content are a rare state for me that can only be achieved away from home. It's generally not the people at home that mess with my sense of well-being, it's my to do list.

My good feelings began on Thursday night when I sang a 90-minute solo concert en route to Waretown, New Jersey. Sometimes I enjoy driving alone just for the musical performance. When I arrived in Waretown at the B-Hive (a.k.a. the cottage), my parents were happy to see me. My parents are always happy to see me. Visiting my parents is like coming home to a dog without the licking, shedding, and crapping in the yard.

Friday night was a treat because my dad talked to me, and not just about taking the turns more slowly to save tire tread. No, my dad actually opened up and expressed his frustration at the infernal ringing in his ears and losing his hearing and how maddening it is to try to have a conversation with people when you have no idea what they're saying. We talked about a variety of topics and both fell asleep before we saw the Phillies lose. A nice way to spend the evening. [As a side note I'd like to warn you all away from Miracle Ear. You can take $6,000 and throw it away and get the same results my dad has had with Miracle Ear. It's a miracle he hasn't throttled the person who sold them to him.]

On Saturday morning we woke early at the B-Hive and headed to the marina to board the Wakakida, Dad's 22' Grady White. Our objective? Flounder. We slowly made our way through the wake-free zone until we reached Barnegat Bay and discovered complete serenity. The water as smooth as glass. The sun still in the process of rising. A line of non-threatening clounds hovering just above the horizon like a half-open window shade teasing at the treasures that lay beyond. Only a few other boats off in the distance. Boater's perfection.

What could possibly make the morning even better? How about a whale? Yep. A whale less than a mile off Barnegat Light. Breaching, spraying water out of its blowhole. An exciting first for me. You know what else makes a fishing trip memorable? Catching fish. I caught nada. Not a throw back. Not even a skate or a sea robin. Mom and Dad both caught nice 20-inchers, enough for me to bring home to feed my family. Yes, Mom and Dad are good to me.

The highlight of the trip? Clamming with my dad. We anchored the boat in about 3' of not nearly warm enough water in Barnegat Bay and slogged our way about a half mile till we reached the muck. The muck is where you find the clams. I'm not a fan of the muck, but I am a fan of my dad. And as I watched him drag his clamming rack along the bottom of the bay, it struck me that families have been doing just this for hundreds of years. Albeit without my dad's handcrafted stainless steel rake and the pool noodles being used to keep the bushel afloat. And as it occurred to me that this was a moment I'd never forget, my dad said "This is something you can always remember." And he recalled clamming 50+ years ago with his dad down near Beach Haven. They rented a small boat from Snuggery's Dock for $12 a day. It was $14 if you wanted one with a top on it.

My dad and I both have lived too much of our lives in a pretty dark place, but Friday was filled with light, literally and figuratively. My dad laughed and smiled and seemed more genuinely happy than I've seen him in a long, long time. I believe there's something about the wind and the water that breaks through whatever heaviness is weighing you down and blows away the cobwebs and the clouds that sometimes surround our hearts. 

Where do you find restoration and renewal? 

What brings you joy? 

In whose company do you find peace?