The Sweetness of a Distant Shore

Turning 40 was, in my mind, the perfect opportunity to hit my husband up for a dream vacation: Hawaii. This former North Dakotan grew up land-locked; I had never been anywhere tropical before; I had always, always longed to.

My husband considered my proposition. “Will I have to throw you a surprise party, too?”

I pretended to consider. “Um….no?”

“It’s a deal,” he responded quickly. My husband, the introvert. Who was I to care?!!

The biggest problem that I had in flying to Hawaii was flying. I have a slight distaste for flying. I always feel like I’m going to…die. Therein was the trade-off, though. A trip across the Pacific necessitated either a. a few hours of air travel and a perfect 8-day get-away; or b. a boat and a really, really long vacation.

I chose the former, and yet, I cried when we hit turbulence. I’m just that big a wimp. Bouncing up and down in the air at 18,000 feet above sea level Freaks. Me. Out. I clutched my rosary. I tried to pray. I thought, “It’s in God’s hands. Relax.” (I didn’t relax, but I did think that.)

Seeing the sunrise on that distant shore, my soul was flooded with both relief and peace. The island of Oahu was both everything and nothing I’d imagined. Incredibly beautiful. Serene. Delicious.

Oahu is the stuff of dreams and then some. Would it be corny to say “a paradise?” If you’ve been there, you’ll say “No.”

The problem with such a trip, for me, is that I find myself and my expectations shifting into “dream vacation mode.” It’s a get-away, I tell myself, and a well-deserved one at that. As such, it should be perfect.

As in, I eat what I want and when I want.

I do what I want.

I go where I want.

I revel in the delight of my senses.

In short, I usually do not choose to deny myself in any way, which is—in a way—turning my back on the cross. More often than not, on this vacation, I lived for the treasures of the moment and didn’t store up a few for…later. If you know what I mean.

Our God is a Great Big Imp, however. He sent reminders.

I was working out in the gym at the resort. Surrounded by windows with a view of the sea, I thought, “This is quite a change from my basement treadmill. I could get used to this. I really could.” And then I glanced up at the television monitor and saw a news program about, well, plane crashes. The people in the clip had a fear of flying (sound familiar?) and had signed up for a costly program that simulated an airplane going down.

So that they knew what to do, I guess. So that they felt “in control”.

(Reminder Number One)

And then there was the time that I was waiting for my husband as he got ready for our day trip. Sitting on the bed of our cozy hotel room, I sipped my coffee and thumbed through that morning’s edition of The Honolulu Advisor. A sightseeing helicopter had crashed on the island of Kaua’i. Three married couples had been taking a scenic tour of the island; one spouse from each couple was killed, as was the pilot

(Reminder Number Two)

And finally, after all of this, there was the flight home again. (See above paragraph about really, really, really disliking air travel. Multiply those fears a time or two.)

(Reminder Number Three)

Sometimes God has to speak loudly to get through to me. I am not in control of my future. I’m just not. And yet, I know that as sweet as that distant shore of Oahu was—as beautiful and as perfect—it is nothing compared to what waits for me.

Provided I trust. Provided I pray. Provided I’m good to go…at any moment.

*This will be my last post for a while. The kids and I are headed to the sweet, distant shores of Dakota, where we will spend a few welcome days with my 82-year-old parents. My father is still a Duracell Dad. He just goes and goes. My mother, though, is slowing down considerably. (Please say a prayer for her.) I am reminded again and again when I visit them that this life—this mortal life—is passing.