May 2019 – The Deep End of the Pool

The first time I ever heard the word, “pilgrim”, I was in elementary school. I listened with rapt attention as my teacher described Plymouth Rock and the travelers who had journeyed so far to the new land that I only knew as home. The story of that first Thanksgiving shared by the pilgrims and the native people of the land, along with the pictures of those pilgrims, brought my imagination to life. I was so very excited to learn that our classroom would be presenting a special, pilgrim-themed event for our parents to attend. I got to dress up as, you guessed it, a pilgrim. My costume was complete with long black dress with a white collar, a white apron, and a very pilgrim-y hat that had been created by my mom and grandmother.

I had not thought much more about the pilgrims and their journey until recently. Last summer I signed up to take a summer class at my home church with a local bible teacher. Kristi blew me away with not just her knowledge, but with her unique view of the bible. Twelve years ago, as a student herself, she took her first trip to Israel. She described how she had found the stories in the bible suddenly turned from black-and-white to color as she visited the places that had before just been locations on a map in the back of that sacred book. She relayed how looking at the bible through a first-century lens had so changed her DNA, that she had been taking groups back herself ever since. I enjoyed that class so much, as soon as it ended, I signed up for a fall class.

Photo by Kristi McLelland. It was taken in Israel a couple of months ago. In twelve years of visiting Israel, she has never seen a rainbow there. But this trip, she was able to see God’s symbol of promise while standing in the Promised Land.

Suddenly, it was as if I was back in elementary school. Once again, I was listening with rapt attention to a teacher talk about being a pilgrim, and a journey, a pilgrimage that she has not only taken herself, but that she was inviting me and others to take as well.

Initially, I ignored the talk about becoming a pilgrim. After all, that outfit made by my mother hasn’t fit me in a very long time. Being a pilgrim involves risk. It involves commitment. It involves investment. It involves surrender. So I did what every scared pilgrim would do. I googled “Why do people go on a pilgrimage?” I landed upon a blog called “Holy Rover” by a woman named Lori Erickson. I could tell by her first name alone that she could absolutely be trusted and is a probably a genius. Her blog included her top 10 reasons to go on a pilgrimage:

10. You’re young and want an adventure.

9. You’re old and want to reflect on your life.

8. You’ve had a divorce, are grieving a loss, or have had some other major life event.

7. You want to draw closer to God.

6. You’re pretty sure there is no God, but there’s a tiny sliver of doubt.

5. You think a pilgrimage sounds better than therapy.

4. You want to make new friends.

3. You want to be alone.

2. You’ve got itchy feet.

1. You’re human.

I could say “affirmative” to at least seven items on this list. Obviously Ms. Erickson is a big fan of everyone going on a pilgrimage at some point in their life journey. But Israel? Really? I have always been afraid of going there. It has felt like a danger zone, and I wanted to feel safe, secure in my little corner of the world. I mean, Israel is in the Middle East, for goodness sake.

I have struggled with the concept of becoming a pilgrim. This journey will involve a two week trip scheduled for June 2020. It will entail two weeks away from my work and my family. The trip is expensive. I will be going in a group, but going by myself. As is my usual modus operandi, I prayed and asked God to let me know very specifically what I should do about this opportunity. The next day….I’m not kidding….literally, the next day I received an email from someone that instructed me to read Psalm 84.

I opened my bible and started reading. My heart couldn’t believe my eyes when it read “Blessed are those whose strength is in You, whose hearts are set on pilgrimage.” How is that for a specific answer?

It’s hard to explain what it actually feels like to be called to be a pilgrim. But the call has hit me hard, right between the eyes. I explained it to my husband this way. I said, “Remember how it felt when we just knew that we had a child waiting for us in China? Remember how the desire was so strong to pursue that adoption that it almost physically hurt? Remember how it was less painful to endure the paperwork, the home-study, the months of waiting and the financial stress than it was to say “No” to that call? “

“Yes”, he said.

“I have never felt that way again, about anything, until now,” I responded. “I just know that I’m supposed to take this trip to Israel.”

“Then you need to go,” was his reply. I love him, by the way.

So, this post is being written by a bona fide pilgrim-in-training. Kristi says, “Pilgrimage begins the moment you say, ‘Yes.” I may be a little over a year away from our group’s departure date, but this pilgrim has already started her journey. Arriving in Israel will be my summit experience. But I don’t want to miss the sights and people I encounter along the way there.

I’ve realized something through this entire process. We all really are pilgrims. We are all on this journey called life. We don’t have to travel somewhere to experience pilgrimage. My pilgrimage isn’t going to look exactly like yours. No one person’s pilgrimage is any more special than another’s. Our singular journeys can happen anywhere, even in our own backyard.

Pilgrimage begins the moment you say, “yes.”
Kristi McClelland, bible teacher extraordinaire

This weekend Savannah Guthrie, morning host of the TODAY Show, returned to her alma mater, George Washington University, to deliver the graduation commencement address. Her address was brilliant. She was funny, inspirational and charming. During her address, she said something that struck me as really, really important. She said, “Don’t stress when other people seem to be going higher and faster…The life you’re making is enough. It is enough. You are enough.”

We pilgrims can be terribly hard on each other. Sometimes our eyes get so dazzled by our destination in the distance that we forget to help our fellow pilgrims we encounter along the path. We also can be incredibly hard on our self. Let’s agree to slow down, breathe, and enjoy the journey. That journey is just as important as the destination. Maybe it’s even more important.

I’m rooting for you, pilgrim. I’ll be cheering you on each step of the way. Return the favor, will you? Promise me you will cheer this claustrophobic pilgrim on through every square inch of Hezekiah’s tunnels.

Don’t be afraid. Say “yes” and let your journey begin.

My siblings, Cathy and Dan and me standing in front of our childhood home, built by our Dad – April 2019

Last weekend my siblings and I began the process of cleaning out my mom’s house. She has been in memory care for over a year and won’t be returning home. My brother, sister and I agreed to meet to begin the process of going through 40+ years of clothes, furniture, knick-knacks and photos. The task seemed daunting and if I am going to be honest, I was dreading the trip immensely.

As I prepared to make the solo, 5-hour drive to Northern Kentucky, my husband, the Music Man, hugged me and said, “I know you are not looking forward to this trip. Remember, it’s all just ‘stuff.’” I knew he was right. The truth is, I didn’t feel a huge attachment to much of the ‘stuff’ in the house. But the nostalgia of the moment threatened to overtake me as I began the trip. So many memories fill that space. My dad built that house. We moved in when I was in middle school. I remember we found a snake in my bedroom the day we moved in. That little scaly critter had hitched a ride inside via a box of my things that had been sitting outside in the yard waiting to get loaded in and unpacked. I hate snakes. I really hate them. So that intro to my new bedroom was rocky at best.

I looked up the definition of nostalgia. It is a “longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations.” In other words, it is a time or a place that gives you all the feels. This home was that place for me.

Mom’s handwriting on the outside of the envelope where she saved my childhood poems written to her or other significant people.

Upon arriving at the house, my brother and sister met me in the front yard to take a few photos. Then we went inside to get to work. We started with all of the bedroom closets. Oh my goodness! One thing this trip accomplished was to motivate me to put my own house (and closets) in order. Who knew that closets and dresser drawers could hold so much? But how fun it was to see what mom held dear.

There was the envelope simply titled, “Lori’s Poems”. Inside she had kept all of the poetry I had written to her over the years. Knowing that her memory was failing due to her dementia, my always organized mom left herself and us little notes, or breadcrumbs as my sister called them, to lead us to important papers or items of sentiment. She even left little baggies with each of the granddaughters’ names with a piece of jewelry made by her dad, my grandfather, in his jewelry shop in the basement of his home. Written on those baggies were instructions that each girl was to receive their piece upon their graduation from high school.

There were recipes written in both my mom’s and my grandmother’s handwriting, journals and bibles where she had written her thoughts, and boxes of photographs. There were so many photographs.

A very young Mom and Dad
My sweet momma, two months before I was born.
Easter 1973. Matching dresses by Mom.

There is an old Amy Grant song called, “Heirlooms.” The lyrics to that song describe perfectly how I feel about those photos. Those lyrics are:

Up in the attic,
Down on my knees.
Lifetimes of boxes,
Timeless to me.

Letters and photographs,
Yellowed with years,
Some bringing laughter,
Some bringing tears.

Time never changes,
The memories, the faces
Of loved ones, who bring to me,
All that I come from,
And all that I live for,

And all that I’m going to be.
My precious family
Is more than an heirloom to me.

Meeting my new baby brother, Dan. I was two years old in this photo.

My family was not perfect. Over the decades and generations my family has seen its fair share of hardship through illness, financial challenges, divorce, and loss. But these hardships were offset with goodness, kindness, generosity, love and laughter. These people that I came from? They were real, human, and so very special. Their decency, patriotism, hospitality and love of God and country have made me and my siblings who we are. It has also influenced our own little families.

My great-grandpa Shotwell. He has his arm around my Momma.
Rose Shotwell, my great grandmother, holding her son, my great uncle Clifford.

My grandmother, Ruth, (on the right) standing beside her sister, Naomi. If you know the bible story, you know why I love that these are their names. My momma is standing in front .

I have said a number of times to friends that my childhood was idyllic, and that it has seemed I have lived a charmed life. Here’s the reality. There is no such thing as a charmed life. But there is such a thing as living in the shadow of God’s favor. I am becoming more and more aware of his favor shown to me and my family. As a matter of fact, I have begun to ask God daily to pour his favor all over us. There’s a great verse in Numbers 6:25 (TLB) that says, “May the Lord bless and protect you; may the Lord’s face radiate with joy because of you; may he be gracious to you, show you his favor, and give you his peace.” This verse could easily become a prayer that you pray daily over yourself and your family. God’s favor is a gift that he is more than OK with us asking him to give us.

At two years of age, I wanted to try out this new contraption called a hair dryer.

We aren’t done cleaning out my mom’s house. We all return in a few weeks. I am actually looking forward to going back. The treasure of these memories are calling me. Because as Dr. Seuss said, “Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.”

Month: May 2019

A Pep-Talk for Pilgrims

If These Walls Could Speak