Praise for the Past

 

It is a beautiful morning here in Gig Harbor. We left the world of snow and ice behind on Sunday while our home was getting smothered with the worst storm yet this year. I did a little happy jig in my heart after driving a couple hours on snowy roads and stopping at a rest area where the weather had taken on a balmy warmth. 

As we stepped out of the pickup, the tree we had parked under was alive with chickadees in birdsong. It was as if they were singing the snow right off the branches and the ground. There was evidence of the big storm in the depth of snow still left on every available tree limb, lamp-post, and sidewalk. But those birds were doing their level best to sing it all away, as was my aforementioned heart.

I read aloud, A Lesson in Hope by Philip Gulley off and on throughout the drive over while the roads got better and better. The snow disappeared completely as we drove into this popular little harbor. It really isn't little at all but living on a boat in an harbor for a week makes you think you are in a small village. If you try hard enough, one can almost imagine themselves in another part of the world like maybe Scandinavia.

Anyway, this trip is to celebrate our 28 years together. It seems we always gravitate to the water for our times away. During the night after we had settled into our new abode here and I couldn't sleep, I remembered another get-away we took in 2016 to Mexico, Sea of Cortez. Nine years doesn't seem that long ago until you think about your kids and subtract nine years from their current ages, as young married couples... that is, two of them are married. But that makes my nineteen year old baby, who is married, just ten.

So I was thinking about this trip in particular and all the emotions of that age came back fresh and sorrowful. The guilt of leaving my babies behind over Christmas to drive, pulling a sailboat, all the way to Bahia de Los Angeles, to celebrate an anniversary. I had raw and real fears and anxieties of which I could not find a way out. During that era of our lives together I was usually running behind with my tongue hanging out begging God and Bruce to both please slow down. It seemed like neither one complied.

I'm not going back into all that history but what became clear and precious to me in the middle of the night, was that remembering isn't as painful as it used to be. The guilt and shame I felt in trying to keep up with Bruce and in being the ever present parent to my children that never neglected any duty ever... I finally realized at some point...how unreal that was. And I stopped caring in that sense. I started to be human and be okay with that. I found grace and a whole lot of Jesus.

Somewhere in the last nine years I quit trying to keep up and started to care for my soul. In my night time musings, I stumbled on this thought: It is praise that did it. Even during those scary times when I felt fearful and anxious and neglected and alone, I always turned to God for refuge, help, and strength. Quite often, I couldn't feel the help or strength that I know now I was getting all along.

The trip we took nine years ago to Sea of Cortez I can look back now and trace the hand of God. Driving through the desert, kind of off road, a rough route under construction, Bruce noticed a puff of air escaping from one of the tires of the boat trailer. Wasting no time, he parked and was kneeling at the wheel with a tire patch kit and plugged it so fast it didn't have time to lose much air. We drove another hour to our destination and were fine. 

But my nerves were shot after a drunk construction worker had asked us for a beer in the desert. That happened before the tire issue. Being short on sleep didn't help either. We had crossed the border the prior afternoon and slept in the boat where we had pulled off the road for the night. Yes, my nerves were shot from listening for bandits and drunk people and coyotes. I'm sure by that time a good bit of it was exaggerated in my mind. There is that truth, but also the truth of the Hand of God.

At the boat ramp in Bahia de Los Angeles, Bruce set right to work at setting up the mast and packing the boat for our sail trip. I wanted to curl into a little ball and rock back and forth like a crazy little woman, but instead I somehow managed to fall through the hatch and twist my shoulder on the way down as my bum hit the three steps into the galley. Funny, I can still remember that. I decided to get out of the boat and walk off some steam. It helped some, sand and seagulls will do that to you.

Then God provided a lady name Bella. She and her husband were doing a day trip. Her English was pretty good and she asked me a ton of questions about me and my husbands endeavors. She could probably see I was shaking with fear and shock. Anyway, she provided me with distracting questions and asked me if I had had coffee yet. Or maybe I mentioned coffee? Somehow, a French pressed coffee was placed in my hands and we continued to talk and I calmed down.

So I lay in bed two nights ago and was praising God for His provision given to me today and nine years ago. It was there all along and I am finally seeing it. I don't suppose I did so bad after all. That I made a habit of going to God with all my difficult lagging behind, has turned my life into something beautiful. Praising God in every storm doesn't make the difficult parts of life go away, but it exalts God and lifts me out of my fears and anxieties to say, "I praise you, God, and now I see You have been at work all along".

Praising God has helped me navigate marriage, and it has helped me place my trust in the Hands of Almighty God for every weird, wacky, or wonderful trip my husband and I decide to go on. I believe we have been on all three kinds and I'm finally starting to enjoy the ride. No more shame for the times I floundered, because I am finding I can praise God now for them.