What shocked me wasn't what she said. It was wise and well-meant. Nor did it matter that it was she who said it; despite past differences, I've long recognized that she is an exceptionally perceptive person. Nor was it the timing; it was in the context of a very rich conversation. But it was a shot of cold water nonetheless:
"You need to stop and enjoy the simple pleasures of life. Things as simple as a nice cup of tea."
What was surprising -- and humbling -- was suddenly seeing myself as I appear to others. A fat, balding businessman with too many concerns about things of too little consequence. A blur of busy-ness and a knot of neuroses. Someone who needs that advice. Not the confident, easily-contented idealist I thought I was.
I know I've changed a lot over the last ten years. I'm more resistant to easy answers. More cognizant of people dynamics, although still pretty clumsy at times. More conscious that everything I have is by grace. More aware of the convergence of the various disciplines I've studied and skills I've learned. More tired and sore from wrestling with the change from God holding my hand to guide me to Him asking me what I really want and pushing me to work for it.
But I didn't think I'd lost my appreciation for little things. For little pleasures. For peace within the storm and good humour under trial. Had it been buried by my worries and fears?
It was a helpful reminder, and a timely one, given what came next.
Wednesday evening my flight from Vancouver was starting its descent into Whitehorse. I had a "perfect storm" of work awaiting me, and figured my third trip to the Yukon would be as void of adventure as my last two. Suddenly the steward interrupted my reverie.
"Conditions at Whitehorse have deteriorated. We are diverting to Yakutat, Alaska where we'll refuel and wait to see if conditions improve."
What? Where? Why?
We sat for over an hour in our cramped airplane seats and polished off our last few snacks as the winds buffeted and the rains pounded our grounded plane. No customs officials nearer than Juneau meant that we weren't authorized to leave the plane. Finally getting permission to go to the nearby lodge (there is not really an airport, just an airstrip beside the lodge) was no comfort, since it meant that we had hours to wait for the weather. Then hours while the pilot filed a revised flight plan ... and hours more to return unhappily to Vancouver and await a hastily-arranged flight through Air North the next day.
Could I find the blessing? It was tougher than the "Hidden Pictures" in the Highlights magazines we used to read. But it worked the same way. If you ignored the surface picture and concentrated on what you were searching for, you found them. And I found the joy and pleasure I'd been urged to seek. In enjoying the moment. In exploring the many treasures the lodge contained (see the pictures) and playing "Guess the Fish." In laughing conversations about old TV shows with people who'd been total strangers only moments before. In being able to upload people's digital pictures for them and share mine with those who had no cameras.
It was so sustaining that when I finally arrived in Whitehorse, rushed and unshaven and unshowered, it wasn't too difficult to work right into the evening to get caught up.
Thanks, Laura. I owe you one.
11 December 2006
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