Traditions in Transit

 When I was a little girl, before Ben was born, I remember my grandmother and mother jetting off to the beach every year during the month of May. You'll never guess what that meant! 

Seven full days with my daddy. 

Just him and me.

We spent 6 of our days fishing and playing hide and seek. Occasionally I would pout because he didn't know how to fix the perfect ponytail. High on my head, with absolutely no bumps. Every night while driving home from a full day of adventure, he would slow his truck until it came to a stop. Our cozy house was always in sight, but I knew that this was my cue. With the smell of a breezy summer and fresh cut grass seeping in through the truck windows, I crawled over and sat on my daddy's lap. With my neck stretched tall and my eyes wide, I could barely see over the steering wheel to claim the responsibility of a back road driver. 

But I proudly welcomed the task and for that mile of traveled gravel, I felt untouchable.

So, for the next 5 days my fair, freckled face beamed with excitement when the truck hit the gravel and daddy began to hit the brakes.

Day 1-6 of Beach Week. Yep, this really happened. I'm so glad Ben (my brother) was finally born.

The laundry was stretched in all rooms of the house. Our dishes weren't spotless and they were not occupying their usual position in our cabinets. My diet consisted of Poptarts, Happy Meals, sunflower seeds, and homemade peach ice cream. 

But at 4 years old, none of this seemed to matter. At least not until day number 7.

The day that mama was arriving home! 

Year after year, the reaction of this day was always the same. Excitement and a sense of panic. Day number 7 was devoted to tidying up all the messes that resulted from our week of play. Washing and drying our clothes, stuffing my baby dolls behind the curtains in my bedroom (that was my best kept secret), rinsing the dishes and learning which button started the wash cycle. 

Day 7 was chaotic. 

However, completely necessary so that mom would believe that everything was under control while she was away. As eventful as daddy-daughter week was, I remember pressing my nose against our sliding glass door watching and waiting for mom to come home and cradle me in her arms.

 

Day 7 Transformation

As you are reading this post, you will find me in transit. That's right, I'm beach bound! 

This isn't just your typical east coast vaca. This particular vacation has history. It's a tradition in which my membership was just approved last year. I have a one year tenure. However, it's the same beach getaway that the women in my family have taken with their best friends for over 20 years. 

It's been a time for them to escape the reality of everyday schedules. A time to share stories with their best friends. A time to shop and see who can find the best deals at the Tanger outlets. And for a week, they could bask in the sun and pretend that everything is right in the world. 

The timing of this trip is very appropriate. Memorial Day. As I travel this meaningful route, I can't help but to feel as if I'm leaving someone behind. The memory of my mother's last beach trip is playing on repeat. When scrambling through old documents, I found a letter that I wrote and sent to the women of a bible study at my church. 

  

 "As for mom, she has been at the beach with her friends and is traveling back home this evening. I’ve called her several times and

although she has been sleeping a lot, her friends have also kept her laughing. She seems to be enjoying herself. Mom has always loved pretty pajamas, shoes, etc. So I was not surprised a few weeks ago when she showed me a new swimsuit and matching cover-up that she bought to wear at the beach. She called me on Thursday night as I was driving to let me know that her and the girls walked down to the beach and then stopped to get virgin strawberry daiquiris. She added that she was wearing her new swimsuit and matching cover-up. Stories like this make me so happy because I am assured that she’s doing all she can to enjoy the time that she has left. Although none of us are able to determine the timing of future events, I feel like the next few weeks are a time to really treasure. I am convinced in the power of prayer. Our family has been blessed and able to spend way more time with my mom than most people that are diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Even though my heart aches with a sadness that may never go away, I cannot help but to give praise to the Lord for the time our family has been given. As I reflect on the past two years, I continue to be amazed of God’s sovereignty in my life and the way He can reveal the small blessing that can come despite tragedy. These small blessings are the pieces of encouragement that give me hope and remind me that I have no reason to fear. For this really is our temporary home and I know that this is not the end, but only the beginning of an eternal life. How great are God’s love and his promises? I am so thankful to know the love of Christ and for each of you ladies for the love that you’ve shown to my family." (May 22, 2012)

This year, the tradition is different however I am choosing to rejoice in the memories that this beach trip represents. The tradition must go on, and I am smitten that I get to carry this forward. Often times I feel like the freckled faced 4 year old anxiously waiting for my mother to return, only to realize that she is already home. I often like to imagine how she is spending her time. The possibilities seem endless however, I trust that the Lord will forever keep His promises to me, and to all of His children. Eternity is a place of no pain or hardship. A time when He will embrace me with outstretched arms. A time to thank Him with my knees bent low and hands reaching high in praise. A place where my sweet mother is waiting for MY arrival. A place like the beach where we can permanently escape schedules, we can share stories with our best friends, bask in the grandeur of The Son and know that everything is right. And maybe, just maybe there will be a majestic Tanger outlet mall with a never ending closeout sale.

-jpr-