What is the cost of adventure?

I was talking with one of my sons last night and we were discussing adventures and what it takes to make the decision to make a grand adventure happen.   After our year-long adventures here in D.C., it’s easy to say that taking such an adventure costs something.  But, what is the real cost?

My son and I explored some options and then we shared all the old maxims about setting out on an unknown path such as:  “Every journey begins with a single step.” And, “If you wait until you are ready, you will never do anything.”  And, “Doing something is infinitely more than doing nothing.”

In order to embark on adventure, sometimes we just have to do it.  . . . even when we don’t know where it will lead; even when we don’t know when or if we will return; even if we aren’t quite entirely ready.

After making the decision to move here last year, I met a man at the airport on my arrival. He had been here on business and was leaving for his return to Seattle.  I recognized him – he recognized me.  He had been one of my students several years ago.  I explained that my husband and I had just made the decision to make this great adventure to D.C.  He shared his joy for us and told me some advice that he had received as a young man.  When he was first in business he asked an experienced partner if he had any advice for someone just beginning on the job.  The advice he received he has never forgotten.  He was kind enough to tell me the story and share the advice with me:  “Never regret what you do.  Only regret what you don’t do.”

Last night, I passed this wisdom on to my son.  The real cost of adventure is never doing anything.  Can we afford that?

May we recognize the grace in adventure and have the courage to pay the price.

I read in the paper that the AIDS Quilt was in town and I made a special trip – in the heat – to the National Mall to see it.  It was more overwhelming than I would have imagined.  Yards and yards of beautifully crafted memories to people who have died of AIDS.  It is laid out lovingly on the lawn and invites a slow walk and reverent reflection.  The love embedded in every stitch and in each creative pattern is more than evident.  What a memorial to those who have died.  What a way to continue to tell their story.  It was very moving.

It made me think about how each of us is a special grace in this world and each of us has a life and a story that is worthy of being remembered.

How would we like to have our life and our story remembered?

I guess we can now officially say we have lived in DC.  Yesterday, on the 4th of July, with friends who knew of the best observation spots, we ventured out to the Mall to see the fireworks.  It was still 95 degrees at 10:00 p.m., but along with thousands of others we trekked outdoors and raised our eyes to the skies and “ooohed” and “ahhhed” at the colorful display amid the pops and bangs.

We were on the veranda of the Kennedy Center and looking West toward the Lincoln Monument.  What a sight.  And, what an experience to be here, in our Nation’s Capital on the 4th of July.  I felt graced to be here – in this place at this time.

Living in this part of the country and visiting all the points of historical interest has given me a profound appreciation for the price of independence and freedom.  From the American Revolution; to the Civil War; to World War II; to today, thousands upon thousands have given their energy, their spirit and sometimes their lives to see that this country remains free and that we all can enjoy our independence.

Throughout the history of this great nation there were young boys who defended homesteads; women who nursed wounded; children who worked the fields; brave souls who harbored and helped runaway slaves; not to mention those who wore a uniform and faced battle.  Their contributions to the future that we enjoy today are grace upon grace.  The wisdom of the sage is true:  Freedom isn’t free.  Independence always costs us something.  What are we willing to give so that these freedoms endure through our age?

And, what can we do to contribute to this legacy of freedom in a non-violent way, so we can enjoy independence without so much suffering, death and destruction?

Have you taken the time for reflection today?  Life is too short to pass up this very important activity.  The simple work of reflection actually is generative.  By engaging in reflection, we have more time for reflection.  What could offer a greater grace?

I have always loved the words of Dorothy Day when she wrote about the issue of time.  I think this applies to reflection as well.  Take a moment to reflect with her:

“The only way to have more time,” says Father Lacouture, “is to sow time.”  In other words, to throw  it away.  Just as one throws wheat into the ground to get more wheat.  It must have seemed madness to throw that first wheat away – but more wheat sprang up a hundredfold. 

            So each day, start out by saying, there is plenty of time.  And so to discard time, to throw it to the winds, to disregard all the work there is to do, and go sit in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament for an hour, to divest oneself of these accursed occupations – all in order to reap time, for those things which are necessary.                       Dorothy Day,   February, 1941 

Take a moment to reflect.  More time will be given.

Yesterday marks one year since I moved to DC.  My husband moved here before me and his one year anniversary has already passed – without incident.  My anniversary, however, had some lightning and thunder associated with it.  Also, there were hurricane force winds of 70-90 mph and hundreds of downed trees hitting houses, as well as cars smashed in their parking places.  The city is crawling out of it today, with crews cutting and moving broken trees and branches out of the major roadways, and electrical crews trying to restore power to the almost 1/2 million people still without electricity or air conditioning in this 100 degree heat wave.

What could be more appropriate?  This year has been a major adventure for us with major happenings from the earthquake and hurricane that occurred almost immediately following my arrival last July to the sneaker storm and destruction of the other night.  One friend emailed and asked me “What kind of weather did you bring with you to DC?”

I wish it were that simple and I wish I had some ability to turn things around.  But I don’t.  We each suffer the events that befall us and we each have to cope with them as best we can.

Pray for those who are still without power and for those who have lost their homes or their cars.  Grace happens, too, and there is little we can do to stop it.  Yet, sometimes, it is we who are the ones who have to cooperate with God to help provide it.  Is there someone you could be reaching out to?

One of the most enduring graces of the past weekend was a reunion with a former student.  She had been in one of my adult classes a couple of years back, married a Navy man, moved to Virginia Beach and they now have a two year old son.  It was such a joy to see them, get acquainted with their little boy and hear of their adventures in Navy life.

They served us a wonderful breakfast and we laughed over regional stories and local pronunciations that are difficult for those from the Northwest part of the country.  How refreshing to be with folks who share the same origins and know people that we know.

People — friends — sharing stories, food, and the music of laughter — like Eucharist, it is definitely an enduring grace.

My experience at the lighthouse last weekend has given me great opportunity for reflection.  We saw three lighthouses over the weekend – the old Point Comfort Light from the moat of Fort Monroe; and both the new and the old Cape Henry Lighthouses.  But it is my experience at the old Cape Henry Light that is stuck in my mind and has me thinking.

Old Cape Henry Lighthouse is open to the public.  We went through security to gain access to the military post where it is located; paid our $5 National Parks fee to enter the light; and walked the 74 steps up the hill to stand at the base of the light.  It was fully my intention to enter the lighthouse and walk the steps up to the level of the great light where I would be able to see out over the waters of Chesapeake Bay.

Only, when we got that far my husband – cautious of heights – said “I’ll wait here,” and he sat down on a bench.  I proceeded forward and entered the door of the lighthouse.  I looked up to see a narrow, metal, spiral staircase as far as I could see.  I had to wait for two others to complete their descent before I could even think of beginning an ascent.  I asked a little hesitantly as they reached the floor, “Is it worth it?”  “Oh, yeah,” they said, “Only it’s a little freaky at the top when you have to go by ladder the rest of the way.”

My own fear of heights made up my mind for me.  I was not going to climb several hundred feet of narrow, metal, winding staircase only to have to mount a ladder to continue the climb, no matter how much I wanted to see the beauty of the sights such a height would afford me.  My fear of heights and an even greater fear of ladders kept me close to the ground.

I slowly walked around the lighthouse and, in faith, imagined what I would be able to see if I had not been filled with fear.  I imagined how this light for centuries has been a beacon to seafarers so they might find their way through the fear of difficult weather or darkness of night.  This light provided the way.  This light offered safety.

And I began to think about where I looked for the Light that guides me, allows me to overcome my fear, provides a way for me, and offers me safety in my daily life.  Jesus told those who followed him: “You are the light of the world.”  The shock in that message is that means you and me!  WE are the light of the world!  Do we believe it?  And, if we do believe it, do we act like it?

My desire, my fear, my imagination, and my faith has caused quite a stir in me.  It’s grace at work asking me to face my fears and see how I can be a light to the world. Are we allowing the Light that is Christ to shine through us so that others may see? How are we doing with that?

The day is unseasonably cool and pleasant.  The breeze is brisk, but totally refreshing.  The trees are swaying with the rhythm of the winds and the sun is playing through the leaves.  After my walk this morning, I just could not go inside.  So, I found a little stoop and sat in the shade and just marveled at the trees and the dappled sun shining through them.

Just to pause under the trees and be present to the movement of the wind and the rustle of the leaves was a graced moment.  Remember to pause – there is grace to be found in every moment.

Our weekend at Virginia Beach was beautiful, really beyond beautiful, extraordinary!  The pristine sands stretch for miles and people were flocking toward the surf with their chairs and blankets.  We rented a pedal buggy and, at a leisurely pace, explored the boardwalk and took in the sights in both directions.  The sun increased its brilliant intensity as the minutes passed, and by mid-morning, ice cream was on the menu.   Finding the beach a little crowded, we moved on to another area to explore the lighthouses.

Later that same afternoon we found ourselves back at Ft. Monroe, exploring some of the surrounding grounds and beaches that are right outside the moat of the main fort.  I was stunned at the incredible beauty – and  the fact that there was almost no one around.  Clearly, this would be my beach of choice!  Why would anyone go to Virginia Beach when Ft. Monroe was available?

This realization made me appreciate my desire to be alone with nature.  While people are wonderful, and I love to be with them, there is something about a connection with the grace and beauty of the natural world when I am alone.

What beach would you choose?  Is there a place you like to go when you want to be alone with nature?