Our Journey

While at camp, the five o'clock hour each day was set aside for Chapel.  This, they said, sounds more official than it really is.  For this hour, we were split up as follows: Elementary age in the Lanai, Teenagers at the Gazebo, and Adults in the actual Chapel.  During this hour, I heard that the Elementary kids basically just colored and the Teenage kids played games.  They all kind of balked at going, but didn't really put up too much of a fight, other than to quietly complain that it was kind of a boring hour.  After the jam-packed afternoons that they had, I can see how sitting down for an hour would feel very boring.  As an adult, though, this hour was refreshing.  We always sat in a circle and basically had a Support Group Meeting.  Like February, I really enjoyed hearing more about other's stories, thus helping me cope with my own.

The leaders of the Parents Chapel was a couple that lost their 10-year old son in 2004.  *Side note: his cancer was growing undetected in-utero, eventually succumbing to a secondary cancer*  They told us before we even made the decision to attend Chapel that they understand that they stand for all of our worst fears, that they would completely understand if we all just steered clear of them the entire week.  I'm sure that not every single couple came each and every day, but we always had to extended our circle.  Maybe everyone there looked forward to this time the way we did.  It was a very healing hour each day.

They began by telling us that this last year they took a 550 mile trek across Spain.  Regardless of the weather conditions, they walked each and every one of those 550 miles.  They used this trek as a theme for our hour, using different aspects of it as our topic each day.  Like the first of our own 'Journey' they looked at it with the attitude that they had no idea how the heck they were going to even take the first step, it was just so overwhelming.  But you just have to, there is no other option; you just put your head down and walk.  And then you see the mountain ahead and think, "I am never going to make it.  It's too high, it's too hard, it's too much."  But you keep going, step after step, head down, shoulders hunched, breath becoming more difficult with exertion and elevation, back becoming heavy from the burden you carry with things necessary to survive.  Once at the top, you of course look ahead to what's coming next, but you also need to take time to look at where you came from, look over what you've just accomplished, be grateful you've made it this far.  And then you turn back towards the path you still need to take, and you take another step.

I don't know how to clarify where on the path we are right now.  I don't know if we are really on the downhill because Caden is feeling so, so, so much better than he was even just one week ago, whether we are on a peak or plateau, or if we are already on the uphill, just taking slower steps.  I can't see if we have more mountain to climb, if there are multiple hills, if we have a plateau to rest on, a meadow to rest in, or if we are racing to our end.  (I almost used 'dead end' and stopped myself.  I can't breathe.  I can't even say that word without feeling like I need to vomit.)  In essence, we are blindfolded for this portion of our journey, we have no idea what's coming or how quickly, we just have to trust and hope that we make it to our destination as best we can.

But as I look back at where we've come even just this last month, I can't help but feel proud and emboldened.  It wasn't as big of a mountain as some we've climbed before; some may even classify it as a large hill.  But we climbed that large hill, pushing our child in a wheelchair up the uneven, rocky ground.  At times we ran, others we were able to saunter, but we were always going uphill.  Together, hand-in-hand, we've taken those steps, traversed that path, and conquered something that felt too high, too hard, and too much.

 At one point, our Leaders came to a tent on the side of the road that had refreshments set out, free of charge, for those that walked the path.  As you can imagine, they were blown away by the thoughtfulness and generosity of these beautiful people.  It was not only the refreshments that gave them strength, but the loving encouragement from these amazing people that bolstered them as they placed one foot in front of the other.  As I look back, I see many such tents along our route, and they shine like beacons even now as I look back over this beautiful heartbreak we call a journey.  I will never be able to repay each kindness, I have to keep going on this journey-- I cannot stop, but I can collect the memories for encouragement to keep going when I want to stop, to face my fears with courage and conviction, and to lift me up until the time that I can be an encouragement to others on their own difficult journey.  This journey is hard, but we are making it step-by-step.  Together.