In Back to the Future,
Doc Brown and Marty McFly are about to witness something amazing, something
stunning. Doc has created a time machine
out of Delorean and he has tapped his dog, Einstein, to be the first time traveler. As Marty films the event, the Delorean,
remote controlled by Doc, and with Einstein behind the wheel, reaches 88 mph
and disappears.
Doc is ecstatic.
Marty thinks his friend has just incinerated his dog and car. But a minute later, the unthinkable happens,
the car and Einstein reappear. Doc Brown
had sent Einstein a minute into the future, a minute that passed with Doc
leaping for joy and Marty freaking out, a minute that seemed like no time at
all for Einstein. For Einstein his trip
was instantaneous.
There was no minute.
He had simply travelled forward in time.
I was wondering today how that would feel—to time travel, to
leap forward in time, but not be aware of what was happening. Could even a dog feel that something was off,
that he was missing something, a minute of his life when the world turned and
people did what people do, but a minute that he had missed and would never get
back?
Today when I walked out of church, the weather was so
perfect I decided instead of racing everyone out of the parking lot, I would
walk the labyrinth. I had energy for
that and couldn’t resist, but I had barely started the path when I felt
overwhelmed and almost sat down right there in the grass and sobbed.
I didn’t—because the grass was wet (perhaps a lot of people
have been crying on the labyrinth lately) and because the church was full and I
didn’t want anyone to wonder who the crazy lady was out crying behind the
church.
But I walked the labyrinth today filled with tears, tears
because it was so beautiful out and just yesterday and the day before (thanks
to Hurricane Sandy) it had been so gray, and cloudy and windy and my condo had
been filled with the strange noises of a hurricane, the pelting of rain and the
creaks of the doors and windows from the wind, and now, today it was the most beautiful
day I could imagine, blue skies and cool air and a light breeze.
And I thought, how recently in my life, I’ve not had very
many beautiful days.
Pastor Debbie mentioned during the service today what our
Advent study would be this year and I was hit with a surreal moment, a moment
that contributed to those tears aching to be released out in the labyrinth.
Where had the year gone?
It was like I had gone to sleep last October, 2011 and woken
up today October, 2012.
I felt like I had lost a year, like Einstein lost his minute
in the Delorean. I lost a year to my
health, a year of not knowing if I would be well enough to get in the shower,
to drive, to make lunch and dinner, to take care of the cat, to see friends, to
go to church, to shop, to laugh, to cry, to do all the things that we take for
granted.
For more than a year, my health even kept me from making it
to the hairdresser.
This past Tuesday, I finally went for that haircut and had
thirteen inches cut in one large chunk followed by another two inches or so as
she trimmed me up.
I feel like a new person.
Lorraine told me cutting my hair was a lifting of a burden in both a
literal and figurative sense. How I love
washing my hair now. I love playing with
it. I love that even in a breeze, I don’t
feel like it’s trying to strangle me; I just tuck it behind my ear and move on.
A lost year.
One of the first things Pastor Debbie ever told me was that
there are no wasted years. I had been
frustrated when I first found Hope Church because it had taken 17 years of
looking in order to find it and I had felt those years wasted.
But Pastor Debbie said no.
No wasted years.
And despite all my health problems this past year, it was not
a lost year either. It was a year in
which I wrote and published two books, a year that I took another step in
learning to take care of myself, a year in which the many paths that God has
set before me began to coalesce. It was
a year I learned to depend on others, to ask for help. It was a year when people fed me, both my
stomach and my wallet and my spirit.
It was year that showed me I still have a ways to go, but
that there is always peace after the storm.
It doesn’t mean that other storms won’t come.
And for those of you waiting for Hurricane Sandy, keep safe,
but remember that when it is over, the skies will be blue again and the air
will be crisp.
Winter is coming.
Christmas is coming.
After the storm, there is always salvation.
