We were talking about decorating. She asked if I had ideas for her bathroom. The first thing that came to mind was, “I like an unexpected lamp.”
It’s no secret that lighting is important. It seems to answer most questions. How do we want to see ourselves, each other? “In a good light.” How do we get to the truth of the matter? “Well, we shine a light on it.” What’s the greatest disinfectant? “Light.” How will we find our way? “Lights will guide you home.”
My mother’s makeup routine was quite a process. And she needed good lighting. Even in basement apartments, where we couldn’t drink the water, if she could light the bathroom, find herself beyond the damage and the dust, then she was, we were, saved.
It’s all about giving ourselves the warmth of chance, the illumination of possibility. So we can set off into the world and find the best of us, the lights that offer joy, comfort, direction, hope — all the glowing of grace. And quite often it won’t be from the people we expect, the ones who are “supposed to.” Often mid stumble, they come. And they do the impossible. Offer so much light, you find yourself shining. And you find out, you too, can be the unexpected lamp.
Driving through Bryce Canyon and the Dixie National Forest is a process not unlike one step forward and two steps back — only it’s more one drive left, one drive right and a tiny bit ahead. Traversing the landscape, all be it gorgeous, was truly a test on my already fragile equilibrium.
As someone who travels a good deal, you probably wouldn’t imagine that I often struggle with motion sickness. To put it in perspective, even parking ramps can take a minimal toll. It is a battle of wills. My stomach eagerly works its way up past my heart on its journey to my throat. “You still have the wheel,” my brain tells my heart. And the words of Georgia O’Keeffe, are on continuous replay, “ I’ve been absolutely terrified every moment of my life – and I’ve never let it keep me from doing a single thing I wanted to do.” And we inch forward, passing yet another sign for Dixie.That may sound a bit dramatic. I’m not actually terrified of the mountains, the road, the curves, but more of my reaction to them. Oh, I have to read that again — “but more of my reaction to them.” It wasn’t exactly where I thought this was going, but there it is. I suppose that’s always the way, isn’t it? Our reactions. A battle of wills. We are thrown curve after curve in this life. They come and go, but it’s how we react that can be ever so lasting. So lasting that when we finally get to the glorious straight and easy path, we are still going over it. Oh, for the love of Dixie! — please let me have the sense to let things go. To not clog one day’s journey with the last. With Georgia still on my mind, I think that today, no matter the view, I will create something beautiful!
And on this journey, this fabulous drive, maybe your “last chance Texaco” is really just another chance. You fill up, pull out, and go. And you can go. You can always go. You go on. You live. Always another chance. Where did you learn that? Maybe those loving arms that you call home. The same ones that let you go. And hold you now.
