What if our wandering is not just for us?
When you happen to be in the right place at the right time
I’m writing this from the midpoint of a three-state wander. This has become a winter of wandering, of both joy and unexpected sorrows.
Last week, I skied in Colorado with friends for four days, enjoying the challenge and beauty of Keystone. My friend Ann welcomed six of us to her home. We skied, cooked, ate, laughed, talked, watched a few episodes of Queer Eye—a fun girls’ trip.
As one who often welcomes others, I felt grateful and happy to be welcomed to Ann’s home. I loved how the group extended hospitality to each other. Ann graciously welcomed us to her home. The rest of us took turns cooking. I often talk to people who assume extending hospitality means one person must oversee (and execute) all the details and do everything. Understandably, they’re hesitant to sign up for that. But hospitality can be shared. The whole group pitched in with cooking and clean up and making coffee and whatever to make the weekend easy and fun. We all welcomed one another in various ways.
One day on the mountain, I got a text from my 83-year-old mom, asking me to call. She rarely sends this sort of message unless...
The news was not good.
Her best friend had suffered a stroke and was in the hospital, and would not recover.
Aunt Lurla, as we called her, has been like a sister to my mom for more than 60 years. She and her husband and daughters were our chosen family. As my mom recalled this week, when they met as 21-year-old newlyweds, the two of them just clicked.
Mom, Dad, Aunt Lurla and Uncle Dick
Our families traveled together, camped together. Their daughters were the same age as my brother and me. Her daughter Jeanine was my closest childhood friend.We were part of a church community so tightly knit it felt like kin.
The day before she suffered the stroke, Lurla and Mom chatted by phone for a long time—not knowing what the next day would bring. The last thing Lurla said was “we need to get together soon!” We’re thankful for that conversation.
The disorienting news devastated my mom. I was thankful that the next leg of my journey would take me to California, where my mom and dad live. I’d planned my visit months ago. And as a result, I was sitting at their kitchen table less than a week later when Mom got the phone call that Lurla had passed away.
I held her as we cried, incredibly sad but grateful that we just so happened to be together for this particular moment of despair and grief.
These sorts of coincidences fill me with questions, take me on a spiritual wandering.
Was the timing of my visit an accident? Or the result of divine attention?
I would assume that God knew which day would be Aunt Lurla’s last. Right?
But did God somehow arrange for me to be there? I chose to go skiing, then planned a trip from Colorado to California—was that my idea? Or did God somehow inspire me to go see my parents—whom I haven’t visited (I feel guilty admitting this) in about 10 months?
How involved is God in the minutia of our lives? I don’t honestly know. I’ve said this before, but the older I get, the less I feel certain about anything. That doesn’t mean I have less faith. I actually think it takes more faith to admit you don’t know. To admit God is bigger and more mysterious than you once thought.
It also just so happened that my son and his fiancé came to California for the weekend to visit. Mom and Dad were surrounded by family who did their best to listen, to love, and to distract them with everything from good food to a pickleball game.
We kept Mom a little busy, but also made space for her grief. I sat on the couch with mom, looking through a photo album Lurla had made for Mom and Dad’s 50th wedding anniversary, celebrating decades of friendship, travel, and fun.
Reliving the memories helped somehow.
I don’t know that God orchestrated my visit to California for this particular week or not, as such a thing is unknowable, and in some ways, doesn’t matter. What matters more is my response to it, which is simply gratitude. I’m so glad I was able to be with mom as she walked through this difficult week. That response matters more than trying to figure out why things fell into place in the way they did.
Sometimes our wandering takes us to a place where we can just be grateful without having to explain why things happened the way they did. It touches the important question: why do we wander? Why do we choose to go to whatever places we go, near or far?
We wander not just to indulge a whim but to open ourselves up to experiences and moments we might not otherwise experience. That might mean visiting a cathedral in Europe, seeing the Rocky Mountains, or creating a sacred space on your mom’s couch with a photo album and shared tears.
Loss reminds us that life is short. And that our wandering might well be not just for us.
Thanks for sharing your wandering journey with us. 🙏❤️
This brought back memories of loss for me and the presence of my son through each one. He was 19 when he answered the door to see two Marine casualty officers standing there. He knew before they spoke a word that something had happened to his step-brother Justin. He was also at the bed side of my late husband, his step-dad, when Pat was ushered into heaven. And most recently, my son was with me at the skilled nursing facility when the funeral home came to take my father. I believe God orchestrated my son's presence both for me and for him. Thank you for sharing your recent experience of walking through loss with your mother.