Pilgrimage

If you look up the definition of the word "pilgrimage", you will get a variety of results.  The common threads among them are the concepts of travel and importance.  In the past few weeks, I have embarked on a few pilgrimages that were important for different reasons. And I would add that something beyond the tangible, something that is a draw from the heart or soul are what call me to these pilgrimages. 

The first trip I made was on Saturday of Memorial Day weekend.  I had a deep need to travel to suburban Pittsburgh to plant flowers on my parents' grave.  I realize that this seems to be a custom that is losing relevance in today's culture. There seems to be more of a trend toward cremation when somebody dies.  And for those whose loved ones are interred in a cemetery, I don't often hear of people going to "decorate the grave."  I wonder if anyone besides me remembers that Memorial Day used to also be called "Decoration Day."  Or maybe that was just what my parents called it.....Anyway, it was a huge deal to my parents when I was a child to go to the cemeteries to plant flowers - my dad always chose red gernaniums and purple and white varigated petunias.  Hardy flowers, with a color scheme that was as patriotic as standard flowers would provide.  I treasured going with him to do the graves, sometimes my mother came along, sometimes not.  I remember feeling simultaneously reverent (because I could sense the importance to my dad), honored (at getting to be there with him) and just plain sad (all those dead people!) not to mention anxious - fear of my own death, fear of my parents' deaths.  I remember going down to the (what seemed to me) huge goldfish pond while he was up on the hill digging in the dirt.  Some would say (and have said) "what's the point of going to their grave?  They are not there.  They don't know if you showed up to put flowers there.  It's crazy to drive
 2 1/2 hours just to plant flowers..."  These things may all be true.  But there is a silent promise I feel compelled to carry out each year.  I may have never said "Yes - I will tend your grave when you are goine" while my parents were living, but I believe that going each year, and taking my mother after my father died, was an unspoken commitment to carry on this tradition.  I do it to honor what was important to them.And despite dodging severe thunderstorm warnings with "possibility of tornadoes" thrown in, I am deeply glad that I went.  I only hope that when I revisit sometime later this summer, the flowers have survived.  Because in true form, I bought the wrong kind of flowers for the amount of sun.  A discussion that has taken place in my house the past few years......and I don't want to brag (TOO much), but apparently.....I was right.  (again.)  

The second pilgrimage took place last Sunday. A very dear friend of many years has retired from full time pastoral ministry. I had been wanting to hear him preach again. Like, for years.  Somehow the years have flown by and when calculating, I realized it's been about 18 of them since I had heard him preach. When we attended a show his son was in last December, we marveled at the fact that it had been 15 years since we had actually seen each other. How did I let this happen?  How did life fly by so quickly that I only managed to catch his very last sermon (in this role.  I have confidence he will continue to preach by special invitations and such)? Sitting in this church service it was a flood of familiarity and comfort, precious memories, a few chuckles, a few tears and the inspiring conviction within the sermon itself.  Paired with all the good feels was  the devastating realization that a significant chapter of life is closing.  For him and his family, and for a particular identity of a decades long friendship.  I was transported back to the first night we ever crossed paths - when I was invited by a co-worker to sing at her church's revival services.  We were all relatively young, my firstborn was merely months old, he and his wife had not yet had a child.  Now, in the blink of an eye, he has 2 grandchildren, I have 4 1/2.  An entire generation has passed before my eyes and I'll be honest - I struggle with that. And the friendship has suffered - but endured - significant gaps in contact and in-person presence, for a number of reasons.  This was a pilgrimage I was uncertain about embarking on (my social anxiety was pretty high - especially when the good folk of the church invited us to the picnic after church honoring them and their pastoral years).  I didn't want to be a distraction, I didn't want to intrude on the church's celebration of this incredible influence in their lives.......I wasn't part of "his flock" anymore. But we stayed even though they had to add a table for us. #AWKWARD.  And we had a few minutes to visit (could it be he was just hiding from the hoopla?)  Even had a few photos snapped, only to find out that I was given rabbit ears in a couple of them.  Some things never change.  So I guess I figured out that though years and careers and miles and life events have created distance,  I'm still part of his "tribe."  And it was heartwarming to see what God has done in so many lives because of him.  It was good to reconnect if even briefly.  There were, indeed, important things that happened in this journey.



Pilgrimage #3 happened this week.  I ran away from home.  Only for 2 days. The important task for this journey?  To grab some time of relaxation and rest.  My school year ended on Monday so I took off to meet a friend the next day at a resort in Maryland.  Our plan (well, my plan) was to not have a plan.  I wanted to spend time without my nose in technology or my planner.  And although I did have clients texting to schedule or cancel sessions. for the most part I only used my phone to know what time it was and to check bank balances.  Mainly to make sure I could get home.  LOL  We talked a lot, ate a lot, took in some history, ate some more, talked some more. Oh - and we each got a pretty amazing massage.  Apparently hers was better than mine but that always seems to happen.  Or maybe the knots in my shoulders were beyond the strength of my massage therapist. Or maybe I'm just a whiner.   And I practiced a bit of mindfulness.  Looking at the mountains.  Really tasting the food. Noticing how many people actually greeted us on the street.  A few times I thought I must have been transported to Pittsburgh!  Because where I circulate on a daily basis, it is not typical for someone to make eye contact much less say hello.  I wouldn't go so far as to say it made me perky (an adjective that I dont think has ever been used to describe me!), but I did sense a bit of lilt in my demeanor and a spring in my step (that is, when my plantar fasciitis didn't flare up).  I can't honestly say my brain was able to process anything particularly academic (I'm still confused about what George Washington did in Cumberland or where and how the C & O canal functioned in the area and how the railroad played in) but I do feel like my whole being powered down a bit over the time. I'm pretty sure my therapist would be proud of me - I know I would be proud of my clients who reported such a getaway.  That's not to say there weren't a few things that raised the hairs on the backs of our necks - like finding out there had been a thwarted terrorist attack two nights before in the casino/resort where we were staying.  Or the 5 police cars that flew by the outdoor restaurant where we were having dinner.  Suffice it to say we relaxed a bit when we saw a firetruck go by as well.  Because the last time that many emergency vehicles flew by when I was in a city, a shooting had just taken place 2 blocks away.  And then there was the news story that came across the feed that not too far from the historic site we had just visited, a young man had taken his own life the night before jumping from an interstate overpass. Of course the pile of guys in the one corner of the historic site in the middle of the day caused a tad bit of discomfort.  We found out from talking to the National Park Ranger that staying away from them had been wise because although generally amicable, they do tend to congregate there and have had the police called on them numerous times.  She also hesitantly shared that the city does have a pretty big drug problem.  Hmmmm, shall we just head back to the hotel?  Both husband and furry brown girl were elated to see me when I got home (again driving home under the weather warning of severe thunderstorms - what's with me and travel?).  Apparently my running away for my mental health is not so good for theirs.

There is a pilgrimage that I have typically made each summer for the past several years- to glean food from farm fields to feed the hungry, and to educate others on the problem of hunger and poverty and how easy it is to use our own hands and time to make a difference.  I won't be making that trip this year and honestly, I'm pretty bummed about it.  And not just because I won't get a tan in the 98 degree Virginia sun.

But there are others that I hope to make at some point in both the near and far futures - 

**I want to get to spend time with each of my sisters before this year is out.
**I want to go back to Estonia - I would dearly love to see the friends I made there - it's been               7 years next month.  Way too long!
** I want to visit Tangier Island and see the place and life I learned a bit about on my                           gleaning trips the last 2 years - and to spend time with the dear women who invited               me into their lives.
** I want to go gleaning again
There are probably a ton more - but they may just be bucket list things rather than journeys of the heart and soul - tropical island, most of Europe, Broadway shows, tour all the Civil War battlefields....

And it all causes me to wonder what pilgrimages others may take or consider taking......