Engine Stalled, In Need of a Tow

It was a surprisingly glorious day, sunny and warm, with little humidity – a rarity in the typically stifling dog-days of summer on the East coast.  We were spending time with dear friends visiting for the weekend and exploring a beautiful coastal town.  With several touring options before us, we chose to take a short chartered cruise to learn more about the history of the War of 1812, oyster fishing, and the Chesapeake Bay.  Our group of seven boarded the antique boat along with others and started our journey as we listened to docents share stories of yesteryear.  The engaging crew invited children into the wheelhouse for an opportunity to help the captain steer the boat.  The mood was light and all was well until we found ourselves in silence as the engine suddenly died and a volunteer muttered, “This can’t be good”. 

With a naturally inquisitive spirit, a five year-old had mistakenly hit a button while assisting the captain and shut off the engine.  Unlike a newer boat, the engine on this quaint fishing vessel needed three hours to cool down before it would restart. 

There we sat, rocking on the water, as the strategy for rescue unfolded.  The crew announced that a boat had been summoned.  The plan was to jump start the failed engine and if unsuccessful, the nonworking boat would be towed.  In the meantime, the passengers enjoyed the scenery, discussed the rarity of the event and consoled the poor father as he apologized for his curious child.  After an hour, the rescue boat appeared, an engine restart was attempted, and the decision was made to tow.  I thought the boat would be towed in a manner similar to that of a car, in which the broken vehicle is hitched behind and pulled. Curiously, this wasn’t the case with the rescue boat.  We watched as the crews worked together to tether the boats side by side – in a fashion that visually reminded me of one putting an arm around the other.  Through partnership and ingenuity, the crews were able to use a 104-year-old crab dredger to help an antique oyster buy boat get passengers safely to dry land.  The crew was pleased that the crab dredger could be of such service, given its age and the challenge presented.  After a few laughs and pictures, I realized that not only did I have an adventure by which to always remember our visit with friends, I had an epiphany.

Although I am blessed, I have been struggling recently with the many challenges associated with moving hundreds of miles away from family and friends.  The opportunity to set sail on a new adventure is exciting, but at times trying.  I’m stubborn and in my effort to be strong, I often pretend that my proverbial motor is running, when at best, it's sputtering or has even stalled.  It doesn’t take a relocation to stall a motor.  Often it’s just the daily grind of life that extinguishes the spark.  Both the big and small trials of life can leave us feeling alone and adrift.  I find that in my unanchored moments a “tow boat” always comes to my rescue.  Spirit intervenes and through a phone call, email, Facebook post, note in the mailbox, knock on the door, or even a smile from a stranger, the course is righted and my engine restarted.  Surprisingly, I find these “tow boats” often do not intervene to lead or pull, they come alongside and put a proverbial arm around me and together with renewed strength, we face the current. 

Like the adventure on the water that afternoon on the East coast, I see that the essence of this journey through life is that we are to be tow boats for one another. I hope that today, I may be as lucky as the old crab dredger and put my arm around another “boat” in need. 

Rites of Passage

There are many in our lives, but I had not emotionally planned for this one. Unlike traditional status changes, as in the birth of a child, Bar Mitzvah, graduation, or marriage, I was not prepared to send my son off on his first overnight Scout camp.

It wasn’t a surprise, mind you. We had to sign up months in advance, pay a deposit, attend meetings, pick merit badge activity preferences, shop for supplies, head out again for more provisions, and on the day before camp, run around again for, you guessed it, more supplies. 

My son has a tender heart, so there were tears and anxiety around the event.  Most of his angst was related to being far away (308 miles) from his family for seven nights.  On the day of the departure, he put on a brave face, as did I.  I vowed to remain strong and continued to remind him that it would be a blast.  As the car pulled away, I cried, but told myself he was fine and turned my focus to my teenage daughter.  With my husband leaving for a business trip, the week would present a long-awaited chance for overdue mother/daughter bonding time.  We had a wonderful week, volunteering together at vacation bible school, shopping like we hadn’t in a long time, eating take out from the containers in front of the TV and relishing control of the remote as we chose our “chick flicks.”

Our together time was treasured, but my heart periodically became preoccupied with my far away son.  Why couldn’t I trust that all was well and quiet the questions?  Was he okay?  Had homesickness overshadowed the opportunity for fun?  Was he making new friends?  Was my fair complected, red-head having a heat stroke in a week of 95 degree weather? Was he happy or sad?  With a recent family move to a new state and the subsequent adjustments, this was seemingly a “make or break” life event for him - probably not, but I’d built it up to be so in my mind.

The week seemed especially poignant, as I was assigned to the babysitting room at vacation bible school.  Being around young mothers and babies was a daily reminder of a treasured time that is now a memory for me.  I was warned that the days would be long, but the years would be short.  I used to wonder how someone could say such a thing as I tripped over Thomas the Tank Engine or Dora to deliver yet another sip of water at the end of a long day. Now I understand and am wistful for days filled with little hands holding sippy cups, shoes made for cute pudgy feet and a bathtub filled with toys and suds.

During this week of contemplation, I realized that perhaps there was a deeper question - one which would reveal a rite of passage for me. Was I ready to see my little girl become a woman and my baby boy grow into a man? Like my Scout, was I ready to advance in the merit badge of motherhood?  Was I willing to let go so that my children could grow and fly?

 

My older “baby,” who volunteered as a crew member at VBS will be 15 in a few months.  She used to be little, like the ones in the nursery.  This week, I saw her as a beautiful young woman - talking with adult crew leaders and interacting with children in a way that inspired.  My son arrived home from Scout camp with a renewed sense of pride and a broader perspective, both of which foreshadow manhood.

The chapters in this adventure of life are short.  As I moved through this melancholy week involving growth and change, I vowed to remain in the present.  I will be diligent in my efforts to embrace the challenges and joys of this stage of motherhood.  For too soon, the taxi service to activities, homework, sleepovers, heightened emotions, sibling rivalry, battle for independence, eye rolls, laundry and “experts” under my roof would also be treasured memories in the rear view mirror of my life.

In facing the tough question, I was reminded of my need to embrace the little and the big rites of passage before me in this gift of motherhood. With newfound appreciation, I will bless the noisy, messy, and glorious days of an ordinary life, for I realize now that is it just like Scout camp, a blast.