Dan has only been in Quebec for 9 days but it feels like much longer. On the weekend he and a couple friends visited Old Quebec, took a bus tour and ate at a great restaurant. We've added it to the list of places to visit when we travel. And miracle of miracles, Dan has learned to order a large double double in French! Today he began fighting a cold, possibly because the heaters haven't been working in the barracks, and they started combat first aid which, from what I understand, is not pleasant. On Sunday they're off to Florida, farther away from home, but day by day getting closer too.
Being apart has such a rhythm to it in a way. When you're first separated, the feeling of emptiness is strong and overwhelming. As the days pass you adjust to being apart and you move normally through the day. Once in a while you remember the other person's face or the sound of their laugh or the comfort of ending the day together, and it's fresh again. So it goes, in and out, like waves.
Remember in When Harry Met Sally, during one of the clips of the older couples reminiscing, one man remembers walking across the room to his future wife and saying "I'm (John/Gary/?) Small of the Coney Island Smalls" and she says "I knew then, the way you know about a good melon." Well it turns out that knowing the way you know about a good melon also applies to churches! By recommendation, on Sunday I went to Trinity Baptist in Sherwood Park which is not at all close to our house. Don't think me superficial, but I was thrilled to see their winter decorations - crystallized branches, glass snowflakes and candles. (I've had a special place in my heart for snowflakes since our wedding). The worship was wonderful, not only in song choice but in sound mixing and cohesiveness of the worship team. And of course, we sang Amazing Grace (my chains are gone). The worship alone filled me with joy because I've come to realize how important accessible and beautiful worship is to me in my search for a church home, but there is enough there for its own post. The pastor, Wayne Larson, was wise and confident, well spoken and encouraging. But best of all, as I turned to leave, there was my friend Sam and his wife Nancy who are members of the church. Later I met the pastor and it turns out that he was associate pastor with Cal in Lethbridge and dedicated Beth when she was a baby! Then on top of that, I met a newly married young woman who is starting a young couples small group and whose father is in the military and whose husband is in the RCMP. I was thoroughly overjoyed. I knew the way you know about a good melon.
This week I finished, for the second time, a memoir entitled "The Best Day the Worst Day," a book written by poet Donald Hall about his life with late wife, poet Jane Kenyon. I read it for the first time during our one and only summer in Ontario. We were newly married then (only about 6 months) and I was struggling to adjust to a new life with a new husband. I loved it instantly for its warmth and candor and as I immersed myself in it I only came to love it more. This book opened my heart to the glory of marriage more than anything else has before or since. Donald writes of their life together, beginning with the day of Jane's death from leukemia, and weaves a story of love and loss, joy and sorrow, all through their years of togetherness. Even now I feel a tightness in my chest, feeling the loss of separation keenly.
There are two spans of time in this book that have profoundly changed me. The first is the many days, months and years of the life they led together - they spent much of their time together on their farm, writing, walking, loving. They had lifelong friends, exciting travels, impressive accomplishments, but most of all they had beautifully predictable days of quiet gentleness and companionship. In my heart I know that this is what I want, even when I get caught up so easily in the thrill of exciting events, parties, the idea of having a busy, energetic life with lots of friends and lots to show for what I've done. At my heart, I like to be home; I like most the quiet days with a book, good food and lots of time with Dan. The second is the the period of time during Jane's bone marrow transplant, when she was the sickest. Donald's life came to be nothing other than taking care of her - getting her to appointments, making sure she had her medication, finding appetizing things for her to eat, making sure she was comfortable. She was utterly vulnerable and dependent on him; she let him take care of her and he loved taking care of her. Reading it I came to realize that I knew without a doubt that if it were me, Dan would be there without question. There's something beautiful in knowing that about the person you love to spend your life with. In sickness and in health. For what we are, and what we will be.
I will leave you with Jane's poem 'Let Evening Come'. Goodnight my dear. In the words of Julia Child's husband, "You are the butter to my bread, the breath to my life."
Let Evening Come
Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.
Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.
Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.
Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.
To the bottle in the ditch. to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.
Let it come, as it will, and don't
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.
