Russellings of the Spirit

At the tender age of 12, my mom and dad sent me to summer camp.

Pretty standard stuff for a 12-year-old, right? Except at the time, we lived just outside of Columbus, Ohio and this camp was in the beautiful, faraway state of New Hampshire. 

The fact that there were four other kids at home besides me made transportation a real head-scratcher. Packing all seven of us up for a 13 ½ hour drive in the Family Truckster was probably not going to cut it… nor was air travel a viable option.

So my folks decided that the best way to get me up to beautiful Camp Merrowvista was to ship me off on a Greyhound bus…

… by myself,

… at the age of 12.

• Have I mentioned that my bus trip from Columbus to Winnipesaukee, NH included a four-hour layover at the Port Authority Bus Terminal in New York City?
  
• … And that the layover was from 10 p.m. to 2 a.m.?
  
• … And that I was 12 years old at the time?

Of course, today, no parent in their right mind would toss their 12-year-old into that shark-infested swimming pool and expect them to swim. 

But my parents were different. They had a PLAN! And the plan was for my dad to write out notes in a pocket-sized spiral notebook that told me in EXTREME detail what was going to happen at every step of the way. In that notebook was listed every stop, how long the stop was going to be, whether I could (or should) try to get off the bus for a snack or bathroom break, when we would have to CHANGE busses (something that really scared me), right down to the names, ages, and kids’ names of each of the bus drivers.

[OK… I made that last part up.]

That little notebook was a lifesaver… probably literally, as I think back on it. And when it came to the part about the four-hour layover in New York City (again, from 10 p.m. to 2 a.m.), it said, “First, find the Traveler’s Aid desk. Then tell them you are traveling by yourself and ask if you can just stay close at hand until your bus leaves.”

Piece of CAKE!

The feeling I had throughout the trip was that no matter what happened, I was connected to my dad. He was right there with me, riding in my right breast pocket. As long as I was carrying that notebook, I had nothing to fear… not even that wine-and-urine-soaked guy laying on the floor of the Port Authority bus terminal.

And if you think about it, isn’t that a big part of what faith is all about? Isn’t our faith about making those vital CONNECTIONS that help us navigate the difficult passages of life? 

One might even go so far as to say that we humans are WIRED for connection.

Connection with one another…

Connection with the world around us, and…

Connection with our Heavenly Parent.

We fall into living in fear, anger, and isolation when our connections are faulty. Conversely, we tend to thrive more when those connections and solid and intact.

Surely that is one of the biggest reasons this pandemic has been so hard on our souls, as well as our minds and bodies; it has damaged or threatened the critical connections of our lives.

Today I am going to pause and think about one human connection I need to repair and then go out and think about how I will work to repair it. 

How are your connections?

Abundant blessings;