Patrick and I just got back from what some people call a Babymoon (like a second honeymoon before your baby arrives and adds a whole lot of accessories to trips) on Chincoteague Island. We spent four days exploring Assateague Island's beach and wildlife refuge (complete with wild ponies), eating a lot of seafood and ice cream, and generally enjoying some really special time evaluating where we are on this journey and where we hope to be.
When Holmes broke so rudely into my version of paradise, we had already spent the morning collecting shells, visited a museum, gone swimming in the pool, eaten a lovely dinner out, driven around a wildlife loop, and taken a walk along the shore at dusk.
To relax, we had flipped through a few channels on TV until I found an old British TV episode of Sherlock Holmes. Patrick loves the stories, so I figured it was a safe bet. Well, all of the sudden, several people in the show went raving, frothing at the mouth mad. I had to stick it out then to know why because it was too awful to be left to the imagination. It turns out it was a deadly poison, and I figured at least Holmes would catch the bad guy, and I could have some type of closure. Instead, Holmes caught the bad guy and let him go, justifying that the man had acted out of passion. In 20 minutes, I felt I had suddenly lost all this:
In their place was the image of a man's rolling eyes and the bitter taste of foolishness. I was almost inconsolable. I was angry at myself for not being more selective in how I spent my time. I was furious at television for being so full of images that burn and waste and scar. I was sick that there was a spot on an unblemished canvas of memories. I declared it all ruined.
For most people, it would have been a silly show, a change of the channel would have fixed their feelings. For me, it was the popping of a balloon, for you see, the vacation that had been perfect was now resigned to the category of "almost."
I have spent my entire life avoiding "almosts," wanting instead perfection's gleaming promise of total fulfillment. It has been costly. When you are building a house of cards, your hands get so very tired.
I have wanted heaven. That is what God revealed to me this vacation, courtesy of an unorthodox detective.
The desire itself is not bad. The very fact that I mourn when life falls short points to a perfection that cannot be created by man: "He has also set eternity in the human heart;" Ecclesiastes 3:11.
This is why I cannot hear about crisis in the middle east or hurricanes or babies born in brothels. I long for petri dish conditions for my heavy heart to grow in. This is why I cannot acknowledge that I am hurt by and hurt others. That I am disappointed with turns of events. I am so wanting the time when He will wipe every tear from their eyes. When there will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain...Revelation 21:4.
My problem is I have confused earth and heaven. Jesus promised, "In this world you will have trouble." John 16:33. My refusal to acknowledge this fact has made me a cruel master of moments, of people. I am constantly twisting them, cursing them, or weighing them down with unrealistic expectations until they no longer be what they are: imperfect.
I can choose to let my saddness over imperfection mark memories as "damaged," or I can let my dissappointment draw me closer to the one who overcame the world. I can punish myself and others for mistakes, or I can praise the God who loved us while we were still sinners. I can curse the world for each inch it misses the mark, or I can look upon it kindly for what it is: earth...not heaven.
Our last night of vacation, Patrick and I were scheduled to take a boat cruise to get closer to the ponies and other wildlife on the refuge. We made it to the docks only to have a judgment call of a swirl on the radar cancel the trip. Everyone else could reschedule for the morning. We were a party of two so even that option wouldn't work for us because we wouldn't fill a second boat. We had waited too long to make it on any other cruise, some of which we watch rushing around the island as the weather held...all night.
I won't lie and say we weren't frustrated, dissappointed. We were. However, thanks to our breakthrough with Mr. Holmes, we were devestated. We ended up taking a lovely walk to an overlook to watch the ponies, walking half the trail with a man riding his motorcycle from Texas to New Jersey, and taking in a ranger program bonfire on the beach at night.
Sure, if we had takent the cruise, we could have seen dolphins and eagles and some amazing ponies. We could have, but we would have missed being in this place :
And you know what? It was almost perfect.
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