My husband, upon delivering my coffee in bed this morning, noticed my new, summery PJs. Drawings of mountains, postcards, beaches, bikes, and written messages decorate the sleepwear in pleasant pastels.
"Hey, you've got bikes on your pajamas!" he noted, which seemed significant because we just purchased a bike for me.
After he left the bedroom, my eyes and heart landed on words written on my pajama pants: "Wish you were here."
The sentiment of that longing, this place we are in, fitting. Words scribbled across millions of postcards delivered over the world, now so weighty, so...wishful.
There will be no big trips for me this year, but today I sit in gratitude for what I've been given, here, at home. I do this most mornings, asking God to show me what to remember to give thanks for. What does He want me to not miss? What does he want me to share with others?
Today, in my mind, I step into a souvenir shop at a vacation destination. Eyeing the postcard rack, I seek a picture reflective of the gifts of yesterday, here, while you, my friends and family, are not here. You more than likely are nestled into your own homes, seeking shelter from the virus, searching for what is lovely and meaningful in your surroundings. My eyes rest on a couple of scenes that reflect my time here, on this summer non-vacation.
Can this be adventure, this time looking longer and with more love at the space I've occupied for decades? Is it worth writing home about? Or in this case, writing from home about?
In my journal I draw both sides of a blank postcard. I fill in one side with a friend's name and address, adding a postage stamp. What would I tell her, about yesterday, in this cramped writing area on the postcard? I describe my time on the back patio last night, the twinkling lights, the fountain running, a music playlist offering a summer vibe. "Wish I could share this with you," I write, then sign my name. On the photo side of the postcard, I etch out my rendition of the idyllic scene from last night.
Next I write to Paula, my sister who lives in Canada, so very far from me. I draw a bicycle on the front then write on the back, "You won't believe it, but I bought a bike! It is the brightest green you ever saw. The best thing is, there is a motor to assist my pedaling and to help me zoom up hills! How I wish you were here so I could share it with you. We'd have so many laughs!"
My stationery drawer holds several postcards selected from past vacations, postcards I never sent. Some I even wrote on but never took time to mail. There's one thanking my mom's friend Shirley for baking our wedding cake! We bought it on our honeymoon in Alaska 37 years ago. How surprised Shirley would be to receive that card now!
I wonder tomorrow, when I reflect upon today, what memory I will want to celebrate by sharing it with another.
Yes, "Adventure awaits," and "Adventure is out there," but is it not also right now, right here, waiting to be had?
Yes, I say, yes.
Whatever joy this day offers, whatever memories it etches that beg to be remembered, there will be some experiences that make me think of you. My heart will reach across the miles, with a bit of an ache, wishing you were here.
