In the hubbub of Disney’s Epcot Park, a lovely smiling lady offered me a spot to sit down and wait for others in my family to complete their walk through the Journey of Water. She was sitting with one of her grandkids, taking a break from the crowd and additional steps.
She was being kind seeing that I was using a rollater — I decided that using this device was probably going to save what’s left of the cartilage in my knee during our seven-day vacation, and it was a blessing!
We struck up a conversation, and it quickly became clear that I wasn’t the only “boomer” trying to power through the vacation despite any difficulty for the blessings it would give my family and the memories we would make.
She shared that she was using her grandchild’s stroller as a walker to make things easier after having had six hip surgeries and both knees replaced. But here she was doing Disney like a boss with her family in tow and offering up a seat to a stranger. My knee immediately felt minor after hearing her story.
I was thankful for her. I was glad for the seat and her story made me count my own blessings. And she wasn’t the only person who showed kindness during our vacation despite their own struggles. The encounters really provided some moments of inspiration even though it wasn’t fully appreciated until a few weeks after vacation.
When we returned home from the “happiest place on earth” we laid my beloved mother-in-law to rest. During the visitation, so many friends and relatives came armed with condolences, well wishes, and lots of comforting embraces despite their own tears for mom. Many of our family and friends who we have not seen in many months and even years shared events of their lives. Some sad, some tragic and some situations impossible to put words to.
Again, I appreciated their love, care and concern and counted my blessings.
Then, a week after that funeral, my own dear father died.
He had been fighting cancer and extreme pain from spinal degeneration. Even so, we are never ready for the death of a loved one. Never.
The reality of my husband’s parents and my own parents being gone has left a void and a loneliness that is indescribable.
But even sadly, life goes on. You have to walk away from the death bed and power on into life. Things must be done, responsibilies must be met yet, all while the cross you are carrying is heavy and raw even though it is invisible to others.
In the course of getting back to life, there were unpleasant phone calls to deal with and impatient messages on the desk that needed response. And, for the moment, these ordinary things were upsetting. Don’t they know I’m sad? Don’t they know I don’t need their problems right now? I reminded myself that no one knows of my sorrow or pain. And then I thought, oh Lord, … am I doing that too? Am I just doing, doing, doing without real and honest consideration for others?
I did not really begin to realize all the invisible crosses I might be pounding another nail into until my own cross needed carrying.
Like the lady on vacation and the folks in the funeral receiving line, there are crosses being carried by every person in every crowd. The crosses can be small, large or self-inflicted, but they all cause a reaction, most times unpleasant. And it is not necessarily up to others to fix them, but it is up to us, as human beings, to be cognizant that crosses exist. Be kind even when it’s difficult. Be generous with your consideration and compassion.
Because when it’s time for you to bear your invisible cross, God will make sure you encounter those who know the weight of the wood and won’t add additional drag on your journey to healing.
