The fragility of travel plans

 I’ve been blessed with a career that let me travel the world, at least that part of the world south of the US border. Hal and I began our relationship in Guatemala, where he was serving as a conscientious objector to war and I was there are a short-term “youth ambassador” with our denomination. After we married, we moved to Bolivia where we spent 26 years, raising our kids and learning to be at home in Latin America.

A subsequent job with a semi-virtual graduate school saw us teaching Christian leaders in Bolivia, Peru, Argentina, Paraguay, Brazil, Ecuador, and Costa Rica. I gave seminars for writers in Bolivia, Peru, Guatemala, Mexico, and the Philippines. In addition, we spent time with our daughter and son-in-law in Saipan, and made four trips to Ruanda and Kenya to be with our son and his family. (Our kids caught the travel bug from us.) And we were privileged to visit friends in Thailand, Turkey, and Russia.

It was all very exciting at the time, but just reading the list now exhausts me. As the preacher in Ecclesiastes could have said, “There is a time to travel and a time to stay home.” We’ve come to acknowledge the time we’re in now.

In fact, in the last ten years of this extensive travel schedule, we were noticing how much longer the flights seemed, how uncomfortable the seats had become, and how hard it was to hoist our hand luggage into the overhead bins. The airport stays between connecting flights became oppressive and trip-recovery time more drawn out.

Our last trip to Bolivia in 2019 was to celebrate the centennial of the Bolivia Friends Church and celebrate we did! Our two adult kids came with us so the four of us could experience their “home country,” and be with so many loved-ones again. But……Hal and I adjusted poorly to the high altitude and came down with some familiar but energy-sapping illnesses. We seemed—and were—more vulnerable. We reluctantly decided that this would be our last big trip.

And for a time, it was our last trip. The pandemic helped us stay home.

But now a wonderful opportunity has been handed to us. The graduate school we helped found and worked in up until our retirement is celebrating its 20^th anniversary. It’s to be held in Panama City. All present and former professors and administrators, plus the 50 some graduates are invited. These are all people we came to love and consider family, so the thought of being together again delights and excites us. The organization is sponsoring our trip and we have our tickets in hand

But (again, that pesky little word) it’s been ten years since our retirement and we are not the same people. Our bodies challenge us in ways they didn’t before. The current issue is Hal’s back pain, a hazard of aging that seems common around here. Common, that is, unless it’s happening to you or your loved-one. The doctor does not recommend another back surgery.  At his age (hate that phrase!), the operation would have a 50% chance of success and recovery time would be long and “uncomfortable.” (I could tell the doctor didn’t want to do the surgery.) So we opted out, and Hal is handling his pain with physical therapy, appropriate exercise, and an ever-handy heating pad. We think we see progress.

Other times, progress seems an illusion. These past few weeks have been especially painful, in spite of him doing all the right things. And our trip is three weeks away.

We’ve been avoiding this conversation, but we’re finally admitting the possibility that he might have to cancel. If it hurts so much here in our comfortable home, what would a day-long airplane trip feel like? Would he be able to celebrate and do fun stuff with the rest of us once we arrived? Would he be alive and well at the end of the trip?

Maybe. He has more good days than bad ones. But we don’t know. If we cancel now, there’s a chance we can recover the money for the ticket. But what if we cancel and he feels great? We’ve decided that I will travel, even if he doesn’t. I would represent the two of us and he could benefit vicariously. But that’s not nearly as satisfying.

It comes down to reckoning with our limitations, something we all face. How do we balance our dreams, joys, and all the things we used to do well with the realities of growing older? How do we face our limitations yet not limit ourselves from the richness of life we suspect God want us to have even at this age? Jesus called it “abundant life” and did not put a time-limit on it.

We’re still learning the balancing act. In fact, I’m taking a balance exercise class! But it won’t help solve our present dilemma. We’ll give it one more day. If he feels tremendous tomorrow morning, the trip’s a go. If not, well, maybe one more day?