Pushing the pause button
It’s been a weird Christmas.
One spent exactly the opposite way I had hoped: home with family.
In October– on the 7th actually– once again we broached the topic of canceling our long-anticipated holiday trip with friends to Egypt, Crete, and Israel.
After a few days of ungluing ourselves to the Internet and television news, my husband made the calls requesting refunds of our cruise and airline tickets.
It was the third time in five years that he’s made the same calls. And this year, we wrestled with more than just feeling regretful.
Finding a cruise company that operated in English and included Egypt and Israel in a Mediterranean itinerary but didn’t cost tens of thousands of dollars that would crunch my teacher’s salary and break my husband’s pension was a challenge. But five years ago, we finally found one: Celestyal Cruises, out of Athens.
As a former classical studies undergrad who was denied a chance to study in Thessaloniki because another (male) scholarship recipient had backed out, I’d ached to visit Crete and other Greek cities for forty-plus years. When Jerry suggested we celebrate our twenty-fifth anniversary exploring several ancient ports of call, I was thrilled. And maybe I’d even get to ride a camel!
But as time drew closer, Jerry’s gut told him that Egypt was not the place to be that December. I was surprised– he’s not a timid guy. But fully believing that God speaks in many ways, I heartily agreed to the postponement. We could always go next year, right?
We postponed and put our deposit on a balcony room for a cruise the following year.
Then Covid hit. And international travel was slammed. Celestyal canceled the cruise, and we holed up, like most of the world, and waited behind our N95’s doing whatever the government told us.
In another twelve months, travel restrictions had relaxed, but I was exhausted from teaching practices that kept me dancing behind a mask and a plexiglass screen to keep students engaged… or not… that year. We didn’t even try to book a cruise. We went to South Carolina after Christmas instead.
This year, though, it seemed that the stars had aligned. I’d retired in June and arranged my side hustle to accommodate the two-week December trip. Good friends had even booked a cabin onboard to join us. We were all set to fly to Athens, spend a couple of days site-seeing before setting sail for the ports of my classical dreams. The itinerary called for us to be in Bethlehem on Christmas Eve! Could it get better than that for Christians?
Nope. It wasn’t meant to be.
Again.
The second week of October, Jerry called to request a refund. Why hadn’t the company canceled a cruise whose wake would trail through the most volatile ports in the world? What vacationer would want to be in the line of anyone’s fire?
So we sighed and prepared for the usual Christmas gathering of the family: baking the ham and quiches and old-fashioned cream pies for the family brunch, washing windows and changing sheets for the overnighters, and making sure the new fake tree had shiny red ornaments to accent its glittering pinecones.
And it’s been fine. Even lovely in some ways.
But weird.
Underneath the presents and carols and games lives a disappointment that we haven’t talked about much. Yes, we’ve commiserated a bit with our friends. “We would’ve been touring the pyramids today,” one of us moaned as we shopped downtown Wapakoneta– a lovely place, but not quite the same as downtown Cairo. And in between wondering about the projected snowfall in the Midwest this winter and which new restaurant to try on our next outing, one of us mentioned that tomorrow, we would’ve been at the Wailing Wall. We sighed, a little self-consciously.
It’s just that mourning the loss of this third canceled trip aloud or even in private seems so wrong. Selfish, ego-centric, insensitive. Our disappointment is nothing compared to what people in Gaza have faced.
Plainly put, not getting what we hoped for this Christmas has made me a little ashamed.
I live in safety, without terrorists invading my home. I know where my family members are. I have more than adequate food, shelter, and clothing. For these blessings— and they are exactly that— I am so grateful.
And I have faith. Faith that God will prevail, whether I ever get to see His Holy Land or not.
Oh, we’ll keep trying…
And we’ll keep praying for the innocent people caught in the crossfire of this Old Testament war, one that threatens much, much more than a long-awaited holiday cruise.
And one day, with God’s blessings on us all, I will climb up on that camel, search for the bulls in the mosaics of Knossos, and marvel at the City of David and Jesus’ birthplace.
What’s Christmas taught you this year?
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