Before I left for California, my husband reviewed our finances with me. He was concerned about the cost of my meeting with Ruth, and my travel expenses, and even about sending our son to Catholic school in the fall.
“I’ll find a job soon,” I promised him. “And then I can pay us back for my writing expenses. And I won’t need to spend much in California. I’m used to traveling cheap.”
In keeping with this promise, although I didn’t share my true reasoning with James, I decided not to book a hotel for my last night in California.
“My flight leaves at 6 am on Sunday,” I explained to James, “so I might as well just sleep on a couch in the airport, rather than bothering with a hotel Saturday night. It’ll be a fun adventure.” I smiled optimistically, but inside I wasn’t so sure. What kind of quality sleep was I going to get in an airport, with my luggage tucked all around me? How would I have enough energy to take care of James and the kids when I came home?
Death of an iPhone
When my phone died in San Francisco, I wasn’t upset. I knew the Lord would take over, and I trusted Him far more than a sophisticated piece of metal and plastic.
Without a smartphone, I couldn’t call a taxi, pay for a bus fare, or use GPS to navigate my way across the city. This left me with only one option: more walking.
According to the print map in my San Francisco travel guide, it was about a 5-mile walk from Chrissy Field to the closest Caltrain station.
“No time to lose then,” I muttered to myself. Who else could I talk to, in a foreign city with a dead phone? “Best to get moving, or I’ll miss Lisa’s rehearsal.”
There was one Person I could talk to. I didn’t try to push a conversation on Him. Instead, we walked together in silence. I took in everything around me: the tourists waiting in long lines to ride the historic trolley cars. A man smoking a cigarette outside a battered RV, parked on a busy street. The salty scent of the Bay and the cry of seagulls, from beyond the rows of buildings. So much activity. So much life.
And God was in all of it, just as it was.
Say Thank You
Halfway back to the Caltrain station, I stopped at Ghirardelli Square to purchase some gourmet chocolates and browse through the boutique shops. Inside of a quirky bookstore, propped against a wall between knickknacks and specialty gifts, was a little stack of cards. The top card read:
When life is sweet, say thank you
and celebrate. And when life is bitter,
say thank you and grow.
I stared at the card. It felt like a message for me, personally. I flipped through the whole stack of quote cards, but the one on top stood out to me most.
It reminded me to be grateful to God, in good or bad situations. To rejoice when things went well. And when things were “bitter” … to “say thank you and grow”.
Things were “bitter”, and it wasn’t just because of my book. My son had been struggling at preschool all year, and we had sought outside aid to help him. The extra support was good, but it meant mounds of paperwork and forms for me. Appointments and scheduling babysitters and Zoom meetings and email chains. Battles at home before school each day, and an endless struggle over using the “potty”. Troubles at bedtime, and piles of laundry from frequent potty accidents.
In comparison, writing the difficult moments of my memoir almost seemed like fun. At least I knew how that story was going to end.
“God made a mistake,” I told myself, James, my sister. “I can’t do this! I’m not the right mom for my son.” I don’t know how to help him.
“You can learn how to be the right mom,” my sister April encouraged me. “You love your son, right? And that’s the most important thing.”
Life, it’s bitter right now. But I’m going to try and say “thank you” and grow.
Saving Grace
The rest of the afternoon and evening unfolded gracefully, as if ordered by divine decree.
I walked past beautiful parks, the entrance to Chinatown, and the Transamerica Pyramid building. When I finally arrived at the Caltrain station, I caught the 5:15 train just a few minutes before its departure. My train didn’t stop at the station I’d meant to park at in the morning—but it did stop at the one I’d stumbled across while getting lost. My phone charged up on the train, enough for me to tell Lisa I was running late. When I rushed to my rental car, it was perfectly fine: no parking ticket, no damage, and no stolen goods. I had just enough time to change clothes in my car before driving to Lisa’s rehearsal dinner.
I arrived at the rehearsal just as everyone sat down to eat; I didn’t miss anything. Lisa’s father and the chaplain of Stanford University beguiled me and the other guests with intriguing local stories. After dinner, Lisa and the wedding party received gifts from her fiance’s tribe in Kenya. The gifts included warm robes and thick beaded jewelry.
Then, at the very close of the night, when almost all the guests had left, I received my own gift.
Say Thank You – Reprise
Lisa’s fiancé drew me aside, and patiently explained how to pronounce all the names listed in the intercessions for the next day. I practiced them out loud until I could read them with ease.
“Thank you.” Her fiancé reminded me a bit of James. They were about the same height and build, and he used his smartphone with similar finesse. “Now Lisa told me that you were planning to sleep at the airport your last night here.”
I looked up at him in surprise, feeling a little embarrassed. “Yes. My flight leaves at 6 am the next day, so it seemed the best solution.”
He shook his head. “You flew all the way across the country to attend our wedding, and we want to take care of you. Lisa and I want to cover the cost for you to stay in a hotel your final night.”
I tried protesting, but he left no room for argument.
“Thank you,” I stammered, not knowing what else to say. “Thank you for your generosity.”
“This is what you can do, to repay us,” he answered congenially, a true gentleman. “When we come to visit you and James in Michigan sometime, you can take us out for a nice dinner.”
That’s when I knew for certain that Lisa had found the right man.
The Dylan Hotel
When I drove back to the hotel that evening, although I was all alone, I felt cared for. My friends were looking out for me, when I couldn’t look out for myself. And, by extension, I felt that God was looking out for me too.
I am safe here, in the convent of God’s will.
The next evening, after Lisa’s splendid wedding and reception, I arrived at The Dylan, a stylish hotel only three minutes from the airport. I felt more loved and cared about than I ever would have felt if I’d bought the hotel room myself.
So say thank you, Mary, I thought that night, as I curled up under the sheets. Say thank you!
Thank you so much for reading! Join me next time to read about writing The Missing Chapter and other unexpected blessings! 🙂
