Dinner at the Cantina

A funny thing happened while we were in La Paz, Mexico.  It was four in the morning and I lay awake as I often am at 4:00 a.m. I heard men laughing and making their way down the wing of our hotel.  I heard them stop outside our door and then the key inserted.  I wasn't prepared to hear the door open though as three happy inebriated men used their room key to enter our room!

When hall light entered the room along with them, I sat up in bed and shouted "You get out!  You get out!"  and they did, backing away, giggling all the way. (Good thing they understood English).  I heard them move down the outside hall, find a room that must have been theirs, and they entered it, still laughing.

My shouts awakened Jerry and our traveling friends, Sandy and her sister, Donna, and we laughed about it, and set the dead blot (after the horses were out so to speak). 

But for me, their key working in our room was a red letter event .  Some years ago when I was home alone, someone tried to break into our house.  I pulled the .38 special from the drawer and held it, waiting for the intruder to come into the bedroom.  I wondered if I should try to call 911 but what if it was only the wind making the noises?  And if I called, would the would-be intruder hear me and come in faster? My mind raced with the possibilities of what could go wrong and I became so frightened while I obsessed that I fell asleep, holding the pistol. I wrote about my fears for a magazine and also in HOMESTEAD.

I was probably 28 years old at the time and lacked much confidence in my own abilities.  I was embarrassed to wake up in the morning, pistol still in hand and decided then I wouldn't ever be good in a crisis.  Through the years I assumed that I'd always be paralyzed by fear.

What the event in La Paz told me is that I'd gained something in the intervening years.  Maybe it was managing fears of the reptile road or financial worries or relationship trials.  Whatever the experiences have been, I've apparently gained insights.

I didn't wake up Jerry when I heard the would-be intruders.  I didn't wonder if they were really coming into the room.  I didn't try to tell myself they were harmless and would turn around on their own accord.  I didn't assume I was powerless.  Instead, I sat up, shouted and the men disappeared.  

My shouts woke Jerry up of course.  And our friends.  And we all talked about how we ought to have set the dead bolt.  But for me, discovering that I was capable of acting in my own best interest, willing to admit the truth in front of me and choose wisely about how to respond, was worth not setting the dead bolt.  I told myself the truth and acted as a competent human being would have.

We all settled back down and Jerry and our friends went back to sleep.  I stayed awake awhile longer expressing gratitude and remembering an article I'd read in Christian Century magazine written by a theologian teaching at a university.  He commented on his students' fears of somehow "missing God's will" for their lives and how often they expressed anxieties about knowing if they were following God's plan.  With each decision they struggled with not "missing" what God had in store for them.  Should I propose to that woman?  Is this the career choice I should make?  Should we buy or rent?

I feel for his students as I struggle with answering some of those questions too:  Which story should I write?  Should we try this homesteading thing? Should I call the doctor or wait until Jerry agrees to go?  Should we travel abroad with turmoil in the air? Everyday choices that can have life-time effects.

Living with uncertainty is one of the hallmarks of what living looks.

At one point in the article, the professor wrote that the prayer he suggested for his students was that of Solomon's, that God would grant his students "wisdom" in their choices.  I found that a comforting prayer and realized that's really what I've prayed for through the years. Only in retrospect have I sometimes seen the answers in my decision-making, gratitude filling me up like chocolate on Valentine's Day.

It's a lovely prayer, one I can say for my friends, my family, for those who struggle with grief and loss and who worry about the uncertainty of the future.  "May God grant you wisdom, the ability to discern" and then insight into how to live with the answers.

In a strange and miniscule way, the event in La Paz taught me that my prayers through the years for wisdom in even the smallest of affairs had been granted on an early morning in Mexico when I recognized truth and acted wisely.  Without always acknowledging it, perhaps I am not only growing older, but a little wiser too.  And for me, that discovery is the best 65th birthday present I could ask for.