Making Space

 

Making Space

These days on my road in retirement with neurological disease it’s a constant fight both physically and spiritually. I’m fighting to live and function physically because these are the bucket list days; the times that we get out on that road without worrying about Monday or worse, kicking the bucket! But I am finding that I need help; not just physically but emotionally, mentally and spiritually. The Bible calls it a battle inside of us between the flesh which includes our brains or mindset and our spirit, which can be empowered in all sorts of positive ways by THE Spirit. Jesus saw the battle in the minds of his disciples as they fought with their human side, wanting to call fire down on adversaries, conquer the ruthless Romans, or become famous hanging out with the Messiah. Jesus gave us the answer to this tug of war inside of us; make space for the Holy Spirit.

Drive On

All that to say I have great drive and purpose to get on the road, connect and reconnect with people I love, and keep subtracting items from “the list.” There is no great theological treatise on “making space” except to know that the apostle Paul calls believers to set their minds [make space] for the things of the Spirit, which brings life and peace (Romans 8). Likewise, Jesus says, “I will ask the Father, and He will give you another Helper, the Holy Spirit that He may be with you forever; that is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, but you know Him because He abides with you and will be in you (John 14).” The scriptures make it clear that we play a role in how we invite, commune with, make space for, and obey the Helper.

God’s Helper

God’s help from the Spirit has come to me especially during this time in my life; he helped me escape rehab hospitals and my own self-pity and get back on that road in retirement, multiple systems atrophy baggage and all. Making space for the Spirit doesn’t just happen; usually. Active resilient hope and faith in Jesus to access the things of the Spirit is of paramount importance for me. I know I’m called to associate with others and bless them. It’s part of my current calling, even with extremely limited abilities. God’s consistent, ever-present help supplants what my fleshly brain portends—telling me to give up, not try the next excursion, or believe that my inner aspirations are all impossible pipe dreams.

Back in “the Van”

A few weeks ago, it was time to make space for the Spirit, tap into his help, and make good of summer sunshine. We set out for an action-packed week in Wisconsin. The itinerary was grueling, packing more into those seven days than all of our married life’s vacations strung together. It was a masterful undertaking destined to kill us both; the itinerary influenced by Chris’s geological brain (vistas, views, forests, and rocks) and my love for people, family, and connection. So, we crammed my fathom-blue accessible van with all necessary medical gear and secondary vacation gear, locked my bubble-gum pink wheelchair into shotgun position and continued our road in retirement, barreling through the middle of “Cheesedom.”

Multifaceted

Multifaceted is a fancy word for saying we had seven social events planned on this “vacation.” The first leg was a 7-hour jaunt from North Dakota to Eau Claire, WI, where we would tether for the evening. This was strategic because mornings are tough with all my physical needs and we wanted a shorter drive to our first social event. Chris and I rose early on a sunny Saturday gathered with a subset of my family at the High Ground Veteran’s Memorial Park near Neillsville, Wisconsin. We were attending a solemn military commemoration organized by my youngest brother, a retired Navy Senior Chief Petty Officer. The park is 55 acres of serene beauty literally draped over glacial terminal moraine hilltops in this unusual high country of WI. It features unique sculptures, foliage, symbols and displays that afford tribute to all military branches and service members. We and a few other families commemorated deceased and living military members; the Bautch family, my maiden side, included.

Flying Tiger

The commemoration included the placing of engraved stones, recitation of service members’ names and rank, a three-gun salute and the playing of taps. The stones bore the names of my three Navy brothers, my Army nephew, and the pinnacle of the event, my Flying Tiger father Roman Thomas Bautch. The inscribed stones were gently placed by family members under a canopy of blue sky, wispy white clouds and endurable summer heat in honor of these servicemen and their efforts to preserve our freedoms. It was solemn and dedicatory. I didn’t know my father all that well, as he died when I was seven. I do remember hearing about a rugged leather bomber jacket emblazoned with Flying Tiger patches. My dad was a flight engineer and Technical Sergeant with “the Tigers” helping defend China against Japanese forces in 1941. My brothers still have patches. It was a beautiful morning capped off with a light lunch and catching up with my family.

Zyg Reunion

We exited the high country of the memorial grounds descending 30 miles of backroads through rolling hills of emerald-green crops and forest heading toward Chris’s hometown of Marshfield to fulfill a “Chris bucket list item.” He has only made one Zygarlicke reunion since moving to North Dakota in 1984. Not having been in these parts for decades, I think I heard, “Gee I don’t remember ever driving this road before” a hundred times. At the reunion, we greeted those Chris recognized and imbibed in typical reunion-get-together necessities: eating potluck dishes from eastern European recipe books and catching up with people who didn’t look anything like Chris remembered. Chris admits, regrettably, that college and North Dakota created an insurmountable distance metaphorically with his huge extended family; inhibiting close relationships. We said goodbye to his mom, dad, sister, Aunts Bonnie and Margie and hit the road, pushing the pedal to the metal through the gut-section of Wisconsin. It was expedient to beat darkness and deer as we traversed to our next hotel in the “the Dells.”

Supper Club

We cruised toward the Wisconsin Dells right through the belly of the state with corn stalks towering easily at 10-12-feet on either side of paved roads that twisted and climbed through softly rolling hills and meadows. I’ve been away from Wisconsin for a full biblical generation (four decades) and don’t remember such beauty. We made it by 6PM and immediately headed out of town to a supper club that advertised five-dollar old fashioneds and a knockout Brandy Alexander. The short jaunt continued our jaw dropping “oohs and aahs” of the beautiful landscape: luscious alfalfa, soybeans, corn, and tree-engulfed hills. Occasionally, our awe changed to gasps as it was now dusk, necessitating braking for deer. Cimaroli's Supper Club was indubitably the experience we were looking for; delicious food, relaxing atmosphere, courteous staff, and handicapped accessibility. It was just what we needed; perhaps our perception clouded by insane hunger.

The Dells

The Wisconsin Dells were made famous by one photo posted in a Boston news publication in 1886 of a boy jumping a six-foot span between sandstone rock formations along the Wisconsin River (the great chiseler of “the Dells”). We had essentially one day in that area to ourselves for activities and we dove right in: an Upper Dells boat tour, a classic land and sea Wisconsin Ducks tour, Paul Bunyan’s for breakfast, and more supper club dinners. We skipped the hundreds of money draining Dells activities geared for families with kids. Most importantly, we relaxed on those boat rides, made space for God and planned the next couple of days which consisted of visits with two sets of close friends.

Baraboo Hills

A few blogs ago, I wrote that distance doesn’t diminish closeness with good friends. On this trip, I reconnected with two sets of University of Wisconsin-Platteville (UWP) besties on separate days; Chris and I both alumni. The first couple lived in what Chris calls the glaciated portion of the Baraboo Hills north of Madison and south of the Dells near Merrimac. He studied the area as a geologist and even had to have the college football team’s equipment van pick him up there one fall Friday afternoon before a Saturday game because of a required geology field trip. This narrow band of rugged hills, steep ravines, and green meadows rises mysteriously out of the forested landscape and stretches 25-miles east to west. The reddish gray rock that comprises and underlies the hills has survived 1.7 billion years of formation and erosion due to a composition of hard metamorphosed sandstones, called quartzite (thank you Chris).

Merrimac Friends

This Merrimac couple was special. The wife was a townie, living in Platteville with her parents. I ended up staying with that family for a summer while attending summer school. Her husband, also a UWP alumni entered the Marines, flew helicopters, and retired as a commercial airline pilot. We caught up instantly with these friends, having never visited their home, situated high up in the hills overlooking Lake Wisconsin. We helped them babysit a grandchild, ate chicken, spoke of wild college days, toured their quonset hut that has sleeping quarters and a regulation sized pickleball court, and cruised their 60 acres of rocky forest trails and cropland in an ATV; me sandwiched between the guys. I thanked the Holy Spirit who made sure all these years that I kept space in my heart for this special couple. It was delightful.

Rockford Friends

A day later Chris and I connected with two other UWP friends who now reside in Rockford, Illinois. We rendezvoused under oak trees lining a people backed beach on a warm afternoon at Devils Lake State Park near Baraboo. This part of the Baraboo Hills was untouched by glacier activity preserving rigidly jagged and jointed quartzite rocks, sized from a few inches to several feet in diameter (Chris, again). I was acquainted with this couple through school at UWP but became life-long soul mates with them when the three of us spent a summer serving as camp counselors at a youth bible camp. Although separated by a few states for four decades, we’ve sustained, no doubt, with the help of the Holy Spirit, a solid enduring friendship that is as long-lasting as the quartzite ground that was beneath our feet. I have made space for the Holy Spirit to help me work at preserving friendships as with this couple, they the same, and it’s so God-honoring.

Making Space

After Baraboo we drove back to Grand Forks over the next day or so with a quick stop to look at another home near Hudson; moving there still, a possibility for us. The intersection of God’s Spirit making an abode in my heart, me making space for him and priceless relationships, and struggling with the decision to move to Wisconsin kept swirling around in my soul like a Dakota whirlwind. But it wasn’t a fearful thing, more like a peaceful congruity undergirded by faith. I’m so glad God’s help is always present, and I can trust that he will guide us in that decision. In the meantime, I am motivated by God to let him have space in my heart as I proceed down this road in retirement.

I will not leave you as orphans, I will come to you  . . . if you keep my word My Father and I will love you, come to you, and make our abode with you through the Helper, the Holy Spirit  . . . Do not let your heart be troubled, nor let it be fearful [and make some space]. John 14