Saturday night we had a small, intimate Christmas dinner party, and like all dinner parties, it was an all-day preparation event. The morning began like most Saturdays do, with early morning coffee and quiet time, reflecting on and giving thanks for this wonderful life that we have been privileged to live. Then followed the division of labor that such a day would rightfully entail.
We set about our tasks, me to the Farmer’s Market for fresh, organic produce for the dinner, and Keith to the gym for a workout missed earlier during the busy end-of-the-year work week.
As the day wore on and we came and went with our respective jobs, I became amused at a curious pattern I noticed occurring naturally in our communications.
“Oh my gosh!” Keith exclaimed, staring down at his phone, “Look at the little jet that David and Chelsea are flying out of Ft. Lauderdale to the Bahamas on.” He strode into the kitchen holding up the tiny square Instagram image for me to see.
“Oh my.” It was a tiny jet but then, of course, the Bahamas aren’t really all that far from Ft. Lauderdale. “Well, let’s pray for safe travels for them.” And we stopped to pray. Then, back to work.
Later, while bypassing the Dickens of a Christmas traffic jam in downtown Franklin, he called me in route between the Farmer’s Market and Costco. After the exchange of information that was the purpose of the call I asked,
“Did you see that Jonathan made it to Chattanooga for the graduation?”
“No, I haven’t seen that yet.”
“Yep. Wyatt graduated from UTC. Good for him.”
“Anything from Nathan?”
“No, but Nathan doesn’t usually post in real time. I’m sure he’s fine.”
The boys are all well past the age of texting us about the safety of their comings and goings and of course, they don’t. The problem is that we are not past the age of needing to know that they are safe and well in the world regardless of where their adventures may take them.
Does such an age even exist? I wonder. I readily admit that this reality sometimes makes me feel uncomfortably vulnerable.
I suspect that we are not all that different from all the other parents of grown children out there. Which is why I find it somewhat humorous that Instagram provides us with a kind of loose, sketchy, if informal reflection of their current trajectory.
As I was dicing carrots, tomatoes, cucumbers, and radishes with my favorite chopping knife and blasting the Christmas music, Keith walked through with a load of things he was cleaning out of his car (in case our guests actually wanted to go downtown to the Dickens of a Christmas).
“Nathan made it to Wyatt’s graduation, along with Jonathan. Cactus posted a great photo of their family,” he said.
“I know. I saw it. Peyton posted, too. Aaron and Murph are there, too. Did you see Shiloh on the beach? That blue-green water and the beach is so gorgeous! We should consider going to the Bahamas sometime.” (Smile at that possibility.)
When I was finally putting the final touches on the table setting, adding in the fresh greenery and topping it off with red berries, I texted Keith, out running a final errand to pick up something for me.
“Jonathan and Cody are in Knoxville at the UT basketball game. So good, they made it there after all.”
“Yay,” he texted back, “Tennessee’s winning!”
Once our guests arrived, our phones disappeared and we engaged for the rest of the evening with good food and conversation as rich and satisfying as the chocolate yule log we had for dessert.
This post is not a rant against the evils of social media, or a treatise on the current tendency to carefully curate life into tidy squares and pixels, or even an acknowledgement of the alarming statistics regarding rising phone addiction and/or disengagement.
Not at all. Instead, it is simply a tongue-in-cheek piece about the hard-to-talk about vulnerability of parenting and a rather light-hearted twist on a side benefit of living in the age of modern technology.
Also heard in the car on the way to church Sunday morning:
“There’s that sweet baby girl! Eating cheetos and grinning like a cheshire cat. They’re out on a boat in the water. How cute!”
“Look, Chelsea’s feeding an iguana!”
“Can you believe how clear/blue/beautiful that water is?”
“Oh my gosh! There are three stingrays swimming right around David’s feet. Lord, protect him!”
“Oh good! Jonathan got to eat lunch with Taylor and Emily in Chattanooga.”
“Anything from Nathan?”
Post note: Sunday afternoon on the way home from church we got a text from David with a beautiful beach photo and the words: “We made it!”
We were truly appreciative of his text. I had to chuckle a little. He is our oldest and the only one of ours sons that is married with a child of his own. I suspect that he is beginning to understand the deep vulnerability of a fierce parental love that knows no limits, has no constraints, gives without taking, and is as vast, as deep, and as mysterious as the ocean.
It’s the way of life.