Does God do the hula?

Hanging on my wall is a traditional Hawaiian lei with ten strands of tiny sea shells strung and tied with a small ribbon. It's not just any lei however, this one is special...it has hula in it.

Five years ago, as my husband and I and our friends, Tom and Terrie, boarded a plane for Hawaii, it became immediately evident that this flight would be difficult. In the seat behind Terrie sat a woman who looked like a linebacker with her long, thick legs stretched out beyond the seat in front of her because of 'a bad knee'. The seat in front of Terrie held a giant of a man with 'a bad back' so his seat was already reclined and he made it clear from the get go that it would never be placed in the full upright position. Terrie folded herself into what was left of her seat between Amazon Woman and Andre the Giant, and I do mean folded. It looked to be a very long flight. Being a full plane, there was not a lot to be done about the seating arrangements. Our steward, John, did his best to make Terrie comfortable. After take-off, John walked back and pleaded, "Come sit with us in the galley; it's more comfortable." I think he was impressed and grateful for Terrie's kindness in accepting the situation and not getting angry! In the back of the plane, John had set up metal boxes with blankets on them for us to sit on. He introduced us to Beryl, the lead flight attendant, and there we sat, talking and laughing and munching on tortilla chips dipped John's homemade salsa. "Don't eat the airline food," he ordered, "It's awful!"

Great friendships were made that day. Later in the week, before returning to the mainland, we all met for dinner. John arrived and placed the ten strand lei around my neck. "This is special," he said, "it has hula in it." You see John, being a native hawaiian, has danced the hula all his life. Hula is a sacred dance whereby every graceful movement has specific meaning. Every hand gesture and sway of the body tells the dancer's story. After making the lei himself, John wore it while dancing the hula...that's what made it special; it had hula in it!

We all became friends that week. The year passed with the occasional email and annual christmas cards exchanged, and as soon as we were ready to return to Hawaii we planned it with our new found friends. Again, we spent the flight in the galley with chips and salsa and this time we were priveledged to have Beryl's husband as our pilot! Three years ago, we two couples, planned another Hawaiian trip. We had to cancel due to surgery for Tom, and Terrie was tending her sister, dying of cancer. We rescheduled for last year, but alas, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. We cancelled again and told ourselves we would make the trip this year and celebrate life.

On 10/10/10, Terrie's 55th birthday, we boarded Hawaiian airlines for our celebratory trip. We did not notify Beryl or John beforehand because, frankly, they spoil us too much! Terrie and I decided, "If we see them, great! It was meant to be. If not, that's okay too." As we entered the mammoth plane, there at the doorway, was beryl! A bottleneck in the isle was created as we all hugged. "I can't believe you're on this flight," Beryl stammered, "I haven't flown this route in over a year. I'm not supposed to be on this flight! What are the chances?" Upon making our way to our seats, we saw John at the back of the plane. His face broke into a wide grin and he shouted, "What are you guys doing here? Did you see Beryl? Beryl and I haven't flown together in over a year; what are the chances we are all on this flight?"

In his novel about the Titanic, V. C. King states, "The probability of a certain set of circumstances coming together in a meaningful (or tragic) way is so low that it simply cannot be considered mere coincidence."

After take-off, Terrie and I made our way to the galley. While munching on tortilla chips dipped in John's homemade salsa, we discussed the previous two years. "we cancelled our trip two years ago," she explained, "because my sister was so sick. She died November 18."
"We cancelled last year's trip," I continued, "because I was diagnosed with breast cancer." Tears welled up in John's eyes. "Last year, November 18th," he said quietly, "my sister passed away from breast cancer. It is no mistake we are all on this plane. There are no accidents" I slipped the pink enamal ring off my finger and placed it in John's hand hoping he would know it was special...it had survival in it. I had worn it all year, to every chemo and radiation appointment, to remind me of the life I have left to live.

Albert Einstein is credited with saying Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous. While I agree that there are no coincidences, I do not think God wants to remain anonymous. What are the chances that five years ago a large woman with bad knees and a selfish man with a bad back would board the same plane as us, causing a friendship to form? What are the odds that five years later the same friendships would be rekindled and mingled with tears for loss? Is it a strange coincidence? Maybe not.

Maybe it's the fluid motion of a perfectly choreographed hula, where every hand gesture and sway of the body tells God's story of love, forgiveness, and life everlasting.

I Can See Clearly Now...

A couple of weeks ago, my friend Dana emailed me a newspaper article with the message, "Let's do this together!" The article reported that a woman in town was trying to gather cancer survivors for a music video to be posted on YouTube for the Livestrong orgnization. We were asked to show up at the Tanque Verde Guest Ranch at 8:30 and wear a yellow shirt and be ready to dance.

Dana picked me up at eight and I already had issues. Who wears yellow well? Not me. Fortunately, I found a two dollar yellow T-shirt at Old Navy that I never have to wear again. We assumed (incorrectly) that the video would be filmed indoors; it was 90 degrees in Tucson this morning. We waited outside, in the sun, with the smell of horses wafting around us, and stood in line to purchase a yellow, rubber bracelet and sign in along with eighty other survivors. I turned to Dana and said, "We could have organized this way better." At this point Dana said, "let's just leave," but it's not like we wouldn't be noticed walking away in our flourecent yellow shirts...so we stayed. Besides, I like to dance. I'm not neccessarily a good dancer but I was channeling my friend Cate who is quite the dancer, both on the dance floor and on tables. I was happy, however, that I didn't wear yellow spandex pants like the seventy year old woman standing in line with me.

The organizer (and I use that term loosely) corraled us all and shared her vision with us. We were to dance to I Can See Clearly Now by Jonny Nash. I hadn't heard that song since I was in jr. high and rode the bus to K-Mart to buy the album. Little did I know it would come back to haunt me all these years later. There was some choreography (term used loosely again) that we were supposed to follow and the video was to end with each survivor dropping their yellow bracelet in a pile on the ground. I'm not sure I understood the symbolism, but I went with it.

We started with a practice run folowed by...another practice run. When a third rehearsal was mentioned, Dana turned to me and asked, "Who's idea was this?" I have the email to prove it was hers. As the sweat rolled down my cancer riddled cleavage, we danced to the song for the third time. One woman, with obvious control issues, tried to jump in and organize the dance until someone told he to be quiet. No, it wasn't me. Finally, the fourth dance was filmed. I can hardly wait for the final cut. I think I have finally done something that will embarrase my kids beyond their wildest dreams!

When all was said and done, the eighty plus surviviors celebrated life, and Dana and I made our great escape. We laughed all the way home at the things we get ourselves into. We reminisced about how we met; her husband was my son's pitching coach in high school. We met at a ballpark in Bisbee and we became friends immediately. We laughed at the start of each game wondering who the umpire would throw out first, her 38 year old husband or my 16 year old son! "Who would have thought," I wondered aloud, "That all those years ago our friendship would lead us to this moment of survival together." I was reminded, yet again, that God has a story to tell and we are priveledged to be a part of it. I am so grateful for the people He has put in my life. Friends make sweaty, chaotic, yellow spandex infused life a lot more tollerable and, yes, a lot more fun!

I went home and celebrated life by painting my son's bathroom, calking the sink, and fixing his leaky toilet. As I hung a new mirror in his freshly painted bathroom, I thought, "I can see clearly now..." and giggled to myself.

The Breakfast Club Revisited

"Please try to come! Everyone misses you!" This is the handwritten message attached to the invitation for my 30th high school reunion. Seriously? It is signed by someone I haven't seen since high school, and even then I didn't think she knew who I was. I had about five friends in high school and she was not one of them.

Ten years ago I attended my 20th reunion. As I stood talking with a female friend of mine, two men approached us and were very happy to see us. I didn't remember either of them, but I listened patiently to the story of how they met and their 'marriage'. The mental pictures rolling around in my head were making me dizzy. Then, out of nowhere, the wife (his word not mine) in the couple asked, "How long have you two been together?" WHAT! He made an incorrect assumption about my sexual orientation and I was not happy. I quickly excused myself to find my husband, where I remained glued to his side for the rest of the evening.

So the prospect of another reunion with all the people who 'miss' me is causing a little anxiety. Ten years ago my hair was long, I was ten pounds lighter and in great shape. Today, thanks to chemotherapy, my hair is cropped short, I'm a bit pudgy and I get out of breath running to catch the ringing phone. Don't get me wrong, I am enjoying my short hair; I think it's cute...as do all the women who hit on me! This reunion should be a blast!

When I received the invitation I was a little perplexed. The event is in September and the deadline for reservations was two weeks prior to my receipt of the invitation, which results in my having to pay extra to attend. I'm trying to figure out why it was so hard to find me. I've lived in the same town, married to the same MAN, working in the same business for the last 29 years. Six educated people on the reunion committee and not one could find me. I guess if they didn't miss me so much they never would have found me!

It must be because I am not attached to a 'social network'. The Class of 80 has a facebook page, but I do not. I am also not Linkedin. My invitation promises I can find over 170 classmates on the page and 'reconnect with friends'. Friends do not need to be reconnected with, acquaintances do. My problem with Facebook and the like is that what one posts can not necessarily be counted on to be true and one will only post what one deems to be positive. 170 people from the class of 80 will study up on the others attending the reunion based on facebook posts. We have all sized each other up and determined who we believe to be successful before ever walking in the door and ordering our first drink. I wonder what's up with the other 430 classmates I graduated with?

Okay, cynicism aside, I will attend the reunion and I am looking forward to it. Over the past 30 years I have survived four teenagers, successful and not so successful business ownership, marriage, and breast cancer. I believe I can survive a drink or two with 170 of my closest friends. And I will keep my husband close by!