A 45-year Adventure

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adventure, anniversary, challenges, church, husband, joys, love, ministry, trials, wedding

When the RV came around the bend in the road, I ran out to the driveway. Larry opened the door, stepped out, and wrapped me in a bone-crushing hug. Sixteen weeks of Vietnam-era Army training had toned and tanned him, and he didn’t know his strength. I was laughing, crying, and gasping for breath all at the same time.

We hadn’t seen each other in six months, and were getting married the next day. It was exciting, wonderful, and just a bit scary.

Larry was a California boy; I was born and raised in Portland. We met at a church service in July 1966, while he was in Portland for a weekend. At a picnic the following day, we discovered how much we had in common. I quickly sensed that he was a man of integrity and character; his primary goal in life was to serve God. He told me later that I matched everything he had listed to good friends a few months earlier.

September, 1966

Six weeks later he returned for a conference at the church, and we spent time walking each afternoon in the residential neighborhood around the church, talking about life. He was heading back to California to start his first job after college, I was soon returning to college for my junior year.

On the third night of the conference, Larry said, “I know we haven’t really known each other very long, but we don’t have much time. I want to spend my life with you. Will you marry me?”

“Yes, of course I will,” I answered. “We both know this is God’s will for us.” It wasn’t an infatuation, but a deep, settled knowing that this was the right thing for us.

In the next six months, we saw each other twice—in December when he returned to Portland with an engagement ring, and in March, when I flew to California during spring break to meet his family. During our lengthy separation, we each wrote a letter nearly every day.

Now it was September, and our wedding was scheduled in less than twenty-four hours.

September 23, 1967

The following day, we said our vows in a rustic log church in Brightwood, near my parents’ ranch. Sunlight slanting through the stained-glass windows created a glowing atmosphere as we pledged our lives to each other.

Army red tape had reduced Larry’s leave to 72 hours, allowing no time for a honeymoon. After a brief night at Timberline Lodge, we caught a morning flight back to California, where we started married life near Fort Ord.

That was forty-five years ago, September 23, 1967.

Our life together has been an amazing adventure. Like all marriages, we’ve had our share of joys, trials and challenges. We’ve lived on three continents and had the great joy of ministering to God’s people in many settings. We’re blessed with four children, a dozen grandchildren, and many wonderful friends. With God’s grace we’ve endured devastating disappointments, chronic disease, and cancer.

Through it all, I can honestly and gratefully say that my very human and comfortably imperfect husband has obeyed the scriptural command of Ephesians 5–he has consistently loved me, encouraged me, and unselfishly “given himself up” for me. If I could do half as much for him, we’d easily make it another forty-five years.

Thank you for loving me, Larry David Wade. Happy Anniversary, Darling!

September 23, 2012

Who’s in control?

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birthday present, challenging circumstances, Columbia River, control, flight, flight instructor, Fort Vancouver, Pearson Airfield, prayer, runway, small plane

“Put your feet firmly on the pedals. The bottom of the pedal turns the plane on the ground; the top of the pedal is the brake. Your hands on the yoke turn the plane in the air,” said Tony, the personable flight instructor next to me in the small plane. After explaining the purpose of the many dials on the instrument panel, he was giving me more specific directions.

Is he thinking that I’m going to help fly this plane? Is he kidding? I struggled to coordinate feet and brain as Tony said, “Okay, let’s taxi to the right. When I take over, I’ll say, ‘My controls’.”

Tony kept giving me directions, occasionally adjusting a dial or pressing a lever, and within a few minutes, we were smoothly lifting off the runway. The morning sun was at our backs as we flew over picturesque Fort Vancouver, and northwest along the Columbia River. While I knew Tony was piloting the plane, I was also uncomfortably aware that he was expecting me to do some of the things he had told me.

I had given Larry a birthday gift of a thirty-minute flight in a small plane from Pearson Airfield. I knew he was very pleased, but he said, “I flew in a small plane years ago; I want you to sit in the front seat next to the pilot this time.” Neither of us knew that the pilot would be in teaching mode.

Now in the air, I wanted to look out the window, but Tony said, “Keep your eyes on this dial in relation to the horizon,” and “Push in that lever to put the nose down a bit.” After about ten minutes, he sensed my hesitation, and said, “Do you want to look out the window and have me fly the plane?” “Yes, please,” I replied gratefully. “Your controls.”

Tony smiled, “My controls,” and I relaxed.

As we passed over Vancouver Lake, I smiled at the row of houseboats, like blocky beads strung on the dark green slough. Flying north, we could see cargo ships and grain barges on the broad ribbon of the river; ostentatious McMansions squatted in huge yards, facing the mountains.  Smoke from distant forest fires screened our view of distant snow-capped peaks.

All too soon we were heading southeast again, and the runway was just ahead. Tony put the plane down with less jolting than most airliners we’ve been on, and we taxied to our parking spot. It had been a brief but unforgettable journey, both exhilarating and disconcerting.

Our flight was a metaphor for challenging circumstances in life. We don’t always know at the beginning what we’re getting ourselves into, or if our actions will have a significant effect on the outcome. It’s an incredible comfort to know we can breathe a prayer to God, “Your controls,” and know that we can enjoy the ride and land safely.

Flying Standby

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airport, Baltimore, flight, flying standby, heaven, reserved seat, standby, travel, universe, Washington DC

“You’ve got the last seat, you can go to the gate!” Larry gave me a quick hug. “Pray that I’ll get on the next flight.”

The gate agent waved me through the door; it clanged shut behind me. Blinking back tears, I walked down the passageway to the plane. With only one seat left on the plane from Seattle to Washington, DC, my husband had sent me ahead while he waited five hours for the next flight.

We were beginning a long-awaited trip across the continent to spend time with our daughter and family. A generous friend and airline employee had offered us guest passes for our flights. Although using the passes meant we would be flying standby, we thought, How bad could that be? We would use the 50% savings for more fun with our Baltimore family.

We had made the 5:30 a.m. commuter flight from Portland. But sitting in the Seattle airport, we had watched our names continue to drop to the bottom of the standby list.

Now on the plane, I fought anger and panic. This isn’t how it was supposed to be! The worst part was that Larry and I wouldn’t be able to communicate while I was in the air—I’d have to wait until the end of the day to find out whether he made the next flight.

I pulled out my e-reader and scrolled through my library. The title that caught my eye was Indescribable, by Louie Giglio and Matt Redman.

As I began to read of the wonders of the universe, peace settled over my spirit. The God who created the heavens was my friend and constant companion, and on the screen of my life, this glitch in our travel plans was barely a blip.

My flight was uneventful, and when I turned on my phone when the plane landed, I was relieved to hear Larry’s message, “I got the last seat on the 2:40 flight!”

As a contingency plan, we had booked a hotel room in Washington, DC. I called Rebecca while I waited for the hotel shuttle. After considering options, she decided to drive to DC to keep me company and wait for Larry’s 10 p.m. arrival. She came with hugs and snacks, the perfect antidote for my stressful day. A quick check before leaving to pick up Larry showed that his flight had been delayed almost two hours because “The pilot couldn’t make it, so we had to call in a substitute.”

It was after 11 p.m. when I hugged Larry curbside at Reagan Airport. “We’re too old to deal with this kind of stress,” I laughed.

The day before our flight home, we changed our afternoon reservation to early morning, hoping to have more options. We hugged Rebecca good-bye at 5:00 a.m. and joined the congested Baltimore/DC traffic, enjoying a last conversation with Ben.

This time, we were better prepared emotionally for the frustrations of standby travel. Again, when it came down to the departure, there was just one seat left on the morning flight to Seattle. It was Larry’s turn to go first—he had to be at work the next day. After he left, I changed my reservation to re-route through Los Angeles, where the passenger lists were lighter.

By mid-day, Larry and I were both on the West Coast, stuck in separate airports waiting for our last flights home. We kept in touch frequently, and we watched our names drop to the bottom of the standby lists.

As the afternoon passed and Larry missed seats on several flights to Portland, I called AAA and booked a rental car for him. Eventually I got a seat on a flight to PDX from LAX. By the time I landed in Portland, Larry had driven down from Seattle, been met by our son Josh, and had even managed to unpack his suitcase. He picked me up at the curb, and our ill-fated journey was at an end.

When we added up all the extra costs—hotel in DC, extra fees to re-route, and the cost of car rental, the savings from our standby tickets had evaporated. But we had a good story to tell, and the wonderful visit with Rebecca, Ben, Charlotte and Gideon more than made up for the inconvenience and stress.

Now, looking back on our challenging standby adventure, my thoughts turn to an eternal perspective. How many people are not sure if they have a confirmed reservation for eternity? They spend years of their life waiting and hoping, wondering if they’ll get to the destination they’re believing for.

Their gut-wrenching uncertainty is unnecessary—a reserved seat is assured if they simply choose to trust Christ’s loving sacrifice.

He gave up his seat in heaven temporarily so that we could have a guaranteed place with God. We don’t have to wait and wonder, the ticket has been purchased, our place is secure. That’s truly good news!