Getting Away from It All
The thing about going on vacation that is most inviting and alluring, (at least for me and I think for most) is the simple idea of “getting away from it all”. The dishes, the laundry, the everyday mundane, the routine that can often feel meaningless and exhausting; you leave it all at home where it belongs, and head out in search of whatever that dream destination is. That place, be it a quiet sandy beach or a busy city street that is lined with exclusive shops, is going to be just what you need to unwind, recharge, and relax.
Or is it?
I have just returned home from four days in NYC; a wonderfully busy and action filled time with my family and dear friends of ours visiting from Los Angeles. The days were packed with Broadway plays, Central Park strolls, exhibits at The Met, bags of over priced candy at Dylan’s, shopping on Fifth Avenue, soaking in life at Washington Square, running through FAO, skipping through American Girl, and taking advantage of the Plaza bathroom often. And as expected with big families, and young tired children, and crowded city blocks to walk and walk, and subways to figure out, and large groups to keep happy, and husbands and wives, and heat and some rain, and the money that always flows way too easily on a vacation, whether you have it or not….there was crankiness. By the end of our “get away”, my children were beginning to really miss the dog, their own bed, the smoothies we make after football practice, snuggling on the couch. It did not escape me that the very things we longed to get far away from, were the exact things we were longing to get back to. My youngest, through tears of exhaustion whispered in my ear on a city street curb, “I feel homesick.” And as much as I hated to say goodbye to our friends, and the city I got married in and love, I had to admit, I was feeling home sick for something as well.
As we made our way back downtown, the last leg of what felt at times like a race to nowhere, we caught the F train to West 4th, took the final city stroll (and for some with achy feet, and shorter legs, the final limp) and we emptied our pockets one last time to grab a quick “to-go” dinner before hitting the road. I ducked into what is rated an excellent NYC hot dog hot spot, ordered some dogs and cheese fries and lots of bottles of water for a family in terrible thirst, and let out a huge sigh of mixed emotion. And as I turned to grab a stack of napkins, I noticed her: Saint Therese. A beautiful framed picture, oddly sandwiched between the skate board art and the pile of hot dog menus. There she was, hanging out in the hip village, just looking at me, peacefully gazing. And there, amongst the cheese fries and noise, the terribly trendy and hip, the thirsty and tired, I knew exactly what I was home sick for.
You see, we packed what we thought we needed: the make up, the clothing, the American Girl Dolls, the light sweater just in case. We took out stacks of money at the ATM, we bought the theater tickets, and devoured fabulous bricks of Murray’s Cheese Shop cheese. I made sure we saw Rockefeller Center, the couture collection at Bergdorf’s, the cobble stone streets of SOHO, and the beauty of Grand Central station. We ate up every last bit of that big apple, and yet, there was always someone in our group that needed just a little bit more…more sights, another treat, one last souvenir, a promised make up purchase. The moodiness and melt downs increased as the adults common sense decreased, and it all seemed to result out of a deeper hunger; a hunger no city, no purchase, no meal could ever satisfy.
In a city like New York, where it is so easy to forget who you are, and where fashion and material things become a sudden and fast idol, I quickly discovered that if you do not take the time to pray and give thanks on a family vacation, patience runs out faster, meek and humble is not even on your radar, and gratefulness loses its battle against want, selfishness and greed. Words become harsh, steps become faster, anxiety rises, feelings are hurt at nearly every corner, and the family suffers. I may have thrown the essentials into our duffel bag, but I left out the one thing I know I can not survive a single day without: prayer.
I love vacation. And I love my Los Angeles friends. And I love New York City. But if ”getting away from it all” means getting away from Jesus, I would rather stay home.
Help me out! How do you incorporate your everyday prayer life routine when you travel? Do you have a great devotional, pocket Bible, or special prayer you bring along? Is there an app you love that helps keeps you close to Christ when you find yourself far from home?
Copyright 2014 Laura Phelps
