Trying to add a payment method? You can do this on the 
A suitcase lay open on the couch, and snacks and phone cords waited on the kitchen table as my husband prepared to leave on one of his frequent trips. I had carefully folded and packed his dress clothes, a duty that falls to me because he has one paralyzed arm. Otherwise, Paul does all his own packing in his publicity work for a microfinance ministry.
I find it best to lie low during the final preparations, because Paul is like a strong wind whipping through the house, bathroom to office to living room, papers or toothbrush or shoes in hand, talking on his phone and whirling through the narrow walkway in the kitchen, making it dangerous to be in his path.
He stopped suddenly as I sat at the kitchen table waiting to take him to the Eugene Airport.
“Are you looking forward to having some time alone?” he asked unexpectedly.
A dangerous question, and I weighed my answer. As an introvert, I find it refreshing to putter around a silent house all by myself, cleaning and sipping tea and updating to-do lists with no one interrupting me. Paul, on the other hand, loves action, being with people and going places. Surely the correct answer was obvious, and it was unwise of him to ask if he didn’t want the truth.
In addition to being a scrupulous truthteller, I also hate to hurt anyone’s feelings. “Yes,” I said. “I’m looking forward to time alone, but I’ll miss you while you’re gone. Both things can be true, you know.”
He wasn’t bothered by my answer.
“Absolutely!” he said. “Both can be true. When I was younger, I wouldn’t have been able to say that. But now I understand.”
And he hurried on.
I spoke to Paul on the phone while he was gone. He sounded energized by delayed flights, a tight schedule and not enough sleep. I was relieved I hadn’t gone with him, and I think he was, too. Meanwhile, I sipped tea, didn’t bother with meals and caught up on projects that took hours of concentration.
I missed him. I loved being alone. Both were true.
The physical challenges of reaching our mid-60s are outweighed by a deeper friendship with nuance and the capacity to hold multiple truths at once.
We used to be a lot more certain about how the world ought to be, what people should choose for their lives and how things would turn out if we made the right decisions.
Then we watched hundreds of people’s stories playing out over time and noticed that the same methods could produce a dozen results, and seemingly sensible choices could have frustrating outcomes. In our own lives, we faced pain, loss and a thousand dilemmas out of our control. All of it has softened our solid confidence into something more malleable and resilient and our faith into a deeply personal journey — less about how others should live and more about our own integrity, courage and relationships.
Two things can be true at once. Life is both savage and beautiful, full of deep sorrow and breathtaking joy. Paul’s life-changing injuries in a fall five years ago were devastating yet also brought necessary changes and new opportunities.
The loss of our youngest son in November came with a heaviness that’s impossible to describe. Yet, in the middle of grief, sunsets are more beautiful, friends more precious and kindness more deeply appreciated. Our family laid a son to rest, and soon we will welcome a new daughter-in-law. Constantly, we increase our capacity to hold opposite emotions.
At Easter, we Christians celebrate the resurrection of Jesus and the hope of eternal life. This year, the paradoxes take on more mystery and also more meaning — the sacrificial death and suffering that preceded the joy of renewed life. I reach daily for a simple yet solid belief that despite the grief of this season, we are loved, we have hope and there is a reality we cannot see.
When Paul returns from a trip, I am happy to see him even if he brings noise, interruptions and a constant stream of great ideas he wants to share with me. He is glad to be home, even if mowing grass and feeding cats lack the excitement of travel and speaking to churches.
This is the era for accepting paradoxes, embracing complexity and making friends with uncertainty. We can enjoy both travel and coming home, time alone and time together, and a sure faith in a sea of mystery. What matters is how we live this precious, brief time that is ours.
