Stepping Stones

I am a believer that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. I look at my life experiences and I see their individual worth, but when I put them all together, I wind up with something that is exponentially more than just the mere accumulation and conglomeration of events. I love the looking back on life, welcoming the realization that what seemed like wrong turns down life's lane or what felt like life's greatest injuries were mere course corrections, necessary fine-tunings to bring me to my current perch.

My life is hallmarked by some definitive moments -- most of the ones that stand out are the ones that brought forth the most exquisite kind of pain -- physical, mental, emotional, psychic, spiritual. Perhaps that is the human condition. Perhaps it is unique to me. But the pain of this life is matched always by the joy, such an expansive, bottomless, whole-body goodness that I'm not sure I even possess the words to describe it. I have come to believe that we don't get to experience one without the other -- joy and pain are life's inside-out twins. I have also come to believe that to the degree I experience one, is the degree I am able to experience the other. The deeper the pain, the deeper the joy. Or vice versa.

Last week was one of those divine life moments where the two -- the pain and the joy -- coexisted. Side-by-side. Instead of bickering and misbehaving like usual, the pain and the joy sat quietly. And tearfully.

For years now -- seven to be exact -- we've traveled a few towns over five days a week, 180 days a year -- to a little school nestled in an apple orchard. My boys have blossomed just like the apples in that seemingly always sunny valley.  It would be hard not to thrive in such a location, surrounded by such natural beauty.  But more importantly, nurtured by the most incredible people.

Every graduation, the 6th graders play this song.  This year -- my third time hearing one of my boys play it -- was full of anticipation and a looming dread.  It never sounds great.  They're 6th graders.  New.  But this year, it sounded, to me, magical.  

My graduate chose to sport bright blue skinny shorts and high top Converse to his graduation.  He's spunky and feisty, but soft on the inside.  He's punk to his core.  Although he doesn't know this yet.  It delights me to see him developing in spite of himself...watching his strengths surface, observing his passions, witnessing his struggles.  He's the one I always labeled a firecracker.  He still is.  One hundred percent.  All the time.  Explosive in his activity, his love for friends, his dramatic failures, his crushing defeats, his profound disbelief in his abilities.  He's all-in, whatever he's doing -- even being half-committed.  He's all-in, in a half-committed way, too. 

I'm not sure what kind of thank you note is appropriate to an institution that allowed life to flourish.  That insisted on enjoyment.  That ushered in the birth of beings -- human beings -- rather than human doings.  I'm not sure, on a personal level, how to ever thank the people and a place for providing the framework of family when our family fell apart.  I'm not sure how to thank the men of the school -- the world's best teacher, the most gentle and firm of principals, the dads who showed up in gratitude and enthusiasm in their roles as dads and helpers.  These men have taught my boys lessons words can't capture.  They've lived as good examples, which is more powerful than any book learning ever could be.

It was the time of our lives.  Of this, I am certain. 

And for my punk rocker at heart...his way of coping, the way he chose to usher in the next chapter of his adventure -- well, it sounded like this.  

I've never been so proud.