Life

Have a Memorable Vacation–Maybe?

“Tell us about a memorable summer vacation.” At a luncheon with my publishing company, recently, the sales team and I were asked to do just that. I heard about a lot of interesting vacations from the other team members, and as I awaited my turn, dozens of great memories came to mind. A tour through seven European countries with Ken and our kids. A bicycle trip around Europe’s Lake Konstance with our son, Ben. A road trip early in our marriage from Connecticut to Anchorage, Alaska. Camping on Cape Cod with my parents and two sisters. Long, lazy summer days at my grandparents’ home in Pennsylvania’s Pocono Mountains.

But the memorable vacation I settled on—and it had been the first one that popped into my mind—was a camping trip we took with our kids when they were young to visit some of America’s national parks. We lived in Canada at the time, and Ken had learned that if we bought a U.S. National Parks’ pass, we could visit all the parks for free. It was a bargain too good to pass up. We set off in our Toyota station wagon, pulling a borrowed “pop-up” tent trailer, and headed south and west, starting with Rocky Mountain National Park.

Hundreds of miles and many scenic wonders later, we arrived at the Grand Canyon in time to watch the sunset. Magnificent! Up until that time, we had been able to camp along the way without any trouble. But all the campsites at the Grand Canyon were full. It seems most people are wise enough to make reservations in advance. The Grand Canyon is in the middle of nowhere, so the only other campgrounds were a 2-hour drive back in the direction we had just traveled.

After a spirited discussion about our lack of planning, we decided to park the car and trailer in a parking lot behind one of the lodges for the night. Ominous signs are posted all over the park warning of stiff fines for camping anywhere except in designated sites, so we decided not to “pop-up” the pop-up. Technically, we would not be “camping.” So, we emptied the car and spent the night sleeping in our Toyota. Our two sons slept in the driver’s and front passenger’s seats, tilted back as far as they would go. We folded down the back seat, and Ken and I and our 6-year-old daughter slept in the back of the station wagon. I use the term “slept” very loosely. Throughout the night, I kept waiting for a park ranger to knock on the window and issue us a very expensive “no camping” ticket. My reply would have been, “Do we look like we’re camping?

But by morning, the entire parking lot was filled with vans, trailers, and motor homes. We weren’t the only ones who hadn’t made reservations. Our kids had slept quite well and were eager to begin exploring the park. Ken and I, on the other hand, were quite rumpled and disgruntled. At least we had drawn closer together as a family, I joked.

We visited many great national parks on that vacation and saw a lot of magnificent sights. When we returned home, I asked the kids what they remembered and liked the best, and guess what they said? “The night we slept in the car at the Grand Canyon.”

Isn’t life like that, though? A lot of days and weeks and months pass by when we do the same-old, same-old, and nothing seems particularly memorable. But it’s those challenging times when the unexpected happens that seem to make a much deeper impression. I spent hundreds of blissful summer days at my grandparents’ home in the Pennsylvania woods, but which one is most memorable? The dark night of torrential rain when the dam upriver threatened to break and we were forced to evacuate to higher ground. We sent up a lot of prayers that night!

I find that it’s in challenging times like that long-ago, rainy night that we draw closest to God and cling the hardest to Him. We can forget that we even need Him when the sun shines and everything goes according to plan. Perhaps that’s why He allows us to go through those wilderness times. Not only do we draw closer to Him, but we also learn important lessons about His power, and faithfulness, and love for us. We learn we can trust Him, and that makes the experience deeply memorable.

So, what’s your most memorable summer vacation?

I would wish you all a memorable summer vacation this year, but maybe you would rather have a quiet, uneventful one, instead.

Welcome to the Family

The frigid January day was a memorable one for our family. With the final “bang” of the judge’s gavel, our son Joshua became Aiden’s father. My husband and I became Aiden’s grandparents. The court proceeding made it official, but we have loved this wonderful boy from the day we first met him and his amazing mom, Sara. Joshua had wanted to adopt Aiden ever since he and Sara married nearly two years ago, and the paperwork was finally complete. I had tears in my eyes as Joshua promised to support, raise, and love Aiden as his own son. The judge allowed Aiden to “bang” the gavel to complete the process. Welcome to our family, Aiden!

I have been reflecting on adoption a lot, lately. My upcoming novel, “All My Secrets,” includes the story of a woman who is forced to surrender her child for adoption. The novel takes place in New York City during the Gilded Age, a time when the very wealthy lived in excessive opulence—and the city’s orphanages overflowed with unwanted children of all ages. Some of these children had lost their parents due to their deaths, some were abandoned by them, and many were simply turned over by parents who were unable to support them. Many more unwanted children lived in the streets, surviving as best they could. In 1890, photographer Jacob Riis stirred the nation’s conscience when his book “How the Other Half Lives” published his heartbreaking photos. This is one of his famous ones.

After Aiden’s adoption, I also began noticing the theme in scripture. The Westminster Catechism says that “Adoption is an act of God’s free grace,” granting us “all the privileges of the sons of God.” Just as Aiden now has legal rights and privileges as Josh’s son, we have privileges as the children of the God. “For He chose us in Him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in His sight. In love, He predestined us to be adopted as His sons and daughters through Jesus Christ…” (Ephesians 1:4-5). I can’t take that in, can you? And the love our family feels for Aiden is just a fraction of the love God has for us.

Ken and I were excited to visit Aiden’s school on Grandparent’s Day. I’m thrilled when he calls me “Grandma.” And I believe God wants that same kind of loving relationship with us. Romans 8 says we “have received the Spirit of sonship. And by him we cry, Abba, Father. The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children. Now if we are children, then we are heirs—heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ…” Aiden is now listed as an heir in our will. But I can barely conceive of the inheritance that is mine as a child of God!

This Father’s Day will be Joshua’s first one as a dad. He paid the costs that were involved in Aiden’s adoption process—court fees, lawyer’s fees, and so on. But our adoption into God’s family cost Our Heavenly Father the greatest price of all—His son, Jesus. Can we even fathom the enormity of His love? As we remember and honor our earthly dads this year, I hope I can grasp the importance of our adoption by our loving Heavenly Father. Welcome to His family, child of God!

(One more thing: If you would like a sneak peek at the cover of “All My Secrets,” be sure to go to my website www.lynnaustin.org and subscribe to my monthly newsletter. I will be revealing the cover in June’s newsletter.)

Lost!

The fall weather was beautiful last week and perfect for riding bikes. I took a break from writing one afternoon, and Ken and I rode off on one of our favorite trails. It winds through the woods north of town, away from people and traffic. Ten miles from home, we heard a woman screaming for help. An older couple running to her aid, flagged us down.

“Can you help?” they asked. “This mother has lost her little boy.”

We parked our bikes and hurried over to see what we could do. The young mother was distraught. Her son was only two. She had been doing laundry while he watched TV, and when she returned to the living room he was gone. She had left all but the screen door open on this beautiful day, and he must have wandered outside.

Ken and I and the two neighbors split up to search in all directions, calling his name. I headed behind the house and into the woods, searching through the underbrush and by every fallen tree. I prayed urgently for God’s mercy as I hurried along, asking Him to help us find this child and bring him home. Ten minutes later, with no luck, I circled back to check with the others. The little boy was still lost. His mother was now hysterical.

I understood her anguish too well. At some point in their childhoods, each of my three children had temporarily disappeared for varying lengths of time and in various places. One disappeared in a grocery store. One on the way home from school, a block away. One at the beach. They were all found, thankfully, but I will never forget the heart-stopping terror I felt. The world that swallows up your child seems so overwhelming and huge, your child, so very, very small.

Earlier that morning in my quiet time I had been praying for three family members who don’t know the Lord. I admit that my attitude toward them was not what it should be. They had hurt me badly, and I was trying to justify their behavior by thinking, “Well, what do you expect? They aren’t Christians.” But as my heart broke for that poor mother and her lost child, I caught a glimpse of God’s heart, and the grief He must feel when any of His children are lost—like my three family members. “He does not want anyone to be destroyed, but wants everyone to repent” (2 Peter 3:9).

I circled back through the woods, running faster and farther this time, calling the boy’s name. I could hear the others frantically calling, too. And I wondered, might God be asking my husband and me and anyone else who can, to search this tenaciously for His lost ones? Might He want us to set aside time from our own pleasures help seek and save more of His lost children?

With still no luck, I returned to the other searchers a second time. We needed to call the police. The elderly neighbor suggested that the mother search inside the house one last time before we called. And that’s where she found her son, fast asleep, nestled out of sight beneath a pile of clean sheets.

She came outside weeping and thanking us. I held her in my arms and felt her entire body trembling as she squeezed me tightly, clinging to me. The prodigal’s father had surely held his lost son just as tightly. As I quietly thanked God, I thought of how the angels in heaven rejoiced when one lost soul is found.

We said good bye to the others, all of us wrung out and relieved, thankful that the search had ended well. Ken and I got back on our bikes and continued on our way. And I prayed again with a new sense of urgency for my family members.

A Visit to the Past

Ken and I love to ride our bikes to the library in town whenever I need more research material, and then eat lunch at a fun restaurant. It’s about a 14-mile round-trip. There’s a sizable Hispanic population in town, so today we decided to try a little hole-in-the-wall Mexican store/taqueria that features authentic, homemade food. As soon as I stepped inside the little bodega, I was transported into the past. Early in our marriage, Ken and I spent two years in Bogota, Colombia while Ken performed with the National Symphony, a world-class orchestra. Meanwhile, I taught fourth grade in a Colombian school. I taught all of the subjects in English but my students and their families spoke Spanish, which made parent-teacher conferences very challenging.

So, when I walked into the little store and was suddenly immersed in a flow of voices chattering in Spanish, I was taken back to our adventures in Bogota. I remembered how Ken and I would traipse through little stores like this one, searching in vain for American products. Our Spanish slowly improved as we learned to decipher labels, but remind me to tell you the story, someday, of Ken’s disastrous attempt to buy cat food for our American cats. (It ends happily but a Colombian cat nearly lost one of it’s nine lives.)

The bodega’s meat counter reminded me of that incident, and also of the butcher shop down the street from our apartment, which I passed every day on my way to school. The Colombian butcher shop hung their raw meat from hooks in the front window, without refrigeration. I got really good at holding my breath for the full length of the block as I hurried to work. (We did not buy our meat there!)

This fresh produce section reminded me of the open-air market where we would shop for fruit and vegetables. Colombia has varieties of fruit that we’d never seen back home, like lulo and guanabana. Ken loved haggling over prices and trying to get a bargain. I just wanted to know “how much.” Ken said I was being gouged, but when I did the math, he was haggling over mere pennies. This little bodega even had an aisle of pottery like we used to buy in Bogota but the items all had price tags. Ken was disappointed that he couldn’t haggle.

Colombian food isn’t at all like the Mexican food the bodega served, which is good because we like Mexican cuisine much better. Here’s our lunch…and it was delicious!

We ate it as a picnic in a nearby park, something we never did in Bogota because it rained all the time. In fact, it rained every day for the two years we lived there. I always carried an umbrella. The city sits at an altitude of 8,660 feet, but if we took a bus down the mountain, we could enjoy sunny, tropical weather at a lush resort and breathe much thicker air. Of course, it required nerves of steel (or a blindfold) for the trip down the narrow, winding mountain road with no guardrails and sheer drop-offs, on a dilapidated former school bus—but that’s a story for another blog.

As we pedaled our way home from town again, I couldn’t help thinking about how our past experiences shape us and transform us into the people we are today. My time in Colombia drew me closer to God in many ways and became part of the foundation for my writing career. And it occurred to me that the things we’re experiencing right now—today—are shaping us into the people we’ll be in the future. We learned to adjust to a lot of changes when we moved to South America, and now we’ve all faced too many unwelcome changes these past two years. How we react to them will shape the people we become in the future.

In these challenging times, I don’t want to be taken captive by the constant arguing, fear-mongering, and divisiveness I see all around me. I want my faith to grow stronger and to flow out with joy everywhere I go. Right now, our journey may seem as harrowing as that bus trip down the Andes Mountains, but we’re God’s beloved children, and our future is safe in His hands.

The Next Book

I’m in between novels at the moment, and searching for inspiration. After writing 29 books, I sometimes feel like I’ve used every storyline, every setting, and every plot device there is. I’m certainly not ready to retire, but what do I write about next?

As I faced the blank computer screen, casting about for ideas—life happened. My life.

This past month our family suffered a huge loss when my husband’s sister, Marion, passed away after a short illness. She lived nearby, so we were able to say our goodbyes and tell her how much we loved her, but it didn’t make it any easier. Ken is the youngest of six children and Marion was his last remaining sibling. She was also one of the most positive, joy-filled, loving people I have ever met, in spite of the fact that she didn’t have an easy life. Everyone who knew her loved her and wanted to be around her. I will miss her stories, her laughter, her beautiful perspective on life. We know she received a joyful welcome in heaven, yet we can’t help feeling sorrow and grief at her loss.

But even as we grieve, we also have a reason to rejoice. A few days from now, we will celebrate our oldest son’s marriage to a beautiful woman who already has become a daughter to us. She brings a young son into our family, a sweet, new grandson who we also love as our own. We feel God’s face shining down on all of us.

Three years ago, our son suffered through the most difficult, painful season of his life. Ken and I felt helpless as we watched him suffer. All we could do was stand alongside him and pray for him—to a Heavenly Father who also knows human suffering and a parent’s grief. My neighbor, who is also my prayer partner, prayed for him on her morning walks as she passed by our house. One morning she texted me a verse that God had given her for our son:

“But for you who revere my name, the sun of righteousness will arise with healing in its wings.”

I looked up the context and read the second half of the verse: “And you will go out and leap like calves released from the stall” (Malachi 4:2).

It seemed impossible, unbelievable, at the time. But as it turned out, our son’s night of darkness drew him closer to God, giving him a deeper relationship than ever before in his life. Now, as I see him with his new bride-to-be and young son, I see the fulfillment of that verse.

This—all of this—is what I need to write about next. Life! Life with its joys and sorrows, grief and laughter. Life with friends and family members who share all of it with us. Life with our good and loving God who never leaves us or forsakes us. I need to write authentic stories of people just like me, showing the hard parts of life in a fallen world, never pretending that pain doesn’t exist. But also showing the joy that a life lived with God can bring. Yes, life is hard . . . but God is good. And He loves us more than we can ever imagine. I still don’t have a plot or a setting for my next book, but no matter what I decide on, I want my story to burst at the seams with hope. Hope in the joy of heaven, which Marion is now experiencing. Hope in a Savior who can turn our tears into laughter and make us leap like a newborn calf with life and joy.