The Eclipse and Driving Together

 

Last Saturday some of our family drove south to see the eclipse. It was total annular eclipse, just 100 miles or so away. We stood on a field in the little town of Richfield, Utah and marveled, watching through our certified eclipse glasses, as the moon slowly ate away the sun. 

 

Twilight fell, the air grew cold; we bundled the children under blankets and shivered as we watched. We felt the loss of the sun and I understood the primitive response. Though I knew the science of it all, and understood this cold darkness was temporary, a part of me wanted to beat drums, chant, or scream to scare away this dragon relentlessly swallowing our source of light and warmth. 

 

At last, only a thin glowing ring of light was left of our great golden sun. And then the moon moved on, and slowly light and warmth returned.

 

The eclipse was great. I’m a big fan of eclipse-viewing.  In 2017 our family traveled to Idaho to see a total eclipse—you can read my essay about that incredible experience here: https://bethslineuponline.blogspot.com/2017/  Next spring we plan to travel to Texas to see a total eclipse there. 

 

But what I want to write about today is the travel, what happened to our family as drove down to southern Utah to get the best view of the eclipse.

 

There were 7 of us—5 adults and 2 tiny children traveling in a 7-seater Yukon. Every space was taken, which meant some adults had to sit in the back seat with scrunched up leg room meant only for small children. Snacks and diaper bags, coloring books and jackets were tucked around our feet. Because we were with small children, there were whining and vomit and hours of listening to Cocomelon. 

 

There was traffic, though not as bad as expected. Still at times we crept at a frustratingly slow pace. Because we expected traffic, we left early, in the dark, on little sleep.  

 

And yet everyone, even the children, did their best to make the trip a pleasant one. 

 

Other families may have played games or listened to music. We, being who we are, talked about the state of cinema and streaming these days. We laughed about funny things that had happened to us. We shared the books we were reading and podcasts we were listening to. We took turns driving and we ate yummy snacks. We enjoyed the children and their sweet ways. 

 

Miraculously, nobody complained. No one argued. 

 

We did our best to help each other along our journey. When there were topics of discussion that could have led to disagreement, we didn’t. We chose not to go there. We listened to each other. We let some things go.

 

When we were creeping along in traffic, we didn’t complain or curse the driver who tried to cut in front of us. We settled down and enjoyed being together on the journey, knowing there was nothing we could do to go faster. We were patient.

 

When the two-year-old suddenly spewed vomit, with no warning, as little children can do, we all sprang into action to help—passing back tissues, dumping out the plastic box of snacks and handing it over to the adult nearest the baby. We spoke comfort and concern and no one mentioned the smell in that crowded car. We were a team, loving that baby and each other.

 

We are not always like this. We are human—and like everyone, we sometimes grate on each other, sometimes we are angry. Sometimes we are hurt. Sometimes unkind things are said.

 

But that day, stuck together in a crowded vehicle, we were able to think of one another’s needs, not just our own. We were each of us aware of our individual responsibility for the welfare of the group. We were able to limit our pride, hurt feelings, and discomfort so that everyone with us could be happy.

 

 It made me think. Every day on this earth, we are on a journey together. Traveling conditions are less than ideal. Progress may seem slow. There may be crises when we need to all pull together. We may disagree or feel hurt or not appreciated. 

 

We know our destination. We know others are facing the same problems we are. We can help each other enjoy the trip as we travel there.

 

Or we can-- not help. Sometimes on this journey, the light and warmth of love can be eclipsed by anger, fear, jealousy, hurt, greed, or any number of ultimately selfish emotions.

 

The eclipse of the sun ended as the moon inevitably continued on her path.

 

But the eclipse of love can only be ended through our own efforts: to de-emphasize our own discomfort and hurt, to think of others traveling with us, and work together to shine the life-giving love-warmth that allows us, each of us, to reach our heavenly home.