Traveling: Doing Hard Things-Part 1

Read Time: 4 minutes

by AJ Canterbury

I’ve called many places “home” over the course of my four decades, but Pennsylvania houses my roots. It isn’t where I was born or even the first state I lived in, but it is the place I completed all my primary education, the place where I grew up with my mom, and the place that shaped my character. My origin story begins in that place.

So, when plans were made to hold my 25^th class reunion this summer, I determined to make my attendance possible.

I recognize not everyone would feel the pull to a high school reunion, much less schedule a trip across country just to be there. I enjoyed my time with the people I went to school with and looked forward to reconnecting with faces of the past. But ultimately, I seize any opportunity to return home. The place I existed before life got hard: before the wheelchair; before the death of my mother; even before I understood the fullness of the broken world and felt the burden to minister to it.

Even though I wanted to be there, traveling has become increasingly more difficult as my Friedreich’s Ataxia has progressed. It requires a lot of logistics to schedule, how and who will get me to where I needed to be. In addition, the expenses do not take long to mount, securing a flight, handicap-accessible hotel, and rental van.

None of these traveling woes are unique to me. They are certainly common hazards that siphon the joy out of traveling, but disability heightens the headaches because there are necessities you just can’t skimp on or play by ear.

As time drew closer to the reunion, I fatigued from the failed attempts and rearrangement of plans. Unlike when I traveled to Pennsylvania last fall, I would be going alone without the support of family to rely on. It all started to feel like too much, and I contemplated not going. I wondered what obstacle would be the decisive point when I stopped pushing and gave up.

Despite the discouragements, I kept charging forward and secured a plan that would work. The day of departure did not settle my anxieties about traveling. A worldwide computer outage crippled the computers at the airport, resulting in my flight being delayed by several hours (thankfully not cancelled). I coordinated with the friends scheduled to pick me up in Philadelphia, hoping they would still be able to

Even though I safely arrived at the airport, I discovered that my luggage had not been as fortunate. My bag had never left Houston but would catch the evening plane out and be delivered to me.  However, it would never join me that weekend; I wouldn’t set eyes on my luggage again until 9 days after I got home. All of the things I had ordered and packed to make my trip more comfortable had been wasted.

So, if traveling is such a hassle, why do it? The question holds merit. I could have remained at home where everything I needed for my daily routines was there. All the headaches and hardships would have been avoided had I just stayed where I belonged.

It didn’t take me long into the trip to reject any regret. The hassle had indeed been worth leaving the house. Here are 4 things I would’ve missed had I stayed home:

1. My brother is equipped and willing to help me.

I needed the help of my youngest brother to make this trip happen. A task Tanner never had to take on before. We didn’t have the chance to grow up together, separated not only geographically but also by a 19-year age gap. What if Tanner got a taste of what it looked like to bear my disability and decided it was more than he was willing to offer?

Despite my apprehensions, Tanner eased into the role. My brother showed high levels of both support and compassion. He tirelessly helped me get ready and situated and attended a class reunion where he knew zero of the people. 

He demonstrated that God has equipped all my brothers with both the willingness and intuitiveness to care for me. I have counseled with enough people to know that a family committed to shouldering disability alongside them is not a guarantee. This trip enabled Tanner to step into that role, and for me to find encouragement that my siblings stand at the ready.

• Witnessing the activity of God in the lives of my classmates.

Even though I graduated from a class of 230+, only 23 attended the potluck in the park. Such a small turn-out could have been disappointing and led to awkward interactions, but I found the opposite to be true. I had the chance to engage in meaningful conversations with the group, including the peers I did not run with in high school.

As we visited, a recurring theme emerged of God’s grace and intervention. In most of my memories of these classmates, Jesus was the last thing on their mind. But here they were sharing their stories of how God had entered their hard and changed their direction. Now they could not stop praising his goodness.

I had spent the last 25 years on my own encounter with Jesus, and, during that time, God had been busy orchestrating and awakening hearts right here in Pennsylvania. He proved that “the arm of the Lord is not too short to save” (Isaiah 59:1). I discovered more connected me with my classmates then the country town school we attended, something of eternal value.

• There’s no connection, like childhood friend connections.

After the reunion, I made plans to meet friends at a town’s summer fair. This precious family occupied many of my memories from high school. Even though we had remained in contact throughout the years, it had still taken us 25 years to reunite in person.

We circled up amidst the live band, carnival games, and food vendors and fell easily into conversation. Long-dormant synapses in my brain unlocked to recall stories and forgotten faces that had been faithfully stored in my memory. I laughed with the same fierceness at those memories just as I had then, reminding me of kinder, simpler times. I tapped into my former world that had profoundly shaped the man I had become.

These folks knew me and my history in a way that new friends could not because they had lived through it with me. What a gift from God it was to have old friends like that.

Our time together rejoined me to the person I had been when we met. I wasn’t sure that person still existed, but as the night went on, I discovered the fun, light-hearted guy persisted. I carried that with me long after our time ended and still hold on to it now:

The old me had grown and developed; he had not faded away.

• Recognizing the on-going support of old friends

My trip home ended lounging in the living room with friends while their kids swam outside. Two of the friends have been with me since elementary school. Common faith united us and kept our connection as adults. I collapsed in the comfort I felt with this group.

As I sat there, I was struck by how these friends continued to support me. They were the friends who had picked me up from the airport and included me with them this evening. Tomorrow, my high school teacher, a friendship that had endured, was taking me back to the airport.

I considered the grandness of that fact. The people I had relied on in the past were still committed to being there for me now. They just continued carrying it forward.

No wonder I felt so comfortable here. I was among people who had proven they intended to remain at my side.

I could have stayed home and avoided the hassles of traveling but look at the lessons I would’ve missed. There’s value in pushing through the adversity to find God’s goodness on the other side of the barricade.

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