As I start this week’s post from the chair of an airport gate, it is apparent that much of the country is still celebrating Christmas. And so am I. Originally, I planned to fly back Christmas day, since Grams didn’t want to travel over the holidays. She said it was too much fuss. When the time came, Airlines had technology outages, I had under the weather issues, and all roads led to me switching flights. Mom and I like to think I opened the door for someone who really needed to make it home for Christmas, since my original flight was waitlisted and at high dollar. To the traveler who made it to AZ Christmas Day, and to all of you still celebrating, Merry Christmas.

This year, I was the last sister left at home. I think that’s the lucky straw as far as saying goodbye. Not that it’s ever easy saying goodbye, but it’s an easier pill to swallow when someone has already broken the ice. Walking my way to check bags, I noticed who else was at the airport with me:  split families dropping children off to the other parent, large groups inevitably traveling to see other extended family, vacationers, and single travelers, like me, perhaps returning to work or another part of their Christmas vacations. My thoughts drifted back to my own Christmas Vacation.

I traded our Caribbean blue waters for American Airlines blue, but my sentiments are anything but. As mentioned last week, our Volkation trip was spent in Cancun. Previous years we have tied our vacations to life events like college graduations or big moves in life. Our adventures have always been full of laughter, stories, and never dull moments. As Coach V would say,

 “You should do three things every day…number three is you should have your emotions moved to tears. Could be happiness or joy but think about it. If you laugh, you think, and you cry, that’s a full day. That’s a heck of a day.”—Jim Valvano, “Don’t Give up”

You could say us Volks live full days. I think we do it to each other. My sisters and I can see things quite differently from each other at times. And if I’m being honest, it’s a blessing there’s three of us so we always have a moderator (usually Madeline). None of us are afraid to feel emotion, though we express it in different ways. Dad and I usually are on the same wavelength when it comes to what pricks our hearts. And this trip was no different.

The inspiration for my post this week is from Temple Grandin. Dad watched her documentary on the way to Mexico. And I watched it on the flight back to the states. Temple is responsible for revolutionizing the way livestock are handled. Because of her autism, she was able to see things the way cattle would. But before she would emerge victorious, Temple really struggled with the idea of going to college. Her high school science teacher encouraged,

“Think of it (college) as a door. A door that’s going to open up onto a whole new world for you. All you need to do is to decide to go through it.”—Dr. Carlock (Temple Grandin, 2010)

Dr. Carlock’s metaphor would strengthen Temple throughout her life to walk into opportunities she was destined for, many coming with fear and strong headwinds. Her story of life with Autism was inspiring, encouraging, and checked all three things in Jim Valvano’s speech. As I recount my Christmas vacation, I’m remembering all the doors we walked through. Some made us laugh, others made me think, and then there was one that brought me to tears. The first we all stepped through:  a bright red Volkswagen van door.

The Volkswagon van that dropped us off couldn’t have been more on brand, except for maybe a station wagon. This would be one of our truest “vacations,” as we didn’t have set agendas. I personally enjoy waking up every day, with my greatest thoughts being where on the beach do I want to sit and how much do I want to nap versus read. The first full day we sat in front of the ocean. You could see where the water changed from crystal blue turquoise to deeper blue, but still clear. The waves were mesmerizing, rolling in, from small drifters to surfable swells. We then cleaned up for an early supper so we could cheer on the Husker volleyball team in the final four.

The game had many surprises for us, starting with the channel. The only audible English was from the ref mics when there was a challenge play. It was entertaining to hear the exclamations and announcing in another language. “Ole!” We chimed in with some of our own commentary, cheered hard, but the Huskers didn’t finish the deal. Grace played Division 1 volleyball, and I respect her viewpoints. She said the girls didn’t make the changes they needed to, while Penn State did. Dad commented, “You know, that Penn State coach is fighting cancer, and maybe this was her turn to win. And I’m at peace with that.” The Huskers opened the door for Penn State to match up with another female-coached team, and in the end, would reign victorious as the National Champions. An ending we didn’t cheer for, but we could all have peace with.

The next day, we sat poolside. We went to water aerobics, and then lounged most of the day, while I did some working and writing. As we headed for dinner, Dad and I were wearing our cowboy hats. A photographer down in Arizona once told me, “I’ve taken many great pictures that were ruined by cowboys in ballcaps.” This night, our hats certainly caught the attention of someone, as a man walked up to my dad, like he knew him, shook his hand and asked, “Do you team rope?” Dad chuckled and pointed at me. I smiled and nodded, “I sure do.” He told us that his daughter breakaways, and he and his wife will be in Arizona over the winter, not far from where I have friends that stay. We were glad he was bold enough to come say hello. The cowboy hats opened an introduction that would have never happened in a ballcap.

Dad was really telling stories that evening. He got the exact same meal he had the night before, a telling trait of my dad:  consistent. Mom requested bottles of Mexican wine from the Somalia who relished the opportunity to talk about local vineyards. None of us paid attention to time, only to the moment and each story that was told. Even writing this, I realize how fortunate it is to have time to spend that doesn’t have a hard stop attached to it. As we were winding down, I sipped my espresso, not really looking for a reason to leave or stay, just absolutely content. The couple next to us approached our table, and then stopped. The wife made a point to say, “I love that you are on vacation, and you brought your dad. I lost my dad a year ago, and I love that you brought yours.” We were glad we brought dad, too.  

The sun rose, and our last full day was upon us. We set out for the beach and us girls had spa appointments in the afternoon. Dad would always find somewhere to wander, so we weren’t really worried about him getting bored. That night, we had planned to send mom and dad to the fancy steakhouse, our treat. We kept the reservation a secret, thinking a surprise would be fun for them. In the time we had left the spa and changed for supper, the pool area had transformed into a gymnastics performance area. Circus performers and a Mexican feast were on the resort entertainment schedule. I told my family that we were celebrating Festivus and we needed to, “gather around the Festivus pole for the airing of grievances before supper. And no tinsel! I find it distracting.”—Frank Costanza, Seinfeld

On our way, we presented the offer to them:  a night of steak at the chophouse on us. Mom gushed and said how sweet it was, but they both quickly decided they didn’t want to go. They would rather spend the last dinner with us. I walked through the door to the fine dining steakhouse, alerting them our parents wouldn’t be taking their reservation. Our Christmas present had backfired, but Festivus was complete with the circus feats of strength.

Suitcases packed, room cleared, a big day of travel awaited us. Omaha is known as the airport of connections. I had a separate flight itinerary booked in case I needed to fly directly back to Phoenix. Mom, Dad, Grace, and Madeline all flew through Minneapolis, while I connected in Denver. I had watched the Temple Grandin movie, like dad recommended, along with another Christmas flick. I fly through Denver a lot, so navigating was easy for me. I was on the train, leaning against a rail, noticed a wheelchair, and a girl with a dog walk past. Just that quickly, the woman with her dog had stuck her hand in the door so the wheelchair could roll in. “Nice catch,” I said as she breezed into the not so crowded train.

She complimented me on my pants, and I quite like them for travel as well. Just that quick she said, “Wow you’re a cowgirl.” I agreed and said, “Yes, I am.” Scanning my shirt which read “Praise Filled Warrior,” she beamed, “And you love Jesus!” I don’t know what came over me, but I don’t remember ever saying this to someone before up until this day: “Jesus Christ is the greatest man I have ever met.” She smiled back, “Me too.” We didn’t have much time on the train beyond the quick gesture, but only talked about Jesus until my stop. I honestly couldn’t tell if anyone else was talking, but it sure seemed quiet except for us. I wished her a Merry Christmas and walked off the train, never even exchanging names.

On the week of Jesus’ birthday, I was given the opportunity to proclaim that He is the greatest man I’ve ever met. And it’s true. Quite a simple moment, but I was heavily moved. Tears ran down my face as I stepped onto the escalator. My heart swelled with a new love of Christmas and Jesus; who was and is and is to come. The real meaning of Christmas had totally revolutionized my world like nothing else had up until then. All because a door opened, and she decided to walk through it.

I pray your last week of the year opens doors you are encouraged to walk through. Cherish the last days of 2024, and I hope to see you for the first post of 2025. You never know which doors you may walk through, or who may be holding them. And I’m excited that I don’t know either.

“How wonderful that we bumped into each other.”–Betty Goscowitz

[thrilled, chuckling] “A door opened and I went through it.”–Temple Grandin

“Yes you did. And I held it. –Betty Goscowitz

(Temple Grandin, 2010)