Lessons from the Calgary Zoo

One summer I was an intern at my home church.  One of my “duties” was to take a turn in the dunk tank during a particular summer event.  Which is how I found myself sitting on a little wooden platform, on an unfortunately cool summer day, suspended over a tank of cold water basically waiting to fall in.  Every time someone new stepped up to the throwing line I would tense in expectation.  Sometimes the throw went wide and I’d exhale, shoulders slumping forward in relief.  Sometimes the throw would hit the target but without much force and I’d turn to look at the bulls-eye out of half-closed eyes, holding my breath, waiting to see if the balance had been tipped.  And then there were times the throw was straight and true and forceful and the floor was yanked out from underneath me.  Even though I was braced for it, even though I knew sitting on that platform meant I’d be dunked, somehow, as my stomach flew up into the back of my throat, it still came as a surprise to me.  Every time. 

Life is a little like that I think.  We know trouble is going to come.  The Bible says we are guaranteed it.  Sometimes we tense in expectation of it and sometimes the floor just drops with no warning at all.  Either way we are always surprised, every time, that it has happened to us. 

Which is exactly how I felt when we lost Tristan at the Calgary Zoo over the Canada Day weekend.  In some ways I was tensed in expectation of trouble.  It’s a huge place, height of the tourist season and we were a large group.  Plus when you’re with young kids in a crowded place I think as parents you’re always a little bit tense, you always have an eye out for the wanderer.   On the other hand we were six adults to eight kids and the rest of the kids were all older than mine so I didn’t expect anything to really happen. 

A short way into the Zoo, nearish one of the entrances, are the elephants.  We got to them just as a woman began an informational session.  We stopped to listen for a bit but it was actually quite boring so the adults turned into a circle to discuss where to go next while the kids kept watching the elephants from the fence.  We broke to gather everyone up and when I did a quick head count I realized Tristan wasn’t standing with the rest of the kids.  A little alarmed, but not really panicking, the adults dispersed with strict instructions to the rest of the kids not to move.  After a quick walkabout didn’t turn Tristan up I scanned the crowd sitting in the bleachers watching the elephant demo.  I was getting shakier but still not fully panicking.  I felt more like I was holding my breath, eyes half-closed, watching the bulls-eye, waiting to see if there was anything to truly panic about. 

When I couldn’t see him in the bleachers my panic climbed to reach my tear ducts.  The other adults in our group were still combing the walkways near us without result so I interrupted the elephant lady and asked her to call Tristan’s name over her speaker system in case I just wasn’t seeing him in the see of people in the bleachers.  She called.  And the floor dropped out beneath me.  No Tristan.  The elephant lady stopped her demo and called security while I tried to keep breathing in and out.  The time spent waiting for security to come felt interminable.  Every minute that passed made Tristan feel farther and farther away.  I was choking on my fear, drowning in it.  Hugh decided to run back to the entrance in case someone had taken Tristan and was trying to leave the Zoo with him.  I couldn’t even process that thought.  Couldn’t even begin to imagine what might be involved in trying to find him if he wasn’t even in the Zoo any longer.  I was just describing Tristan’s striped shorts and blue t-shirt to security when I saw them come towards me slumped in Hugh’s arms.  Hugh had found him crying and terrified wandering around the entrance looking for us.  Somehow, when Tristan looked up from the elephant demo he didn't see us and had gone looking.

I can’t begin to describe the look on Hugh’s face as he carried our lost boy back to us.  There are no words for how I felt looking at the back of Tristan’s tousled head, seeing the curve of his cheek as he pressed his face against his dad’s chest.  As I watched Hugh carry Tristan towards me I lost all feeling in my limbs and could only stand and wait for them to reach me.  When they did I fell against Tristan’s back, wrapped my arms around him and Hugh and started sobbing - great big heaving convulsive gasps of relief that left no room to be embarrassed about making such a display in public.  I felt Ava collapse against my legs and I reached a hand down to smooth her hair as she sobbed out her own relief that her brother had come back to us. 

Losing Tristan reminded me again that life is fragile, uncertain, tenuous. 
Losing Tristan reminded me of an author I’ve read who writes a little blurb about each member of her family in the dedication then adds “and to God who has, for now, blessed me with these.”
Losing Tristan reminded me that life is fragile, uncertain, precious. 
Trouble is going to come but I choose not to live constantly holding my breath bracing for the ball that will hit the bulls-eye with enough force to dump me into the freezing water.  I choose arms wide open, twirling in the sun, wiping up the third spill of milk at dinner without yelling, kind of living.  I choose, consciously, to enjoy all the moments, ordinary or extra, with these precious gifts God has, for now, blessed me with.