We are sitting on a hospital bed. I am waiting for my discharge letter for the GP and my wife and I are taking stock of what just happened.
I had been in the intensive care unit for a couple of days. A chest infection had gone bad, and my asthma reaction had left me very weak.
As we were preparing to leave the ward and go out into the cold evening, the familiar dread of leaving such a safe space came over me. My thoughts mapped the next steps in my recovery; trying not fear, trying not to analyse any residual symptoms and ultimately a slow return to work.
This time, however, my wife knew that we needed to switch things. We were not well-off at the time but we had a credit card. We needed a break. A holiday! Doing things we couldn't afford was far from the norm.
I yielded as I knew she was right. We needed a warmer climate. It would be good for my convelescence but it would also break a pattern. We would remain unplugged for a while longer rather than rush to rejoin the pace of the world. And so we booked a few days in Feurteventura. A small villa in the north of the island.
When we arrived I was unsure of my reserves and I was still taking steroids and antibiotics. Steroids can give you a false sense of wellbeing and it was easy to be found out when the medication stopped. And so for a few days I lay by the pool.
I had taken a book away with me. One that my son's piano tutor had lent me. I'd had it a while, too distracted to find the time to read it. Now, I had ample time. The book was 'Wild at Heart' by John Eldredge.
Some important background - for reasons I don't need to go into, my dad had always 'wrapped me in cotton wool' both as a boy and as a young man. It manifested in so many different ways - from not letting me play beyond the end of the cul-de-sac until I was 12 years of age, to him having to drive me to school rather than take the school bus with my friends. The way he drove would leave anyone asking if this was the safer option!
I didn't know it at the time but it was slowly emasculating me. I soon became socially awkward, and extremely risk averse. And yet my dad's own boyhood tales were full of daring do, crazy pranks and risk. I would learn later in life that his wounds had fashioned him to be this way toward me - overprotective
Through Holy Spirit, Wild at Heart helped me to uncover so many hidden things, especially the lack of masculine validation and identity. It also offered hope of a restoration. Little did I know, that a rescue was already in progress right here on the Island.
I was not far into the book before it stirred something in me, a deep and surpressed longing. Despite my current vulnerability, I turned each page and began to thirst for adventure. I was experiencing a paradox - a body physically unready for adventure, the wanting 'safe' again and yet a sudden awakening in my heart to risk.
Now asthma had been a heavy burden to me. It seemed to always have the final say in sport and in any kind of physical activity growing up. I could run fast in short bursts, but at a cost. I found myself often on the touchline gasping. My plight symbolised by a small blue inhaler - which everytime I put it in my pocket, seemed to shout "take it steady now".
But here, on this island far from home, I was being challenged by an author I had never met and by a God who was saying "there is more son, so much more, and I will take you there".
The villa where we were staying was set at the head of a mountainous valley. They held rich seams of marble and beyond the mountains lay dormant volcanoes. Towards the sea - were old lava fields, bleak and craggy. And beyond those lava fields lay aqua marine lagoons and then the ocean.
It seemed to me that I had been setup. A wild landscape and an awakening deep desire to go beyond my comfort zone.
As I re-read the first few chapters of my book, something snapped. I couldn't let that same 'safety first' mentality transfer to my children through my example. I almost choked on the massive "No!" that rose up from within me.
Now what followed may be regarded as a knee jerk reaction, maybe even ill-conceived.
My eldest boy was twelve and had recently been on a young drivers day which gave him an early experience of getting behind the wheel of a car. That's what I would do! I would take him and he could drive the holiday rental on some private road. I could coach him.
Now to the more adventurous men out there, this may seem like small beer. But to me, this was a seminal
moment. This was to my timid soul, all out risk, and btw, the potential of a big stink with the car rental company if things went wrong.
I disregarded the 'what ifs'. We drove out to the coast. I hadn't told him what we were going to do and I wouldn't compromise him either. He would have a choice. In the middle of this ad-hoc safari I would invite him into another adventure. It would require something of both of us.
I pulled over along the sandy track which hugged the coast. "Do you fancy driving the car a bit?" I asked.
His face lit up, but with just a hint of "are you sure dad?". I took a deep breath - pushing aside the temptation to shrink back into that nest of fluffy cotton wool. "Yes I'm sure".
And so my boy drove us up the track, sometimes with steep drops to the left and to the right. Amidst crags of hardened magma and numerous potholes. The sky was blue and the strong Atlantic wind buffeted the car.
I was shaking and still anxious and I am sure he was too, but we were both fully alive and present. He is now a grown man and loves adventure, The cycle has been broken. The captive has been set free.
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