in consequential love

Last week, in between tour groups coming up to the cabin, I was approached by four older hikers (two couples). We got to talking about wildlife here in the park. I told them about the amazing(ly brief) opportunity I had to glimpse one of our wolves here in the park several days earlier. From there, the discussion led to the role wolves play in the ecosystems they are a part of. These couples happened to visit Yellowstone the year wolves were introduced. (see video below)

Over the past weeks, I have been considering what is widely known as the butterfly effect - the idea that even the most minute changes and decisions have a distinct impact on the chain of events in our world. Played out to the Nth degree, each action has the potential for amazing consequence. This morning I happened to be reading a book where a character's backstory involves a crash with a deer that left a parent dead.

Out of nowhere, a memory struck me. I have no idea how old I was. Old enough to ride in the front passenger seat. Perhaps shortly after the divorce? I only vaguely recall that we were in my dad's gold Ford Explorer - I believe... I can't remember the circumstances of the visit, but we were on our way home from visiting my grandparents. We had exited the interstate and we on the notoriously winding, dark country roads back to our neighborhood. I was drifting in that state of pleasant semi-consciousness that settles in on late night, back road, car rides. I remember my sternum slamming into the safety-locked seatbelt and my eyes jumping open just in time to see a deer dash - over? in front of the hood? Like I said, semi-consciousness. I remember gasping for air when I realized no major accident had occurred. I would have to ask my dad. Honestly, I have little faith that his memory, filled with such vast amounts of intellect, have bothered to store away such a seemingly inconsequential run in.

But I did. I never knew why. 

Then this morning, I wondered about the butterfly effect. I wondered what would have happened if we had left my grandparents house a split second sooner. My Granny has been gone for 8 years. It is easily the most significant loss in my life. It was several days before my 17th birthday. And sometimes, I cry when I realize that I struggle to remember her voice or her laugh. 

But this morning, as I thought about that run-in with the deer, I wondered if I went back for an extra hug. It's honestly probably been several years since I could vividly recall a specific interaction with her down to the feel of the moment. Vague things, yes. An occasional detail here or there. This morning, though - I remembered exactly what it felt like to hug her goodbye, standing in the driveway. I almost always went back for more than one hug. Or leaned out the car window for one after buckling in. I felt her arms, soft, kind of saggy but strong as a whip underneath. I felt her smile pressed against the top of my head. 

And for the first time in years, I could remember how she chuckled when I ran back for one last hug.

Like I said, I cannot specifically recall if that's what happened that night. There are so many stop lights, stop signs, traffic patterns that could have accounted for that split second of difference. But I think so often, if we look, we will find that love actually saves us in these inconsequential ordinary moments.

When I heard her laugh this morning, it restored a little bit of my faith. We are all powerful to save those around us with our unremarkable acts of love. Sometimes it's not the way we show our love, but that we show our love that redeems us.

A note on my Granny: In my blogs, I talk a lot about joy. Joy was my grandmother's name. It is a concept, emotion, philosophy (whatever you want to call it) that has had a monumental impact on the person I strive to be. Perhaps I will elaborate more someday.