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Home > Singles > Single Minded

Celebrating the Yeses
by Camerin Courtney
June 20, 2007
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The invitation arrived like a life preserver.

I'd been struggling in a sea of stress and sadness. A months-long work project had led to late hours at the office. Another dating relationship had come, disappointed, and gone. Spring—with its rejuvenating sunshine and new buds—had been slow to arrive in our corner of Chicagoland. My blood pressure had risen and the antidepressants were back on my nightstand.

So when my friend Sandie e-mailed and said I should join her and her husband in visiting our mutual friend Pepie in Athens, Greece, the invitation felt like a much-needed lifeline.

Though the timing was good emotionally, it wasn't good logistically. A coworker announced she'd be leaving our staff around the time of the trip. And the money … Let's just say flying to Athens isn't cheap.

But everyone I told about the possibility replied the same way: "You have to go." Especially a colleague close to retirement. She quoted a speaker she'd heard long ago who recommended building a memory museum throughout life and filling it with rich reserves. "No matter what happens in your life—to your loved ones, to your health—no one can take away those memories," she spoke emphatically, no doubt visiting rooms filled with rich relics of life with her late husband.

So, armed with her good advice and some gracious monetary help from my folks, I went.

After a long flight and a quick driving tour of the amazing and historic attractions around Athens with my friend Sandie and her husband, Jean, I proceeded to get carsick and throw up all over the street outside Pepie's apartment. I joked it was a traditional American greeting. Or perhaps it was my body purging some stress and anxiety. Whatever the reason, the trip certainly improved from there.

We ate rich Greek food—souvlaki, tzatziki, freddos. Food with as much fat and flavor as consonants. And I didn't count a gram. Vacation calories never count anyway. And we ate like the locals—slowly, savoring the great cuisine and company.

We scrambled up the hill to the Acropolis, the famed historic ruins presiding over Athens like an ancient and revered judge. It was humbling and perspective-giving to stand amidst the rubble of once-imposing structures built for kings and gods now long gone.

When we visited Corinth a few days later, it was inspiring to stroll the stone walkways the Apostle Paul once trod. To see the stone walls of the shop some believe to be the one where he made and sold tents. To hear Jean, a former Bible teacher, remind us of Paul's teachings in 1 Corinthians 3:16: That we are God's temple; that his Spirit lives in us. That God doesn't need or demand some ornate temple; somehow we, his broken, redeemed children, are enough to carry around his presence in our fallen world.

We climbed Mars Hill one night, the place where Paul first preached the gospel in Athens, and watched a spectacular sunset bathe the city in amber light. We ate fish at a taverna right on the Mediterranean Sea. We ate dinner at midnight and breakfast nearly every morning on Pepie's balcony, surrounded by her two bunnies, four parakeets, and the occasional dove who dropped in to join the party.

I watched Pepie and Sandie, in the midst of hosting a conference on combating sex trafficking, change the world right from Pepie's dining room table as they made calls, translated materials, and created presentations. Their determination and faith in the face of such evil inspired me.

I enjoyed fun, anachronistic moments, like watching Pirates of the Caribbean (in English with Greek subtitles) at an open-air theater in the shadow of the Acropolis. (I literally could've stood up from my seat and seen the Parthenon farther up the hill.) And Sandie and I were delighted to find the Greek version of our summer reality-show guilty pleasure So You Think You Can Dance? on Pepie's TV.

But unquestionably the best part of the trip was the people and the rich cocoon of community they formed around me. These friends—and their friends—took me sightseeing, daydreamed about the future, invited me into their homes, shared leisurely meals at outdoor cafes, spoke of their faith journeys, taught me my four words of Greek, woke me with coffee, and hugged me goodnight. They gave me gifts tangible (the day after we met Sandie's friend Hope for coffee, she gave me a garnet bracelet she'd made just for me) and intangible.

When I look back at my time in Athens, I realize that Hope gave me a bracelet. Peace (in the form of stately doves) visited the balcony outside my bedroom door most mornings. Joy found me in sunsets, souvlaki, and laughter over my slaughtered Greek. And Love found me on the deck of a ferryboat.

Oh, not that kind of love. Before I took off for Greece several people suggested I'd meet some great Greek man while I was there. Like that's what I need: a boyfriend on the other side of the planet. (Not that I would've minded had that happened, thankyouverymuch.)

No, I found something even better than an Adonis to call my own. I received a much-needed reminder that the God of the universe—the one who pre-dates and post-dates all those gods whose temples we'd visited over the past days—hadn't forgotten about me.

I'd just spent the weekend on an island called Aegina with Pepie and her boyfriend, Stuart. We'd stayed with Pepie's friend Henry, an 80something widower who's half French, half Greek, and 100 percent fascinating and hospitable. On the ferry ride home Sunday night, I decided to give Pepie and Stuart some rare time alone by meandering the upper deck on my own. Standing there in the crisp, black night, the lights of Aegina behind, the lights of Athens before, the lights of God's amazing creation dazzling up above, I wordlessly asked God what I was supposed to learn on this trip. It had all materialized so quickly and serendipitously. And the timing, logistics aside, couldn't have been better for worn-out, beaten-down me.

In that fleeting thought to God about the great timing, I found my answer. For a while I'd been wondering if God's clock had stopped. Where was the husband I was supposed to have by now? And the kids? According to several newscasts I'd seen lately, at my age I apparently have about nine eggs left in my ovaries. The rest of my life was moving forward, but this huge aspect of my life seemed stuck in neutral. If not reverse.

So standing there with the Greek wind dancing about me, the seagulls gliding through the black night above, and hot tears running down my face, I realized God's watch wasn't stopped. He was still in control of my comings and goings, my hellos and goodbyes. His timing, in this instance, was perfect. And if he could orchestrate this amazing trip right when I needed some encouragement and perspective, then surely I could trust him with my relationships and future.

In Greek, the casual greeting for hello and goodbye sounds like "yeses." As a single woman, I value the gift of being able to say "yes" to this trip. To just pick up and go for two weeks. There are nos in life we have little choice over—in relationships, families, jobs, finances. But the yeses—these are what I'm determined to recognize and celebrate.

And to continue to speak whenever another great invitation or opportunity beckons—whether it's one I'd anticipated and desired, or one that takes me by sweet surprise.

We welcome your feedback and brainstorms at: SinglesNewsletter@ChristianityToday.com

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