Ohana

A slick bead of sweat ran down the crease in my forehead, teetering on the edge of my brow, then careened down into the corner of my right eye. My vision blurred and it stung. I blinked and rubbed my eyelid with a finger. I paused and looked ahead of me. All I could see was tiny pink Minnie Mouse tennis shoes and a flowy unicorn dress, scrambling over one of the rust-colored boulders that blocked our path upward. “Come on Daaaad,” Hazel bellowed. I grinned, put my head down and kept climbing. We were approximately half a mile up the side of a mountain in Hawaii, following a trail described on the webpage I found as “somewhat technical”. As I searched for the square U.S. Army “pill box” along the jagged summit line that seemed to be miles above us, I wondered what exactly a “technical” trail would consist of on the island of Oahu. We had already traversed scree fields, sections of trail that sidled along the mountainside with vertical walls to our left and sheer drop-offs to our right, and were now on the upper exposed slopes of the mountain where the sun baked down on us from what only seemed a few feet above our heads. And yet, not a single person on the Miller Expedition was complaining. In fact, to the contrary – with each step higher, my crew seemed to get happier.

I have taken my time in posting about our recent trip to Hawaii for very specific reasons. I am tasked with capturing an experience that is incapable of being described. My words, my descriptions, can in no way do justice to the experiences that my family was fortunate to witness in such a short amount of time. My family saw absolute magic, the likes of which we may never see again. We saw a land that was both groomed and perfect, yet still raging, wild, free and stunningly beautiful at the same time. We met people from all over the world, my kids heard no less than 15 languages in seven days. We saw the Pacific Ocean, looked into a volcano from 15,000 feet, soared close to the edge of space, and crossed five time zones. We did all of this as a complete family unit, all my beautiful, intelligent, healthy children together, eyes wide, mouths open, and hearts free. There were times in the past two years that I was not sure we would ever be that way again.

Hazel’s Make-a-Wish dream was simple: go to the beach and see Minnie Mouse – in that order and with that same level of importance. She loves Minnie, but she loves the beach and the ocean more. The ocean calls to her, and I completely understand because it calls to my whole family. The ocean speaks softly to us as it laps gently at the sandy shore and it screams a siren call as frenzied waves crash against the rocks guarding the harbor. The early morning gulls and calm dark green surface soothes us in the morning and the deep, fiery reds and orange of sunsets on the water are painted with God’s own hand. We feel the strength of the undercurrent that pulls at our legs just below the surface of the water, understand the complexity of God’s design as we swim atop reefs full of life, and are calmed by the salty breezes that whisper in our ears and stir the palm branches.

The Miller Clan has been fortunate enough on many occasions to stand on the Eastern shores of the mainland and watch the sun rise from the depths of the Atlantic Ocean. Now we have also stood on the Western shores of Oahu and watched as that great ball of fire sunk deep into the gray and white of the broiling Pacific sea. The significance of that that parabolic journey with origin and destination entire worlds apart has not been lost on us.

Hawaii was nothing short of a spiritual experience for us. Surrounded constantly by a culture that treats the land as sacred and puts such importance on family that a word had to be created to describe it: Ohana. Popularized by the movie “Lilo & Stitch” and without a direct westernized translation, the word stems from ʻohā which is the root of the taro plant, the most important plant in Hawaiian culture. The Taro plan has sustained oceanic island cultures since the beginning of time. In times of good and bad, the Taro has been a food staple that literally perpetuated the existence of human life. Ohana loosely means the unbreakable, unshakeable bond of family, but with one truly epic twist – Hawaiians extend the meaning of family to basically include everyone: immediate family, cousins, friends, race, neighbors, strangers, people we may never meet. Oceanic culture sees us as all being interconnected and wholly dependent on one another for survival. Banded together, our differences no longer become fissures, but instead are the weld lines that draw us together. Ohana means cooperation and love. It is a warm embrace, a bright smile, a knowing head nod, or small acts of kindness, all of which add up to an extraordinary feeling of belonging. In the famous words of Lilo, “Ohana means no one gets left behind.”

No other place on earth would have been more appropriate for my family to have visited following our battle with cancer than Hawaii, and no higher a pinnacle could have been claimed than Pu’u o Hulu – which was the name of the trail we were on. We rounded the last major switchback in the skinny dirt trail and as Hazel continued to plod continually upward, I spied our destination perched high atop the summit cairn. A small concrete building approximately eight feet on each side and seven feet tall with a flat roof exploded out of the ridgeline. Long, open windows ran along three sides of the structure. These small buildings are known as “Pill Boxes” and there are hundreds spread across Hawaii. They used to house WWII soldiers on the lookout for approaching ships in the sprawling sea surrounding the islands. Today, visitors count it as a badge of honor to complete a “pill box hike”, following one of the many barely maintained trails that lead to these small encampments so they can snap a picture or add to a geocache.

The pill box we were headed to that day had a much different meaning than most you will find on the island. The pink pill box on Pu’u o Hulu is fluorescent pink and adorned with a large three foot by four-foot ribbon painted on the side facing the ocean. Once you enter the squat metal door situated on the backside of the pill box, you are surrounded by the names of warriors. All four walls of the pill box are covered in names and dates – memorials to cancer warriors of yesterday and today, those who have won their battles, and those who have lost and continued into the arms of God. This is hallowed ground. A standing monument to the brave men, women, and children who have looked into the eyes of the devil himself – some from a hospital bed thousands of miles away and some from that very summit.

Tears streamed freely down my cheeks as we entered the cool confines of the pill box and looked around. Hazel and her siblings walked along each wall, small fingers trailing along the cold concrete, reading names and dates. We were all quiet for a moment…and then we looked out onto the ocean. Never have I witnessed such an incredible expanse of deep blue green water in my life. As far as I could see it looked like sparkling diamonds spread across a topaz blanket. It was breathtakingly beautiful – God’s fingerprint stamped on the world – and it stirred my soul. The names surrounding us in that pill box were our family now. They had been through the same ugliness we had, and their lives were just as destroyed as ours. Ohana, no one is left behind.  

We stood together on that summit, a family beaten and broken, but made whole because we were together. Our cancer journey has stolen much from us, but it has given us so much as well. This experience was lifechanging, home wrecking, and faith destroying – and now we are learning how to walk together again. We will heal, life will regain normalcy, but we will never forget from which we came or where we are headed.

“My child never forget the things I have taught you. Store my commands in your heart…Trust in the Lord with all your heart; do not depend on your own understanding. Seek his will in all you do, and he will show you which path to take.” – Proverbs 3:1, 5-6