International travel today, while still exciting and scattered with various hazards, is not what it was in the mid 80's. During the 80's both Mexico and Central America were dealing with civil unrest and guerrilla warfare was a daily reality. The mountains were littered with tiny guerrilla camps whose entrances were easily mistaken for the poorly signed and maintained roadways. Even major roadways were typically two lane pot holed nightmares with little or no signage. On top of those hazards many maps during those days were missing roads between smaller towns making it far too easy to lose your way.
In the early years of our travels my father spoke no Spanish and my mother precious little, which meant making our way through the country was as much a mastery of Spanish Sign Language as it was the ability to read maps and road signs. I have no doubt it is a miracle we did not drive off the edge of some unmarked cliff somewhere. What did happen, many times over, is we often became lost and had to back track to the nearest village where my mother would use her blend of Spanish and simple Sign Language to glean some idea of where we went wrong and where to go next. Typically the answer was, "Aya" (over there) accompanied by the amazingly unhelpful lip purse.
Those who have ever seen me give the lip purse will know automatically what I am talking about, but for those of you who are unfamiliar here is a visual example for you. If you would please purse your lips into almost a pucker, now point those puckered lips in any given direction...that's it. That is the Latin American lip purse, and it is given as the answer to any question involving directions. "Where is the central park?", you ask a gentleman waiting for a bus, "Aya", he replies with pursed lips pointing somewhere behind you. Needless to say, my family became very skilled at reading lip directions.
I don't know if it was our first or second trip to Honduras, I was somewhere between 4-6yrs old, but I do remember we were in the Chiapas region of southern Mexico. The area borders Guatemala and is very mountainous. I know that during that particular time period the Zapatistas, a guerrilla group creating civil unrest in the area, were very active and had kidnapped a few missionary couples who had been held for ransom. There was not any open fighting between the Zapatistas and the local or national government at the time, however several small scrimmages had been known to have occurred. We were heading through the Chiapas region toward Guatemala and, as usual, we became lost. I don't know how late it was at night, but it was well past sundown. I believe my parents were attempting to get to the nearest large town to stay the night when we became turned around. My brothers and I were all bedded down in the van and I was lying on the bench seat directly behind my parents. I remember I was staring out at the trees and stars in the sky as we bumped along the back roads.
We came to a small village where my parents got directions back to the 'main road'. Several minutes after heading back out I heard my parents discussing our location. My father did not think the man had given us the right directions and they were deciding whether to keep going or turn around again. As they debated the pros and cons I began to fade into sleep and did not realize we had come to a check point. Check points were very common and frequent in every Latin American country during that time period, however we were in the middle of nowhere in the mountains. The military had no reason to put a check point on a tiny road that did not even connect to a large town.
In my half sleep I felt the car had stopped moving and I struggled through my tired stupor to open my eyes. When I did I found I was looking up at the stern face of a man in full military garb. He was wearing a ballistic helmet and had a rifle strapped to his shoulder. His eyes were hard and calculating as he met my gaze. I looked up at him and stared straight into those large brown eyes. I remember the rifle was startling and scary but I wanted somehow to make him know I was glad to see him. I gave him my biggest smile and waved hello, all the while staring straight into his eyes. His lips faintly curled into a smile of his own as his eyes became softer and his hand waved hello in response. Slowly he turned toward my father's window and began speaking. He gave my parents perfect directions back to the main road where we were able to move on to our final destination for the night.
It was not until years later that I learned how terrified my parents had been that night. How we were not at a sanctioned military check point, but at the check point for a guerrilla camp. It was not until I became an adult that I fully comprehended how much potential danger we were in and how our lives were literally in the hands of that one man. I tease my parents sometimes and tell them that I single-handedly saved our lives by smiling and waving at that very moment and in a sense I do believe that is true, however as I had no knowledge of it I can't really take any glory for it. What amazes me about that night is how God can use the perfect beauty and innocence of a child to soften the hearts of men. How one simple gesture of love and friendliness can change the course of time and events.
Mostly though, it is a testimony to me that no matter where we are or what circumstances we may be in, the Lord knows and is in full control. He is faithful to keep His promises. Promises to protect and watch over His children wherever they may be.
Monday, November 12, 2012
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
24 Hours in the Canyon
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." -Psalm 23:4
Saturday October 20th, 2012 4am
I am standing at the Bright Angel trail head on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. I am freezing. All night I had tossed and turned chilled to the bone and unable to warm my feet. I had not gotten enough sleep, but here I stood with my group of new friends. (one old friend who had just introduced me to his extended family yesterday) They are all ultra runners and have done this trek many times. They will run from the south rim to the north rim and back again in a matter of 12-16 hours. I have hiked the canyon from rim to rim before, but I am not a runner I am a backpacker. I have completed the 23. something miles in three days time. Never have I attempted hiking the entire thing back and forth (over 46miles) in one shot. I am a bundle of frozen nerves and excitement as we snap a group photo and head down the side of the canyon. I know, being the only hiker in the group, I will take much longer to make the journey and therefore for the majority of my day I will be hiking alone. Strangely I am looking forward to the solitude. I think to myself, "Well Lord, it's just you me and this beautiful creation of yours all day long." The unending expanse of stars seem to twinkle to me in response as I carefully make my way down the switchbacks in the darkness. I can see the headlamps of my group winding quickly down the trail, but I feel no rush as I have determined to make this as enjoyable a journey as possible. "This is not about speed.", I think to myself, "This is just about making it across and back alive and sharing the time with God. No distractions.".
I couldn't help but glance out at the canyon now and again. The dark outline of the canyon walls set against a starry backdrop was too beautiful to ignore. As I turned on my ipod and settled into the steady measure of walking I heard what sounded like the low growl of a cat. Terrified I yanked out my ear buds and spun around searching everywhere with my light and listening in the stillness for any indication of what made the sound. After a few moments of perfect silence I laughed at myself, "Laura calm down, there are no mountain lions or large cats in the canyon. You're too jumpy." I put my ear buds back in and continued down the trail. A few moments later the canyon behind me was lit up with a brilliant light. I thought someone on the trail below was shining a spotlight up at me and spun to see where it had come from. As I looked out I saw a line of glowing embers cut across the sky. The tail of some comet or giant meteor glowed for almost a full minute. I have never seen something so amazing. As if a portion of the veil of heaven was torn and left a burning scar on the face of the sky. I thought to myself, "This is going to be an awesome day!"
5am
I had nearly caught up to two of the slower runners in my group (a mother and daughter pair). They had taken a quick break which allowed for me to catch up. I was one switchback away from them when I saw a headlamp quickly fly down the side of the canyon. Next I heard the sounds of something falling against the rocks and underbrush. "Dear God", I prayed as I quickly sped my way to them,"Please keep her safe, don't let any harm come to her.". I heard the girls mother yell her daughter's name with the sound of choked panic ready to burst out. "I'm okay mom.", was the quiet reply. The next couple minutes the three of us created a human chain. Me anchored against a rock holding her mother's hand as she grabbed her daughter below and hoisted her back onto the trail. She was shaken, but mostly unharmed. Her head had hit against the tree which had stopped her descent further into the canyon and one of her legs was bruised up. After taking a moment to catch our breath we started out again and within ten minutes they were flying down the trail several switchbacks ahead of me again.
5:30am
I began to see signs of what I had been expectantly waiting for, sunrise. The sky turned a dark raspberry color first, then the color reflected off the canyon walls making them glow a deep fiery red. The red glow turned to golden and slowly the shadows began lifting up off of every nook and cranny. Slowly the crickets began to sing with the birds joining in not long after. They were singing a song of the morning and alerting the earth to the dawning of a new day. I cannot describe how amazing and invigorating it was to be there, essentially alone in the world and watching it wake up with the sun. I love every sunrise, the hope that comes with a new day is always precious to me. This one was perfectly breathtaking. I walked into the first major resting place on the trail just as the sunrise reached its peak of glory. As I refilled my water and ate my first snack I reveled in the opportunity to be right where I was experiencing this new day. I thought to myself, "This moment in my life will never come again.", I just wanted to steep it like a tea bag staining the very walls of my memory.
7am
The sun was fully up and climbing as high as my hopes for the day. My goal had been to make the trip across and back in about 18hrs and from the looks of things it was possible for me to do so. As I headed into my second set of switchbacks that lead to the canyon floor I thought of the several religions who participate in great pilgrimages to draw closer to their god by taking a physically taxing journey toward a holy destination. I couldn't help but draw parallels to my own walk. No, I was not going toward any sacred destination, but would I not be pushing the limits of my physical ability and needing to draw strength from the Lord to complete this hike? It's not as though I had not prepared for this trip. I had been running and hiking for months now to build myself to a physical point where it was even a possibility to consider, but I was not foolish enough to think that so many miles across such rough terrain would be an easy feat for me. I would not lie to myself and say I knew the mental and physical challenges I would be facing. I had no clue. Perhaps that was part of the draw of taking the trip in the first place. To begin and finish a pilgrimage into my very heart and test who I was and just exactly where I placed my trust.
8:45am
Phantom Ranch is a beautiful location alongside the Colorado River. It has a campsite and several cabins and is the only location in the entire canyon that can boast a small restaurant and store. If you are craving any amenities of the 'real world' they can only be found at Phantom Ranch. As I come into the first part of the ranch a small deer is feeding at the side of the trail. I pull out my camera afraid it will run away, but it just watches as I approach. I come within arms length of the creature and it just looks up at me with it's dark eyes as if asking me to pet it. I am VERY tempted to reach my hand out to it, so awed at this awesome opportunity, then I see the mites around it's eyes and am reminded that wild deer are infested with all kinds of fleas and pestilence....it's probably better I just snap a photo and move on. The store is of no interest to me, but I pause to use the restroom, refill my water and eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before moving on. The rule for every backpacker is when you are stopped at a location to refuel, you do so, whether you think you need it or not. Because you can never be sure of any water or restroom available further along the trail. I am excited that I am making such great time. Maybe I will even be able to finish in less than 18hrs.
10am
I have quickly passed the two miles from Phantom Ranch through a beautiful canyon where the trail takes you along side a subsidiary of the Colorado River. It is cool and inviting with the sounds of the rushing water echoing off the sides of the canyon walls. My mood is good and I am making better time than I expected. Then I come out of the small canyon and into the open floor of the Grand Canyon. The sun is now high above me and every inch of shade is gone. The trail becomes short bursts of uphill and down hill as I weave my way toward my next break before ascending the North Rim. The heat is quickly sapping my energy and in the 6.6 miles between Phantom Ranch and Cottonwood Campground I have drunk all of my three liters of water. The last 3 miles into Cottonwood seem to take forever and as I get to the water station I realize just how zapped I am for energy and that I am now behind schedule. I eat a quick lunch and drink down a liter of water and electrolytes before moving on.
11:45
I meet one of my group who is returning from the North Rim. He tells me I am not far from the Caretaker's House (a cool and shady water station) and I am doing good. I tell him I have calculated my time and think I will forge ahead, but tell everyone not to wait up for me because I probably won't be out of the canyon until 12 or 1am at the speed I am currently hiking. He nods and continues on his way. In the next few minutes I reach the Caretaker's House. It is a beautiful spot nestled on the side of the canyon and I take a moment to soak in the beauty as I refill my water once again. The design of the restrooms infuriate me. I am forced to walk down from the trail to a platform then back up a flight of stairs to the restrooms. "Seriously, I have to go down to go back up, then back down and up to the trail again?!" I am sure whoever created this design was laughing the whole time. Surely they would know what an imposition this is to people who are conserving every bit of energy for the trail!? My irritation is short lived though. Who can be irritated long when surrounded by such beauty? Besides, I'm still making good time and I do not feel over exhausted at all. I head back onto the trail, which from this point becomes a very steep winding ascent to the rim of the canyon.
12:45
It has been a looong time since I hiked the North Kibab Trail, but I remember more trees and shade, where is the shade already? The afternoon sun is fierce and combined with the steep ascent, narrow trail and slippery gravel it's exhausting. I feel like I should at least be half way up the side of this thing by now. I meet another member of our group who tells me it's another 5 miles to the top. I check my time and think, "Well that's not too bad, I should be able to make that in two to two and a half hours." I give him the same information I gave the previous group member. I am continuing up, but don't expect a quick return. As I continue up the trail I notice the differences between this rim and the south rim. Where the trail on the south side is mostly wide and compacted dirt with rocks and wooden steps holding a steady grade, this side is half as wide, more steep and in several locations carved directly out of the canyon wall. Because of the design it is more slippery and for the most part does not have the switchbacks the South side has. With switchbacks even if you stumble and fall you will most likely be stopped at the next trail making your fall only about 50ft or so. Without switchbacks a fall could mean several hundred to thousand feet before you are stopped. "Wow, I would not want to have to come down this thing in the dark.", I thought, "I sure am glad we started on the South side and not the North side.".
2:45
I have now been hiking for ten hours and forty-five minutes. My muscles feel good but I know I am getting tired. While I eat my package of tuna and snacks I speak to a couple who have crossed rim to rim. For a few minutes we discuss the trail and our various routes and I explain to them my dilemma. We are currently 1.7 miles from the North Rim trail head. I know I can force myself to push through, but I also know it is almost 3pm and as soon as the sun begins to set it will set quickly. No sun on the North Rim means temperatures dip very low and very fast at this time of year, plus it means the possibility of going down this more precarious trail alone and in the dark. At my current speed it would take at least an hour to complete the trail times two for the return it means giving up what may possibly be the last two hours of daylight. Everything in me wants to continue hiking and be able to say that I completed the entire thing...but wisdom is whispering in my ear telling me it's time to turn back. The couple look as sad for me as I feel. The wife says, "No you can't turn back.", but I see in her husband's eyes that he knows I should and is concerned for me. "We have some extra food, will you take it?". I had planned enough food for 18hrs, but the reality hits me that I will be out for much longer than that. "Yes, I'll take whatever you don't need." He gives me a package of salted crackers and several fruit snacks. "These are great for quick energy", he says as he hands them to me, "Be safe." "Oh I will be fine.", I reply, but for the first time all day I feel the distance across the canyon and recognize the huge task that lies before me. For the first time all day I feel alone. What if something happens to me, who will know? The group won't know something is wrong until morning and there is no way to reach any of them. What will I do if something goes wrong? "Laura, you are not alone. You are never alone. You are walking this canyon with it's creator remember?" That single thought was enough to comfort me. "Lord", I asked as I began my descent, "Please bless me to stay strong mentally and physically. Please help me to have light for as long as possible that I may get to the bottom without having to navigate in the dark."
5:45
I cannot believe the light is still with me! Usually it's pitch dark in the canyon by the time the sun crosses the edge of the rim, but that happened a half hour ago and there is still light enough to see without using my headlamp. I am also amazed at how much ground I am covering, I am almost back to the small canyon with the river running through which means I only have about two miles till Phantom Ranch again. Then it's only about ten miles to the top. Maybe I will be able to do this thing in 20hrs. My body does not feel overly exhausted and with the setting of the sun I am not zapped of strength from the heat. I thank the Lord for the extended light and keep plugging along.
7:45
I'm back at Phantom Ranch. As I take a break to refuel I notice just how much my feet are pulsing. I know there are blisters on each heel, I can feel them growing. I consider peeling off my socks to see but realize if I know what they look like I will not be able to get my mind off the pain. At my best time I still have six hours of walking ahead of me and I cannot focus on pain if I'm going to make myself keep going. I look longingly at the cabins and campsites. All I want to do is crawl into a bed and sleep for a year. But sleep is not an option right now, only movement. As I force myself to eat I chat with a middle aged woman who is waiting for her husband to use the telephone. "You look like a day hiker.", she says. I explain what I am doing and where I am going. "Oh honey", she says with deepest sympathy in her voice, "I am so sorry. I think you are so very brave to do this by yourself. I do not have that in me. But, oh I hope you are okay." I reassure her that, while I am tired my body feels strong and since I have no choice at this point I will push myself to do it. I part with her well wishes on my ears and walk out of the campground yelling at myself for not turning back sooner in the day. The ten miles ahead of me may as well have been ten thousand. My mind was quickly feeling the exhaustion of nearly 16hrs hiking with only 10 minute breaks. I knew there was no chance of solid sleep until I crested the top of the South Rim, but I also knew my body was nearing it's point of shutting down. "Please Lord, can you please help me stay alert. Keep rattlesnakes and scorpions and animals that would hurt me away and help me to keep moving." A cool breeze kicked up and kissed my cheeks waking me from my semi stupor. "Just keep walking.", I thought, "Just keep walking."
9:45
I am moving slower from the mental toll of the day, but I am doing okay. My body is holding up and I am going to push through to the top. All at once I feel something pull/pop in my right calf. I know my calf muscle has (at minimum) pulled very badly. The pain is so instant and great I am afraid the muscle is partially torn. Though no one is near to hear me I cry out in pain as I slowly put weight down on it. It is holding the weight of my body, but the pain is so intense I can hardly stand it. I know I am near the first set of switchbacks and it is straight up from that point on for about 6 miles. "Dear God", I cry "Please I need your help. I don't know what just happened, but it's bad and if it gets worse I can't go on. Please help it Lord. Please help it somehow to heal enough to get me out. I don't care if it hurts, but please make the pain bearable and help it to be strong enough to get me out of the canyon.". "Just keep moving.", I thought, "Just keep moving.". So move I did. The first few minutes were very painful, but as I went on the pain calmed to a dull roar that I could ignore. "Thank you God.", I whispered, "Thank you."
10:45
I had begun the most gradual portion of the ascent. There was a cliff on my left and a small creek (about 4-5ft wide) on my right. The pain in my leg had become my new normal and I was back almost to my pre-injury pace.
I heard a rustling in the bushes across the creek and thought I might catch a glimpse of some elk or deer. I paused to look across the water and felt frozen cold with terror when I saw two huge glowing eyes meet mine. Now, I am no wildlife buff, in fact I have only read a few Ranger Rick magazines in my lifetime, but I have had the pleasure of spotlighting for elk and deer at night and am pretty familiar with what their eyes look like when lit up at night. These were no elk or deer eyes. I instantly knew these were the eyes of some type of predator. Afraid to know, but realizing I should be aware of what I might be up against I slowly scanned the area. What I saw chilled me to the bone. The perfectly formed six foot long body of a huge black cat. (when I looked it up online I am pretty sure it was a Panther, which are apparently quite common in the Grand Canyon) I couldn't tell if it had treed an animal or was in the process of sharpening it's claws, but it was pushing down on a medium sized tree bending it to the ground. "What do I do? Oh Lord what can I do? That thing is at best six feet away from me...they stalk their prey. I have no way to protect myself. Oh Please Lord help it not to pay attention to me, because I cannot fend that thing off." It probably was only a matter of seconds, but it felt like I was frozen in that spot for an hour debating my options. "Just keep walking.", I thought, "Just turn around and walk normally away.". I tell you what, that is easier said than done. But with the injury to my calf and the uphill grade I knew that was the only option I had before me. Pray and keep walking. I did pick up a sizable rock and carry it for awhile. I don't know what I thought I was going to do with a rock against such an amazingly powerful creature, but it made me feel better anyway. For several miles I turned terrified at every sound, sure it was just behind me waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.
11:45
I am at the Hanging Gardens. The last big resting area before the top of the canyon. I have five miles left and my brain is so spent I can hardly stand it. I refill my water, use the restroom where I throw on my warmer clothes. (The wind has picked up and the temperatures at the top of the rim are hovering around 30 degrees. The closer I get the colder it will become.) The last twenty minutes I have been fighting mental fatigue and begun to stumble and loose my balance on the trail. As I eat a snack and take my last ibuprofen I debate the pros and cons of a nap. If I take a small nap it may help me be alert enough to continue on, but if I rest too long my muscles will seize up and I will be unable to climb out at all. I realize I cannot begin the final switchbacks with poor balance, that is a perfect recipe for falling off the side of the canyon. So I say a prayer that just 15 minutes will help me be alert enough mentally to safely continue, but not be so much time that my muscles seize up on me. I prop my feet up on my Camelback and set my alarm. Time goes by too quickly, but I feel much more alert and though still tired able to continue on.
1am
I am now on a steady ascent through switchbacks. My nap has completely worn off and I am fighting through muscle fatigue and a cloud of mental exhaustion. I force myself to go two switchbacks before stopping. As I go I chant to myself, "Just-keep-walk-ing-move-your-feet-and-keep-on-breath-ing-you-can-do-this." When I allow myself to stop, I slowly tell myself to calm my breathing, bring down my heartbeat and think. When I calm myself down I pray God bless me with clarity of thought and endurance to keep going. In the moments when I am closest to fading a cold breeze blows through waking me or I hear a sound that startles me and brings me to complete alertness. Each time I know it is a blessing and quietly thank Him.
2am
I can tell I am within 3miles or so of the rim because the Pinon pine trees are now dotting the landscape and the breeze has turned quite cold. It's cold enough now that when I stop for any amount of time my sweat quickly dries and I begin to shiver. I have to keep moving just to stay warm. About a mile back I foolishly stepped in a mud puddle and followed it up by tripping over a rock. As a consequence there was a huge pain on one of my toes of my left foot. It felt like the toenail had ripped right off the toe and the water and dirt were rubbing into the wound. "Ignore it", I thought "There is nothing you can do about it right now anyway. Just ignore the pain and keep moving." I fight myself around one more switchback and realize I have become cloudy enough that I am starting to lose balance again. At the next rocky outcropping I scan for any snakes, scorpions or spiders and sit down. It is time for another nap. I set my alarm and turn off my headlamp. The stars quickly take the place of my lamp and light up a brilliant night sky. I see the big dipper constellation clearer than I have ever seen it, almost like it's highlighted shinning even brighter than the other stars just so I can pick it out. I think of the first time my mother taught me about the constellations and even in my exhausted stupor I am amazed a the wonder and beauty of the world. I sleep for only eight minutes, I am too exposed and the cold wind wakes me. It is enough to keep me going.
2:30am
I come to a secluded rock outcropping that is protected by the wind and on less of an incline than the last spot. I scan for any 'natives' hiding in the nooks and cranny's of the rocks and settle myself in. I know I am within a couple miles of the top, but I am too exhausted to push through without a good solid 15 minute rest. I set my alarm and quickly fall into a profoundly deep sleep. When my alarm wakes me I feel refreshed and ready to continue on.
4am
I come to a rock formation I recognize, I know I am within a mile of the trail head and I am elated. As I come around a corner I see the lights of the hotel at the South Rim and my spirits are lifted nearly to the crest of the canyon itself. "You've got this Gill. You're almost there.", I whisper to myself with a smile. While I look longingly at the lights I see two headlamps heading down the trail. Runners starting out, they have marked the top of the trail for me and I now know exactly where it is. The excitement does not carry itself into my drained muscles as they are moving like molasses in winter, but I do not force them faster. They have borne enough for me and I know the end is near. I will bear with their slow movement up as long as they continue to move. Moments later the runners pass me with a quick, "good morning" then one turns back. "Hey, are you the cop lady that hiked rim to rim to rim and started out yesterday?", "Yes that's me.". "Oh good. One of your friends was worried. He came to the trail head to wait for you and was here till 1am but didn't see you come out. You made it , good job!". "Thanks", I quietly replied. I was touched that someone was waiting and concerned for my safety even though there was nothing within reason they could do for me. I slowly plodded on.
4:30am
I slowly turned the very last corner and trudged my way to flat ground. Inside I was whooping with joy and elation, but my body was too tired to respond. The wind was brutally cold and I was still 1.5 miles away from our campground. I took myself to a port-o-potty to get away from the wind and attempted to call my friend Goff. Of course...his phone was off. I sat there shivering and wondering how I could possibly make it another mile and a half walking in this cold wind. "I'm too tired Lord. I'm so tired." I felt a huge need to share with someone that I had come out alive and after sending a text to my niece who I knew was asleep I called a friend at work. We talked for a few minutes and then I ended the conversation knowing it was time to walk myself back to camp whether I wanted to or not. The group would be waking soon and I didn't want them to be afraid something had happened to me. Just as I was exiting the port-o-potty I heard a bus go by. I could not walk fast enough to get to the stop before it drove away, I could not yell loud enough for the driver to hear me. The bus stop had no protection from the wind and as I waited for the next bus I huddled against a pillar shivering violently from the cold. Finally the next bus came and drove me within a few hundred feet of the campsite. As I walked up to the camp I realized how violently cold I was and knew my tent would not provide enough heat for me in my cold condition. I pulled my sleeping bags out of my tent and (strange as it sounds) took them to the bathroom where I huddled on the floor. It was gross, but so was I after 24hrs of hiking and at least it offered protection from the wind. After an hour of shivering I ventured out to see if anyone was awake. One of our group members saw me walk up and asked if I was okay and did I just get out? I told him I was out at 4:30 but everyone was still asleep and I didn't want to wake them. I must have looked some kind of a wreck because concern covered his face as he asked what he could do for me. I said, through chattering teeth, that I didn't know but I could not get myself to warm up. He quickly got a key to one of the vehicles and tucked me inside with a giant sleeping bag and the heater on full blast. "I am making you some hot chocolate to warm you up inside", he said as he closed the door. I nodded my assent and lay there shivering for about fifteen minutes. Finally my body temperature leveled out and I was able to sit up and drink the hot chocolate offered me. As I stumbled out and around the campground gathering my things to leave my friend Goff said, "Smile, you just hiked the Grand Canyon." And so I had.
There are huge blisters on both of my feet. Three days later I am still slowly moving like a geriatric patient with bad arthritis and no cane. When I walk it feels like I am stepping on glass shards, parts of both feet are totally numb and the thought of putting on work boots tomorrow still makes me cringe. I have been asked several times if it was worth it, and my answer is unequivocally yes. I spent 24.5 hours solid with nothing but my creator and His creation. I had an opportunity to push myself past my own physical limits to where I could only rely on His strength to bring me through. I saw amazing vistas and creatures I may never have a chance to see again. And most of all I know where my greatest strength lies, and it is not in myself. I would not say that everyone should go out and hike the length of the Grand Canyon or any similar venture, but I would say this. I believe we all have our Grand Canyon moments. Those journeys in our lives that seem too great, too exhausting and too much for us to endure. When we are faced with them we have two choices. We can look at that gaping canyon and say, "it's too much, it's too dangerous, I will stay here where I know it is beautiful and safe." or we can step out onto the trail and keep moving when every fiber of our body begs for us not to. If you never enter the valley you will never know how much the Lord is willing and able to bring you through. Faith must come before great miracles can happen, and faith must be acted upon.
Saturday October 20th, 2012 4am
I am standing at the Bright Angel trail head on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. I am freezing. All night I had tossed and turned chilled to the bone and unable to warm my feet. I had not gotten enough sleep, but here I stood with my group of new friends. (one old friend who had just introduced me to his extended family yesterday) They are all ultra runners and have done this trek many times. They will run from the south rim to the north rim and back again in a matter of 12-16 hours. I have hiked the canyon from rim to rim before, but I am not a runner I am a backpacker. I have completed the 23. something miles in three days time. Never have I attempted hiking the entire thing back and forth (over 46miles) in one shot. I am a bundle of frozen nerves and excitement as we snap a group photo and head down the side of the canyon. I know, being the only hiker in the group, I will take much longer to make the journey and therefore for the majority of my day I will be hiking alone. Strangely I am looking forward to the solitude. I think to myself, "Well Lord, it's just you me and this beautiful creation of yours all day long." The unending expanse of stars seem to twinkle to me in response as I carefully make my way down the switchbacks in the darkness. I can see the headlamps of my group winding quickly down the trail, but I feel no rush as I have determined to make this as enjoyable a journey as possible. "This is not about speed.", I think to myself, "This is just about making it across and back alive and sharing the time with God. No distractions.".
I couldn't help but glance out at the canyon now and again. The dark outline of the canyon walls set against a starry backdrop was too beautiful to ignore. As I turned on my ipod and settled into the steady measure of walking I heard what sounded like the low growl of a cat. Terrified I yanked out my ear buds and spun around searching everywhere with my light and listening in the stillness for any indication of what made the sound. After a few moments of perfect silence I laughed at myself, "Laura calm down, there are no mountain lions or large cats in the canyon. You're too jumpy." I put my ear buds back in and continued down the trail. A few moments later the canyon behind me was lit up with a brilliant light. I thought someone on the trail below was shining a spotlight up at me and spun to see where it had come from. As I looked out I saw a line of glowing embers cut across the sky. The tail of some comet or giant meteor glowed for almost a full minute. I have never seen something so amazing. As if a portion of the veil of heaven was torn and left a burning scar on the face of the sky. I thought to myself, "This is going to be an awesome day!"
5am
I had nearly caught up to two of the slower runners in my group (a mother and daughter pair). They had taken a quick break which allowed for me to catch up. I was one switchback away from them when I saw a headlamp quickly fly down the side of the canyon. Next I heard the sounds of something falling against the rocks and underbrush. "Dear God", I prayed as I quickly sped my way to them,"Please keep her safe, don't let any harm come to her.". I heard the girls mother yell her daughter's name with the sound of choked panic ready to burst out. "I'm okay mom.", was the quiet reply. The next couple minutes the three of us created a human chain. Me anchored against a rock holding her mother's hand as she grabbed her daughter below and hoisted her back onto the trail. She was shaken, but mostly unharmed. Her head had hit against the tree which had stopped her descent further into the canyon and one of her legs was bruised up. After taking a moment to catch our breath we started out again and within ten minutes they were flying down the trail several switchbacks ahead of me again.
5:30am
I began to see signs of what I had been expectantly waiting for, sunrise. The sky turned a dark raspberry color first, then the color reflected off the canyon walls making them glow a deep fiery red. The red glow turned to golden and slowly the shadows began lifting up off of every nook and cranny. Slowly the crickets began to sing with the birds joining in not long after. They were singing a song of the morning and alerting the earth to the dawning of a new day. I cannot describe how amazing and invigorating it was to be there, essentially alone in the world and watching it wake up with the sun. I love every sunrise, the hope that comes with a new day is always precious to me. This one was perfectly breathtaking. I walked into the first major resting place on the trail just as the sunrise reached its peak of glory. As I refilled my water and ate my first snack I reveled in the opportunity to be right where I was experiencing this new day. I thought to myself, "This moment in my life will never come again.", I just wanted to steep it like a tea bag staining the very walls of my memory.
7am
The sun was fully up and climbing as high as my hopes for the day. My goal had been to make the trip across and back in about 18hrs and from the looks of things it was possible for me to do so. As I headed into my second set of switchbacks that lead to the canyon floor I thought of the several religions who participate in great pilgrimages to draw closer to their god by taking a physically taxing journey toward a holy destination. I couldn't help but draw parallels to my own walk. No, I was not going toward any sacred destination, but would I not be pushing the limits of my physical ability and needing to draw strength from the Lord to complete this hike? It's not as though I had not prepared for this trip. I had been running and hiking for months now to build myself to a physical point where it was even a possibility to consider, but I was not foolish enough to think that so many miles across such rough terrain would be an easy feat for me. I would not lie to myself and say I knew the mental and physical challenges I would be facing. I had no clue. Perhaps that was part of the draw of taking the trip in the first place. To begin and finish a pilgrimage into my very heart and test who I was and just exactly where I placed my trust.
8:45am
Phantom Ranch is a beautiful location alongside the Colorado River. It has a campsite and several cabins and is the only location in the entire canyon that can boast a small restaurant and store. If you are craving any amenities of the 'real world' they can only be found at Phantom Ranch. As I come into the first part of the ranch a small deer is feeding at the side of the trail. I pull out my camera afraid it will run away, but it just watches as I approach. I come within arms length of the creature and it just looks up at me with it's dark eyes as if asking me to pet it. I am VERY tempted to reach my hand out to it, so awed at this awesome opportunity, then I see the mites around it's eyes and am reminded that wild deer are infested with all kinds of fleas and pestilence....it's probably better I just snap a photo and move on. The store is of no interest to me, but I pause to use the restroom, refill my water and eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before moving on. The rule for every backpacker is when you are stopped at a location to refuel, you do so, whether you think you need it or not. Because you can never be sure of any water or restroom available further along the trail. I am excited that I am making such great time. Maybe I will even be able to finish in less than 18hrs.
10am
I have quickly passed the two miles from Phantom Ranch through a beautiful canyon where the trail takes you along side a subsidiary of the Colorado River. It is cool and inviting with the sounds of the rushing water echoing off the sides of the canyon walls. My mood is good and I am making better time than I expected. Then I come out of the small canyon and into the open floor of the Grand Canyon. The sun is now high above me and every inch of shade is gone. The trail becomes short bursts of uphill and down hill as I weave my way toward my next break before ascending the North Rim. The heat is quickly sapping my energy and in the 6.6 miles between Phantom Ranch and Cottonwood Campground I have drunk all of my three liters of water. The last 3 miles into Cottonwood seem to take forever and as I get to the water station I realize just how zapped I am for energy and that I am now behind schedule. I eat a quick lunch and drink down a liter of water and electrolytes before moving on.
11:45
I meet one of my group who is returning from the North Rim. He tells me I am not far from the Caretaker's House (a cool and shady water station) and I am doing good. I tell him I have calculated my time and think I will forge ahead, but tell everyone not to wait up for me because I probably won't be out of the canyon until 12 or 1am at the speed I am currently hiking. He nods and continues on his way. In the next few minutes I reach the Caretaker's House. It is a beautiful spot nestled on the side of the canyon and I take a moment to soak in the beauty as I refill my water once again. The design of the restrooms infuriate me. I am forced to walk down from the trail to a platform then back up a flight of stairs to the restrooms. "Seriously, I have to go down to go back up, then back down and up to the trail again?!" I am sure whoever created this design was laughing the whole time. Surely they would know what an imposition this is to people who are conserving every bit of energy for the trail!? My irritation is short lived though. Who can be irritated long when surrounded by such beauty? Besides, I'm still making good time and I do not feel over exhausted at all. I head back onto the trail, which from this point becomes a very steep winding ascent to the rim of the canyon.
12:45
It has been a looong time since I hiked the North Kibab Trail, but I remember more trees and shade, where is the shade already? The afternoon sun is fierce and combined with the steep ascent, narrow trail and slippery gravel it's exhausting. I feel like I should at least be half way up the side of this thing by now. I meet another member of our group who tells me it's another 5 miles to the top. I check my time and think, "Well that's not too bad, I should be able to make that in two to two and a half hours." I give him the same information I gave the previous group member. I am continuing up, but don't expect a quick return. As I continue up the trail I notice the differences between this rim and the south rim. Where the trail on the south side is mostly wide and compacted dirt with rocks and wooden steps holding a steady grade, this side is half as wide, more steep and in several locations carved directly out of the canyon wall. Because of the design it is more slippery and for the most part does not have the switchbacks the South side has. With switchbacks even if you stumble and fall you will most likely be stopped at the next trail making your fall only about 50ft or so. Without switchbacks a fall could mean several hundred to thousand feet before you are stopped. "Wow, I would not want to have to come down this thing in the dark.", I thought, "I sure am glad we started on the South side and not the North side.".
2:45
I have now been hiking for ten hours and forty-five minutes. My muscles feel good but I know I am getting tired. While I eat my package of tuna and snacks I speak to a couple who have crossed rim to rim. For a few minutes we discuss the trail and our various routes and I explain to them my dilemma. We are currently 1.7 miles from the North Rim trail head. I know I can force myself to push through, but I also know it is almost 3pm and as soon as the sun begins to set it will set quickly. No sun on the North Rim means temperatures dip very low and very fast at this time of year, plus it means the possibility of going down this more precarious trail alone and in the dark. At my current speed it would take at least an hour to complete the trail times two for the return it means giving up what may possibly be the last two hours of daylight. Everything in me wants to continue hiking and be able to say that I completed the entire thing...but wisdom is whispering in my ear telling me it's time to turn back. The couple look as sad for me as I feel. The wife says, "No you can't turn back.", but I see in her husband's eyes that he knows I should and is concerned for me. "We have some extra food, will you take it?". I had planned enough food for 18hrs, but the reality hits me that I will be out for much longer than that. "Yes, I'll take whatever you don't need." He gives me a package of salted crackers and several fruit snacks. "These are great for quick energy", he says as he hands them to me, "Be safe." "Oh I will be fine.", I reply, but for the first time all day I feel the distance across the canyon and recognize the huge task that lies before me. For the first time all day I feel alone. What if something happens to me, who will know? The group won't know something is wrong until morning and there is no way to reach any of them. What will I do if something goes wrong? "Laura, you are not alone. You are never alone. You are walking this canyon with it's creator remember?" That single thought was enough to comfort me. "Lord", I asked as I began my descent, "Please bless me to stay strong mentally and physically. Please help me to have light for as long as possible that I may get to the bottom without having to navigate in the dark."
5:45
I cannot believe the light is still with me! Usually it's pitch dark in the canyon by the time the sun crosses the edge of the rim, but that happened a half hour ago and there is still light enough to see without using my headlamp. I am also amazed at how much ground I am covering, I am almost back to the small canyon with the river running through which means I only have about two miles till Phantom Ranch again. Then it's only about ten miles to the top. Maybe I will be able to do this thing in 20hrs. My body does not feel overly exhausted and with the setting of the sun I am not zapped of strength from the heat. I thank the Lord for the extended light and keep plugging along.
7:45
I'm back at Phantom Ranch. As I take a break to refuel I notice just how much my feet are pulsing. I know there are blisters on each heel, I can feel them growing. I consider peeling off my socks to see but realize if I know what they look like I will not be able to get my mind off the pain. At my best time I still have six hours of walking ahead of me and I cannot focus on pain if I'm going to make myself keep going. I look longingly at the cabins and campsites. All I want to do is crawl into a bed and sleep for a year. But sleep is not an option right now, only movement. As I force myself to eat I chat with a middle aged woman who is waiting for her husband to use the telephone. "You look like a day hiker.", she says. I explain what I am doing and where I am going. "Oh honey", she says with deepest sympathy in her voice, "I am so sorry. I think you are so very brave to do this by yourself. I do not have that in me. But, oh I hope you are okay." I reassure her that, while I am tired my body feels strong and since I have no choice at this point I will push myself to do it. I part with her well wishes on my ears and walk out of the campground yelling at myself for not turning back sooner in the day. The ten miles ahead of me may as well have been ten thousand. My mind was quickly feeling the exhaustion of nearly 16hrs hiking with only 10 minute breaks. I knew there was no chance of solid sleep until I crested the top of the South Rim, but I also knew my body was nearing it's point of shutting down. "Please Lord, can you please help me stay alert. Keep rattlesnakes and scorpions and animals that would hurt me away and help me to keep moving." A cool breeze kicked up and kissed my cheeks waking me from my semi stupor. "Just keep walking.", I thought, "Just keep walking."
9:45
I am moving slower from the mental toll of the day, but I am doing okay. My body is holding up and I am going to push through to the top. All at once I feel something pull/pop in my right calf. I know my calf muscle has (at minimum) pulled very badly. The pain is so instant and great I am afraid the muscle is partially torn. Though no one is near to hear me I cry out in pain as I slowly put weight down on it. It is holding the weight of my body, but the pain is so intense I can hardly stand it. I know I am near the first set of switchbacks and it is straight up from that point on for about 6 miles. "Dear God", I cry "Please I need your help. I don't know what just happened, but it's bad and if it gets worse I can't go on. Please help it Lord. Please help it somehow to heal enough to get me out. I don't care if it hurts, but please make the pain bearable and help it to be strong enough to get me out of the canyon.". "Just keep moving.", I thought, "Just keep moving.". So move I did. The first few minutes were very painful, but as I went on the pain calmed to a dull roar that I could ignore. "Thank you God.", I whispered, "Thank you."
10:45
I had begun the most gradual portion of the ascent. There was a cliff on my left and a small creek (about 4-5ft wide) on my right. The pain in my leg had become my new normal and I was back almost to my pre-injury pace.
I heard a rustling in the bushes across the creek and thought I might catch a glimpse of some elk or deer. I paused to look across the water and felt frozen cold with terror when I saw two huge glowing eyes meet mine. Now, I am no wildlife buff, in fact I have only read a few Ranger Rick magazines in my lifetime, but I have had the pleasure of spotlighting for elk and deer at night and am pretty familiar with what their eyes look like when lit up at night. These were no elk or deer eyes. I instantly knew these were the eyes of some type of predator. Afraid to know, but realizing I should be aware of what I might be up against I slowly scanned the area. What I saw chilled me to the bone. The perfectly formed six foot long body of a huge black cat. (when I looked it up online I am pretty sure it was a Panther, which are apparently quite common in the Grand Canyon) I couldn't tell if it had treed an animal or was in the process of sharpening it's claws, but it was pushing down on a medium sized tree bending it to the ground. "What do I do? Oh Lord what can I do? That thing is at best six feet away from me...they stalk their prey. I have no way to protect myself. Oh Please Lord help it not to pay attention to me, because I cannot fend that thing off." It probably was only a matter of seconds, but it felt like I was frozen in that spot for an hour debating my options. "Just keep walking.", I thought, "Just turn around and walk normally away.". I tell you what, that is easier said than done. But with the injury to my calf and the uphill grade I knew that was the only option I had before me. Pray and keep walking. I did pick up a sizable rock and carry it for awhile. I don't know what I thought I was going to do with a rock against such an amazingly powerful creature, but it made me feel better anyway. For several miles I turned terrified at every sound, sure it was just behind me waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.
11:45
I am at the Hanging Gardens. The last big resting area before the top of the canyon. I have five miles left and my brain is so spent I can hardly stand it. I refill my water, use the restroom where I throw on my warmer clothes. (The wind has picked up and the temperatures at the top of the rim are hovering around 30 degrees. The closer I get the colder it will become.) The last twenty minutes I have been fighting mental fatigue and begun to stumble and loose my balance on the trail. As I eat a snack and take my last ibuprofen I debate the pros and cons of a nap. If I take a small nap it may help me be alert enough to continue on, but if I rest too long my muscles will seize up and I will be unable to climb out at all. I realize I cannot begin the final switchbacks with poor balance, that is a perfect recipe for falling off the side of the canyon. So I say a prayer that just 15 minutes will help me be alert enough mentally to safely continue, but not be so much time that my muscles seize up on me. I prop my feet up on my Camelback and set my alarm. Time goes by too quickly, but I feel much more alert and though still tired able to continue on.
1am
I am now on a steady ascent through switchbacks. My nap has completely worn off and I am fighting through muscle fatigue and a cloud of mental exhaustion. I force myself to go two switchbacks before stopping. As I go I chant to myself, "Just-keep-walk-ing-move-your-feet-and-keep-on-breath-ing-you-can-do-this." When I allow myself to stop, I slowly tell myself to calm my breathing, bring down my heartbeat and think. When I calm myself down I pray God bless me with clarity of thought and endurance to keep going. In the moments when I am closest to fading a cold breeze blows through waking me or I hear a sound that startles me and brings me to complete alertness. Each time I know it is a blessing and quietly thank Him.
2am
I can tell I am within 3miles or so of the rim because the Pinon pine trees are now dotting the landscape and the breeze has turned quite cold. It's cold enough now that when I stop for any amount of time my sweat quickly dries and I begin to shiver. I have to keep moving just to stay warm. About a mile back I foolishly stepped in a mud puddle and followed it up by tripping over a rock. As a consequence there was a huge pain on one of my toes of my left foot. It felt like the toenail had ripped right off the toe and the water and dirt were rubbing into the wound. "Ignore it", I thought "There is nothing you can do about it right now anyway. Just ignore the pain and keep moving." I fight myself around one more switchback and realize I have become cloudy enough that I am starting to lose balance again. At the next rocky outcropping I scan for any snakes, scorpions or spiders and sit down. It is time for another nap. I set my alarm and turn off my headlamp. The stars quickly take the place of my lamp and light up a brilliant night sky. I see the big dipper constellation clearer than I have ever seen it, almost like it's highlighted shinning even brighter than the other stars just so I can pick it out. I think of the first time my mother taught me about the constellations and even in my exhausted stupor I am amazed a the wonder and beauty of the world. I sleep for only eight minutes, I am too exposed and the cold wind wakes me. It is enough to keep me going.
2:30am
I come to a secluded rock outcropping that is protected by the wind and on less of an incline than the last spot. I scan for any 'natives' hiding in the nooks and cranny's of the rocks and settle myself in. I know I am within a couple miles of the top, but I am too exhausted to push through without a good solid 15 minute rest. I set my alarm and quickly fall into a profoundly deep sleep. When my alarm wakes me I feel refreshed and ready to continue on.
4am
I come to a rock formation I recognize, I know I am within a mile of the trail head and I am elated. As I come around a corner I see the lights of the hotel at the South Rim and my spirits are lifted nearly to the crest of the canyon itself. "You've got this Gill. You're almost there.", I whisper to myself with a smile. While I look longingly at the lights I see two headlamps heading down the trail. Runners starting out, they have marked the top of the trail for me and I now know exactly where it is. The excitement does not carry itself into my drained muscles as they are moving like molasses in winter, but I do not force them faster. They have borne enough for me and I know the end is near. I will bear with their slow movement up as long as they continue to move. Moments later the runners pass me with a quick, "good morning" then one turns back. "Hey, are you the cop lady that hiked rim to rim to rim and started out yesterday?", "Yes that's me.". "Oh good. One of your friends was worried. He came to the trail head to wait for you and was here till 1am but didn't see you come out. You made it , good job!". "Thanks", I quietly replied. I was touched that someone was waiting and concerned for my safety even though there was nothing within reason they could do for me. I slowly plodded on.
4:30am
I slowly turned the very last corner and trudged my way to flat ground. Inside I was whooping with joy and elation, but my body was too tired to respond. The wind was brutally cold and I was still 1.5 miles away from our campground. I took myself to a port-o-potty to get away from the wind and attempted to call my friend Goff. Of course...his phone was off. I sat there shivering and wondering how I could possibly make it another mile and a half walking in this cold wind. "I'm too tired Lord. I'm so tired." I felt a huge need to share with someone that I had come out alive and after sending a text to my niece who I knew was asleep I called a friend at work. We talked for a few minutes and then I ended the conversation knowing it was time to walk myself back to camp whether I wanted to or not. The group would be waking soon and I didn't want them to be afraid something had happened to me. Just as I was exiting the port-o-potty I heard a bus go by. I could not walk fast enough to get to the stop before it drove away, I could not yell loud enough for the driver to hear me. The bus stop had no protection from the wind and as I waited for the next bus I huddled against a pillar shivering violently from the cold. Finally the next bus came and drove me within a few hundred feet of the campsite. As I walked up to the camp I realized how violently cold I was and knew my tent would not provide enough heat for me in my cold condition. I pulled my sleeping bags out of my tent and (strange as it sounds) took them to the bathroom where I huddled on the floor. It was gross, but so was I after 24hrs of hiking and at least it offered protection from the wind. After an hour of shivering I ventured out to see if anyone was awake. One of our group members saw me walk up and asked if I was okay and did I just get out? I told him I was out at 4:30 but everyone was still asleep and I didn't want to wake them. I must have looked some kind of a wreck because concern covered his face as he asked what he could do for me. I said, through chattering teeth, that I didn't know but I could not get myself to warm up. He quickly got a key to one of the vehicles and tucked me inside with a giant sleeping bag and the heater on full blast. "I am making you some hot chocolate to warm you up inside", he said as he closed the door. I nodded my assent and lay there shivering for about fifteen minutes. Finally my body temperature leveled out and I was able to sit up and drink the hot chocolate offered me. As I stumbled out and around the campground gathering my things to leave my friend Goff said, "Smile, you just hiked the Grand Canyon." And so I had.
There are huge blisters on both of my feet. Three days later I am still slowly moving like a geriatric patient with bad arthritis and no cane. When I walk it feels like I am stepping on glass shards, parts of both feet are totally numb and the thought of putting on work boots tomorrow still makes me cringe. I have been asked several times if it was worth it, and my answer is unequivocally yes. I spent 24.5 hours solid with nothing but my creator and His creation. I had an opportunity to push myself past my own physical limits to where I could only rely on His strength to bring me through. I saw amazing vistas and creatures I may never have a chance to see again. And most of all I know where my greatest strength lies, and it is not in myself. I would not say that everyone should go out and hike the length of the Grand Canyon or any similar venture, but I would say this. I believe we all have our Grand Canyon moments. Those journeys in our lives that seem too great, too exhausting and too much for us to endure. When we are faced with them we have two choices. We can look at that gaping canyon and say, "it's too much, it's too dangerous, I will stay here where I know it is beautiful and safe." or we can step out onto the trail and keep moving when every fiber of our body begs for us not to. If you never enter the valley you will never know how much the Lord is willing and able to bring you through. Faith must come before great miracles can happen, and faith must be acted upon.
Friday, September 28, 2012
On David and the Return of the Covenants
Covenant: 1.) A usually formal, solemn, and binding agreement
2.) A written agreement or promise usually under a seal between two or more parties especially for the performance of some action.
There are times when for no obvious reason I feel separated from the Lord. I may be doing all that I know to do and praying to him, but somehow the communication is not happening. In those moments I feel an anxious loneliness that builds inside of me and cannot be explained. It's as though I can hear the song He is playing but, try as hard as I might, I'm just slightly off key. I rack my mind trying to find why and how I am out of sync with His music.
The past couple of days I have found myself in this state of limbo. Longing to hear Him, see Him or somehow break that strange separation and truly communicate with Him once again. This morning as I drove into work I contemplated my thoughts and feelings asking God, "What am I doing wrong that I feel so far away? I want to feel you right next to me guiding and protecting me." I waited for a brief moment, but nothing...so I turned on the radio and halfheartedly sang along. All the while my heart was crying and after a few moments I could not ignore it anymore. I turned off the radio and told the Lord I would just sit in the silence and listen for Him....nothing. Mentally I began talking over my feelings with one of my friends when all at once it dawned on me....maybe I should just talk it over with Him. Huh. That should have been more obvious. So I started talking, I started by apologizing if it was an incorrect approach but I just felt the need to talk with Him as though He was sitting right next to me. I told Him how I felt and did not understand why. Was there something inside my heart holding me back from Him? Then it came. No voices, no lightning or thunder, just a single thought, "your will". All at once it was that obvious, my will.
This human heart of mine is such a willful thing. Even in moments when I believe I have handed over the controls there is a part of me, ever so tiny, that withholds. It was that part of my heart which was making me deaf to the Lord. Keeping me from feeling His whole presence, because I was attempting to keep Him from the whole of my heart.
I know you are wondering what this can possibly have to do with David of old...but I promise I am getting there. Typically I start my morning with a run. It's a beautiful run and a perfect way to start the day, but after my revelation on my way in I felt the need to spend the time walking with my Heavenly Father. I wanted to watch the earth wake up while still feeling Him close to me, as if waiting to show me the day He created for me. I turned on my praise music and began a slow jog along the canal where I run. It was splendid and with each step I relinquished a little more of my personal hopes and desires.
As I jogged I thought of David. When he returned to Jerusalem with the Ark and Covenant. I considered how he came before it dancing and singing praises to his God. The story has always been intriguing to me. I remember as a small child thinking his wife was probably right to mock him for acting like a fool in public like that. As I have grown my outlook on the story has changed, but this morning I believe part of its purpose came into full focus for me. Here was David, the king of a chosen people. What responsibilities and weights must have been on his shoulders? He believed in the faithfulness of his God and yet he was human and prone to failure. How could he lead a people without divine strength and guidance? Without a sacred covenant to lend him wisdom and truth.
I don't know how familiar you may be with the history but the Ark and Covenant was not just a sacred relic or symbol. It contained the expectations and promises between a people and their God. It had been lost to them because of their refusal to fulfill their end of the bargain. Because of their short sighted disobedience of God's laws. Now, after years of struggling without the fullness of His presence in their midst, the people had turned their hearts to Him and were being given in return the sacred promises of God's guidance and protection. The covenant was being returned into their midst.
While thinking on what the scene may have been like and the joy at the Lord's return to their midst, I saw with perfect clarity how overwhelmed David must have been. The all encompassing need to praise His holy name and the complete lack of ability to properly do so in our lowly human form. Every cell in his body must have been bursting at the seams to shout praises to God and all he could do to show his thankfulness and praise was to leap and dance and sing like a madman. Then the thought hit me, "Did I not have a small portion of such a miracle this very morning?"
Sure enough...I was separated from my Savior by my attempts to withhold my heart from Him and He, in His mercy, showed me the way to tear down those walls and be allowed back into His full presence. True, mine was not on such a large scale, but was it not the same process? Well...what else could I do?
I knelt down right there on the canal path and thanked the Lord. I don't remember the specific words except that I asked Him to help me praise His name through my words and actions throughout the day. That I would be worthy of His covenant with me. Then I went a little David all up and down that canal. I danced around for all I was worth spinning and singing and thanking the Lord for His patience with me.
I would love to say that my lesson is learned and I will never again allow my own will to cloud my relationship with my Heavenly Father...but I know my failings too well to lie to you. I am a willful creature by nature and I am sure I will have to fight that nature until my dying day, but I am thankful that when I do fight it I will forever have this testimony to remind me. May God bless your day and give you great testimonies of His ever present care!
2.) A written agreement or promise usually under a seal between two or more parties especially for the performance of some action.
There are times when for no obvious reason I feel separated from the Lord. I may be doing all that I know to do and praying to him, but somehow the communication is not happening. In those moments I feel an anxious loneliness that builds inside of me and cannot be explained. It's as though I can hear the song He is playing but, try as hard as I might, I'm just slightly off key. I rack my mind trying to find why and how I am out of sync with His music.
The past couple of days I have found myself in this state of limbo. Longing to hear Him, see Him or somehow break that strange separation and truly communicate with Him once again. This morning as I drove into work I contemplated my thoughts and feelings asking God, "What am I doing wrong that I feel so far away? I want to feel you right next to me guiding and protecting me." I waited for a brief moment, but nothing...so I turned on the radio and halfheartedly sang along. All the while my heart was crying and after a few moments I could not ignore it anymore. I turned off the radio and told the Lord I would just sit in the silence and listen for Him....nothing. Mentally I began talking over my feelings with one of my friends when all at once it dawned on me....maybe I should just talk it over with Him. Huh. That should have been more obvious. So I started talking, I started by apologizing if it was an incorrect approach but I just felt the need to talk with Him as though He was sitting right next to me. I told Him how I felt and did not understand why. Was there something inside my heart holding me back from Him? Then it came. No voices, no lightning or thunder, just a single thought, "your will". All at once it was that obvious, my will.
This human heart of mine is such a willful thing. Even in moments when I believe I have handed over the controls there is a part of me, ever so tiny, that withholds. It was that part of my heart which was making me deaf to the Lord. Keeping me from feeling His whole presence, because I was attempting to keep Him from the whole of my heart.
I know you are wondering what this can possibly have to do with David of old...but I promise I am getting there. Typically I start my morning with a run. It's a beautiful run and a perfect way to start the day, but after my revelation on my way in I felt the need to spend the time walking with my Heavenly Father. I wanted to watch the earth wake up while still feeling Him close to me, as if waiting to show me the day He created for me. I turned on my praise music and began a slow jog along the canal where I run. It was splendid and with each step I relinquished a little more of my personal hopes and desires.
As I jogged I thought of David. When he returned to Jerusalem with the Ark and Covenant. I considered how he came before it dancing and singing praises to his God. The story has always been intriguing to me. I remember as a small child thinking his wife was probably right to mock him for acting like a fool in public like that. As I have grown my outlook on the story has changed, but this morning I believe part of its purpose came into full focus for me. Here was David, the king of a chosen people. What responsibilities and weights must have been on his shoulders? He believed in the faithfulness of his God and yet he was human and prone to failure. How could he lead a people without divine strength and guidance? Without a sacred covenant to lend him wisdom and truth.
I don't know how familiar you may be with the history but the Ark and Covenant was not just a sacred relic or symbol. It contained the expectations and promises between a people and their God. It had been lost to them because of their refusal to fulfill their end of the bargain. Because of their short sighted disobedience of God's laws. Now, after years of struggling without the fullness of His presence in their midst, the people had turned their hearts to Him and were being given in return the sacred promises of God's guidance and protection. The covenant was being returned into their midst.
While thinking on what the scene may have been like and the joy at the Lord's return to their midst, I saw with perfect clarity how overwhelmed David must have been. The all encompassing need to praise His holy name and the complete lack of ability to properly do so in our lowly human form. Every cell in his body must have been bursting at the seams to shout praises to God and all he could do to show his thankfulness and praise was to leap and dance and sing like a madman. Then the thought hit me, "Did I not have a small portion of such a miracle this very morning?"
Sure enough...I was separated from my Savior by my attempts to withhold my heart from Him and He, in His mercy, showed me the way to tear down those walls and be allowed back into His full presence. True, mine was not on such a large scale, but was it not the same process? Well...what else could I do?
I knelt down right there on the canal path and thanked the Lord. I don't remember the specific words except that I asked Him to help me praise His name through my words and actions throughout the day. That I would be worthy of His covenant with me. Then I went a little David all up and down that canal. I danced around for all I was worth spinning and singing and thanking the Lord for His patience with me.
I would love to say that my lesson is learned and I will never again allow my own will to cloud my relationship with my Heavenly Father...but I know my failings too well to lie to you. I am a willful creature by nature and I am sure I will have to fight that nature until my dying day, but I am thankful that when I do fight it I will forever have this testimony to remind me. May God bless your day and give you great testimonies of His ever present care!
Monday, September 3, 2012
On Hollywoodesque Reunions
We all know and have been told since we were children that Hollywood is not real. (the movie side of it anyway) Those romantic fairy tales, magical reunions and happy endings....they are our idealized versions of real life. Well, I have been a firm believer in that outlook....until this last Saturday afternoon when something magical and purely Hollywood happened to me. I know what you cynics are thinking because until recently I have been one of you, but perfect moments do exist. Let me share one of mine with you.
I have a dear family in Colorado who I love with all of my heart. Even into the tiny nooks and cracks and crannies that are usually reserved for dust and cobwebs. My love for them is so great it spills over into every available space inside me. I call them my Hedrickites. I love each of them dearly and individually for the incredible loving and God fearing people they are and I love none more than the other. But the littlest Hedrick and I have always had a very close bond. She is my Meah and she is the spunky, stubborn, loving, courageous and shy ray of sunlight I hope to be someday. When I am feeling timid or unsure about stepping out into something new I think to myself, "Meah would be brave and try it." and I go for it.
I have not seen my Hedrickites in nine loooooonnnng months and I have been feeling it like an ache somewhere inside me that cannot be comforted. When I learned they would be camping at the ranch in Heber with us this last weekend I began counting down the days. Three weeks then two weeks then five days then two days then TODAY!!!! They got to the ranch on Friday night, but because of work I could not travel up until Saturday morning.
I woke up aching to jump in the car and drive like the wind on an open plain. Too bad packing had to be done. Finally we were on the road and heading to the wilderness and closer to my Hedrickites and my Meah. As we drove the too familiar road from Phoenix to Heber my memory started playing old reels of family trips up to camp. My first trip camping with them when as we drove through the pines up the mountains listening to an Italian aria by Josh Groban little 5yr old Cody out of nowhere burst out with, "This is so beautiful...it's all so beautiful." The time when Trav and I got to ride up the ranch road being towed in the Bronco by his dad while we pretended to race up the mountainside at breakneck speeds. The first trip with Meah when she was still an infant and I spent an entire church service walking up and down the campsite with her as she cried in my arms....and the perfect moment when she relaxed and trusted me enough to fall asleep in my arms.
By the time we got into Payson (just about 30min or so from the ranch) my emotions became near overwhelming as I began to tear up at the thought of being so close to holding each of them in my arms. It took all of my will power not to allow tears to flow freely down my face. Instead I chided myself for being so weepy and stopped allowing myself to remember family trips.
I don't know what kind of reunion I was expecting as I made the final turn into the ranch, but it was not the amazing reunion that occurred.
You know in those movies when people have been separated and as they see each other the world stops and they dramatically run toward each other yelling the other persons name until they collide into an embrace of perfect happiness? Yep....that happened, no lie. There were witnesses.
As my car came into view I spied my Meah playing on the hay wagon, her fiery red hair all glowing in the sunlight. She looked up and as soon as she saw it was my car she began screaming my name and running toward the vehicle. What else could I do? My car immediately went into park and I jumped out yelling her name and running to her across the small expanse of the meadow we were camping in. I know there were others around us...I remember other human forms being there....but I cannot tell you who they were. I only remember seeing my Meah in all of her grown up eight years leaping into my arms as we shared the best hug ever.
You know, come to think of it.....it was way better than anything in a movie. Movies can't come close to the perfect joy and love that exploded onto that field. I challenge Hollywood to come up with anything that pure and happy and perfect. Real life is so much better than movies.
I have a dear family in Colorado who I love with all of my heart. Even into the tiny nooks and cracks and crannies that are usually reserved for dust and cobwebs. My love for them is so great it spills over into every available space inside me. I call them my Hedrickites. I love each of them dearly and individually for the incredible loving and God fearing people they are and I love none more than the other. But the littlest Hedrick and I have always had a very close bond. She is my Meah and she is the spunky, stubborn, loving, courageous and shy ray of sunlight I hope to be someday. When I am feeling timid or unsure about stepping out into something new I think to myself, "Meah would be brave and try it." and I go for it.
I have not seen my Hedrickites in nine loooooonnnng months and I have been feeling it like an ache somewhere inside me that cannot be comforted. When I learned they would be camping at the ranch in Heber with us this last weekend I began counting down the days. Three weeks then two weeks then five days then two days then TODAY!!!! They got to the ranch on Friday night, but because of work I could not travel up until Saturday morning.
I woke up aching to jump in the car and drive like the wind on an open plain. Too bad packing had to be done. Finally we were on the road and heading to the wilderness and closer to my Hedrickites and my Meah. As we drove the too familiar road from Phoenix to Heber my memory started playing old reels of family trips up to camp. My first trip camping with them when as we drove through the pines up the mountains listening to an Italian aria by Josh Groban little 5yr old Cody out of nowhere burst out with, "This is so beautiful...it's all so beautiful." The time when Trav and I got to ride up the ranch road being towed in the Bronco by his dad while we pretended to race up the mountainside at breakneck speeds. The first trip with Meah when she was still an infant and I spent an entire church service walking up and down the campsite with her as she cried in my arms....and the perfect moment when she relaxed and trusted me enough to fall asleep in my arms.
By the time we got into Payson (just about 30min or so from the ranch) my emotions became near overwhelming as I began to tear up at the thought of being so close to holding each of them in my arms. It took all of my will power not to allow tears to flow freely down my face. Instead I chided myself for being so weepy and stopped allowing myself to remember family trips.
I don't know what kind of reunion I was expecting as I made the final turn into the ranch, but it was not the amazing reunion that occurred.
You know in those movies when people have been separated and as they see each other the world stops and they dramatically run toward each other yelling the other persons name until they collide into an embrace of perfect happiness? Yep....that happened, no lie. There were witnesses.
As my car came into view I spied my Meah playing on the hay wagon, her fiery red hair all glowing in the sunlight. She looked up and as soon as she saw it was my car she began screaming my name and running toward the vehicle. What else could I do? My car immediately went into park and I jumped out yelling her name and running to her across the small expanse of the meadow we were camping in. I know there were others around us...I remember other human forms being there....but I cannot tell you who they were. I only remember seeing my Meah in all of her grown up eight years leaping into my arms as we shared the best hug ever.
You know, come to think of it.....it was way better than anything in a movie. Movies can't come close to the perfect joy and love that exploded onto that field. I challenge Hollywood to come up with anything that pure and happy and perfect. Real life is so much better than movies.
Friday, August 24, 2012
Random Bursts of Happiness
I don't know what the thunder is going on with me today, but whatever it is it's a good thing. I woke up this morning like any other and set about getting ready for work. Somewhere on the road between home and work my heart began lifting up. Maybe taking a cue from the clouds that slowly lifted back like a curtain opening the whole of the heavens to my view. With every passing mile the day became more beautiful and pure unadulterated happiness began bubbling up out of me until it burst forth in random smiles and giggles. I cannot explain why...there is no specific reason. But today is a fantastically happy day. I feel like I'm floating on the perfect rainbow that spanned the sky in my very honor. (okay maybe that last part is going a bit far....maybe.)
Monday, August 13, 2012
Sweat, Alfalfa, Sunrise and Koi
While driving into work this morning I was running through my mind what tasks needed to be completed when I sadly realized I have to stay late at work for a mandatory meeting. Three and a half hours past 4pm is not so bad....until you consider I will have to drive about an hour across the valley to get home. That puts me arriving home at about 8:30pm, which is exactly 8hrs from when I have to leave for work again tomorrow morning. As this reality dawned on me I struggled to determine what I would do in the two and a half hours between work and this meeting. Then an idea dawned in the back of my mind...I could go for a run this morning and cross train after work. Hmmm...
I should explain that Monday's are typically a cross train day for me. I get to work early enough to spend a good 45min-Hour with weights and other such nonsense. Tuesday and Wednesday are currently my run days, so to run this morning meant either adjusting my entire work out schedule for the week or just add another run in. As I drove I mulled over the possibilities. Did I really want to run in the morning and do my cross training in the afternoon? That would be somewhat overzealous, no? And who knows what it could lead to! What if I became one of those run all the time people?! This could be dangerous. And it's not like following my regular routine and taking that three hours to just rest would be lazy exactly. I would still have done a solid workout for the day.
While parking my car I made my decision. There was no pressing reason to do more than necessary, sometimes more is not better it's just more. I would follow my regular routine. As I crossed the street I switched my iPhone from it's current audio book to my running music. I found myself walking toward the running path by the canal and watching the back of giant Koi crest the placid water as I stretched....it was all too inviting, I was going to run.
There is an irrigation canal that runs just west of my new work location. It heads south into the city of Gilbert and is flanked on it's western border by fields of corn and alfalfa. Inside the canal swim multitudes of the largest and most beautiful Koi I have ever seen. The water is clear enough you can watch their solid muscular bodies sometimes slicing through the water like torpedoes, sometimes suspended as if they had no concern but to float with the calm current of the channel. To the south and east of the canal are beautiful mountain ranges. Shadows touching their peaks and canyons like folds of a soft blanket thrown over the rocky heights. The fields impregnate the surrounding air with the odor of warm earth, growth and decay. The odors of agriculture, the odors of my childhood. Every mile or so there are dams created for the even distribution of water to other smaller canals. At each of these crossroads the water at once becomes a bubbling cauldron as a miniature waterfall is formed by the changing water levels. The sound is at once arresting and soothing, enticing you to stay and listen to it's melody.
This morning the air was cooler than the past week has been. There was a very quiet breeze that even bordered on feeling fresh as it touched my cheeks which were hot from my exertions. As I ran I allowed the surroundings to soak into my being. The colors, odors, sounds even the feel of the path beneath my feet...I wanted to take it all in and make it a permanent part of my memory. Arriving at my first road crossing I paused to look back toward the northeast. The sunrise was stunning. A bright orange orb rising from behind the mountains and ascending through clouds. The sky blushed a rich pink hue as warm yellow fingers of sunlight sliced through the clouds and burst out onto the world. It was a sunrise of singular beauty, painted by my creator just for me to see in that perfect moment.
I won't lie and say I am now perfectly happy with getting home late tonight and not having as much rest as I am used to...but I will say I am thankful. Thankful for the rising of the sun, for another day full of opportunity, for the gift of being physically able to exercise and sweat, for the smell of alfalfa and for the beautiful Koi.
I should explain that Monday's are typically a cross train day for me. I get to work early enough to spend a good 45min-Hour with weights and other such nonsense. Tuesday and Wednesday are currently my run days, so to run this morning meant either adjusting my entire work out schedule for the week or just add another run in. As I drove I mulled over the possibilities. Did I really want to run in the morning and do my cross training in the afternoon? That would be somewhat overzealous, no? And who knows what it could lead to! What if I became one of those run all the time people?! This could be dangerous. And it's not like following my regular routine and taking that three hours to just rest would be lazy exactly. I would still have done a solid workout for the day.
While parking my car I made my decision. There was no pressing reason to do more than necessary, sometimes more is not better it's just more. I would follow my regular routine. As I crossed the street I switched my iPhone from it's current audio book to my running music. I found myself walking toward the running path by the canal and watching the back of giant Koi crest the placid water as I stretched....it was all too inviting, I was going to run.
There is an irrigation canal that runs just west of my new work location. It heads south into the city of Gilbert and is flanked on it's western border by fields of corn and alfalfa. Inside the canal swim multitudes of the largest and most beautiful Koi I have ever seen. The water is clear enough you can watch their solid muscular bodies sometimes slicing through the water like torpedoes, sometimes suspended as if they had no concern but to float with the calm current of the channel. To the south and east of the canal are beautiful mountain ranges. Shadows touching their peaks and canyons like folds of a soft blanket thrown over the rocky heights. The fields impregnate the surrounding air with the odor of warm earth, growth and decay. The odors of agriculture, the odors of my childhood. Every mile or so there are dams created for the even distribution of water to other smaller canals. At each of these crossroads the water at once becomes a bubbling cauldron as a miniature waterfall is formed by the changing water levels. The sound is at once arresting and soothing, enticing you to stay and listen to it's melody.
This morning the air was cooler than the past week has been. There was a very quiet breeze that even bordered on feeling fresh as it touched my cheeks which were hot from my exertions. As I ran I allowed the surroundings to soak into my being. The colors, odors, sounds even the feel of the path beneath my feet...I wanted to take it all in and make it a permanent part of my memory. Arriving at my first road crossing I paused to look back toward the northeast. The sunrise was stunning. A bright orange orb rising from behind the mountains and ascending through clouds. The sky blushed a rich pink hue as warm yellow fingers of sunlight sliced through the clouds and burst out onto the world. It was a sunrise of singular beauty, painted by my creator just for me to see in that perfect moment.
I won't lie and say I am now perfectly happy with getting home late tonight and not having as much rest as I am used to...but I will say I am thankful. Thankful for the rising of the sun, for another day full of opportunity, for the gift of being physically able to exercise and sweat, for the smell of alfalfa and for the beautiful Koi.
Saturday, August 11, 2012
On Leading
On various occasions over the years have been told that there is something special about me, that I am born to be a leader or have some great destiny set before me. I would like to go on record for a moment to say that there is no good in me. There is only one good and that is God, if there is anything good in things I have done or said in my life it is only a gift of His grace to me because I have plenty of failings to speak of. And by the way, it is terrifying to be told you are meant for greatness. I look at my life and I see nothing particularly great that has been achieved, then I think I must be failing or there must yet me some insurmountable task before me that in all honesty I do not want to face.
I recently had this conversation with a friend of mine, we will name him Sven because I like Scandinavian names, and discussed with him the dread I feel inside when over the years I have heard such comments made. I said if being a leader meant I could just go about my life living and loving people as I have thus far then I was fine with that, but if it implied some great task set before me I wanted no part of that leadership, it was too scary, too much. He then asked, "Well, what if you are a leader just by being you and nothing else?" Well, that would be okay with me, and after that the conversation went another way. But as someone who is constantly thinking (a very dangerous trait at times) I continued to mull over the conversation in my mind. What is it to be a leader? Well, very simply this is what I have come to.
Many years ago a member of my church was given a vision. I cannot relate it to you word for word as I do not have it in front of me and I apologize for any mistakes in my memory, but I will share with you what of it made a lasting impression on my young mind. He saw a frozen wasteland and across it were scattered believers. We were all struggling towards some sort of safety (i don't recall what) and were forced to walk through a menacing gale that threatened to blow us off course and into oblivion. Many people came from different directions and converged on the same course, some carrying nothing and some bogged down with the weight of their belongings. As the gale blew harder some lost hold and were blown away, some began to let go of their bags to lighten their load and ensure their safe passage, but others held on tighter refusing to let go. There were a few who had stakes with them and they began to drive them deep into the frozen ground as anchors. Those people surrounding them began to hold on to them to keep themselves from being swept away by the brutal winds. When the person awoke he felt upset that those who refused to loose themselves from their baggage would use take the strength of others as their anchor, but he was given the following understanding:
The group of believers were all those whose hearts were seeking Christ and the winds were the temptations and trials of Satan blowing them off the goal of salvation. The baggage that some carried were the hopes, belongings and joys of this life. Some would be willing to let go of them and others would allow this life to weigh them down. The ground that the stakes were driven into was the foundation of the word of God which held them fast to their goal. Some would not have the strength on their own to drive fast into the word and be an anchor for others. Some needed the strength of those around them to hold true to their course. The responsibility of those gifted to drive anchors into the foundation, was to be a strength to those around them. To be a strength in the midst of the storm.
I heard that vision related when I was a young teenager, and it remains an impressive and moving image in my mind to this day. From that moment until now I have prayed that God might bless me to be that anchor for someone when my time comes. To hold fast so strong and true to His word that I might bring some relief to a soul weary from their journey, to give them a moment of rest.
After my conversation with Sven I mused over what was said, my memory of this vision and my hopes and prayers associated with it. If that is what it is to someday be a leader, if it means to drive my strength and trust and hope deep into the solid foundation of the word of God; to follow that word to the end of my days, then I am okay with that. It doesn't fill me with the same dread or fear as it did before. If leading just means following my Lord and Savior over all else, well that would be just fine with me. In that case...lead on Lord.
I recently had this conversation with a friend of mine, we will name him Sven because I like Scandinavian names, and discussed with him the dread I feel inside when over the years I have heard such comments made. I said if being a leader meant I could just go about my life living and loving people as I have thus far then I was fine with that, but if it implied some great task set before me I wanted no part of that leadership, it was too scary, too much. He then asked, "Well, what if you are a leader just by being you and nothing else?" Well, that would be okay with me, and after that the conversation went another way. But as someone who is constantly thinking (a very dangerous trait at times) I continued to mull over the conversation in my mind. What is it to be a leader? Well, very simply this is what I have come to.
Many years ago a member of my church was given a vision. I cannot relate it to you word for word as I do not have it in front of me and I apologize for any mistakes in my memory, but I will share with you what of it made a lasting impression on my young mind. He saw a frozen wasteland and across it were scattered believers. We were all struggling towards some sort of safety (i don't recall what) and were forced to walk through a menacing gale that threatened to blow us off course and into oblivion. Many people came from different directions and converged on the same course, some carrying nothing and some bogged down with the weight of their belongings. As the gale blew harder some lost hold and were blown away, some began to let go of their bags to lighten their load and ensure their safe passage, but others held on tighter refusing to let go. There were a few who had stakes with them and they began to drive them deep into the frozen ground as anchors. Those people surrounding them began to hold on to them to keep themselves from being swept away by the brutal winds. When the person awoke he felt upset that those who refused to loose themselves from their baggage would use take the strength of others as their anchor, but he was given the following understanding:
The group of believers were all those whose hearts were seeking Christ and the winds were the temptations and trials of Satan blowing them off the goal of salvation. The baggage that some carried were the hopes, belongings and joys of this life. Some would be willing to let go of them and others would allow this life to weigh them down. The ground that the stakes were driven into was the foundation of the word of God which held them fast to their goal. Some would not have the strength on their own to drive fast into the word and be an anchor for others. Some needed the strength of those around them to hold true to their course. The responsibility of those gifted to drive anchors into the foundation, was to be a strength to those around them. To be a strength in the midst of the storm.
I heard that vision related when I was a young teenager, and it remains an impressive and moving image in my mind to this day. From that moment until now I have prayed that God might bless me to be that anchor for someone when my time comes. To hold fast so strong and true to His word that I might bring some relief to a soul weary from their journey, to give them a moment of rest.
After my conversation with Sven I mused over what was said, my memory of this vision and my hopes and prayers associated with it. If that is what it is to someday be a leader, if it means to drive my strength and trust and hope deep into the solid foundation of the word of God; to follow that word to the end of my days, then I am okay with that. It doesn't fill me with the same dread or fear as it did before. If leading just means following my Lord and Savior over all else, well that would be just fine with me. In that case...lead on Lord.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
On Chastening
"...My son, despise not thou the chastening of the Lord, nor faint when thou art rebuked of Him: for whom the Lord loveth He chastenith, and scourgeth every son whom he recieveth." -Hebrews 12:5&6
This post is not an easy one for me to admit to, because it very clearly shows my failings. That being freely admitted I hope you will find forgiveness for those failings and learn from my weaknesses. After all, the point of this entire blog is to share the very heart of me. I cannot honestly endeavor to share myself if I refuse to share my moments of weakness as well as moments of strength. Especially when those moments contain within them some of the most powerful examples of grace and love from the Lord. So, here goes...
This story begins Thanksgiving weekend 2003. I had traveled to Phoenix to attend a church reunion and was fully enjoying my stay with family and friends while excitedly contemplating my plans for the future. On Sunday afternoon I chose to take a small walk through the neighborhood around the church simply to drink in the sun and contemplate the lessons of the day. As I walked the streets my eyes wandered to the beautiful mountains surrounding the city. I was speaking with the Lord in my heart, thanking Him for the beauty of His creation when all at once as if sitting suspended over my view of the mountains I saw an image that I instantly knew was of a future time. I was sitting at a dinning table surrounded by my children and my husband and we were preparing to eat. As I looked on the scene I knew God was preparing a future for me in this desert. I thought to myself, "Okay Lord, I never wanted to live in the desert but if this is your plan for someday then I am okay with it." I didn't consider the image I had seen after that. It was for someday far down the road, it did not impact my current plans or life in any way so I quickly pushed it to the back of my mind and the next day was back in Kansas City moving on with life.
Over the next year I obtained a solid job with my university working in the financial aid department, I was finishing up my degree program and I had purchased my first home which was everything I could want or love in a home set on a hillside in farm country. My life was full of church, family and friends. I was on the right track. But as the year went on I felt an unsettling in my heart and I found my thoughts turned toward the southwest.
Slowly I began to do research on jobs under the guise of a 'what if' scenario. What if I did move there someday, where could I work? Where might I live? That year a group of my friends and I drove down to Phoenix for Thanksgiving weekend again. There was no bolt of lightning, no trumpets sounding or booming voice telling me to move. There was simply a growing fever burning in my heart and an image burnt on my mind imposed on the mountains. I did my best to ignore this thought of moving. Surely it was not the time, that was for a later date years and years down the road still. I had a plan, I had a life in Missouri. It was all so smooth and beautiful, surely God was not calling me here now?!
After returning home I could not get the thought out of my mind, "It's time to go." I struggled through the winter with the decision. I applied for several jobs at ASU and told the Lord if He wanted me there now He would need to prepare a job for me. Of all the jobs I applied for, only one responded...the police department. "I never want to work for a police department!", I thought, "This is ridiculous! I would hate the job completely." I didn't want to even respond, but to show obedience I responded while praying, "Okay Lord, if this is where you want me I'll need your help to get this job." Several months passed with me flying back and forth to take test after test, on each trip I was sure this would be the end of my trial and I would be able to stay in Missouri. But a couple weeks later I would get a response that I had passed and when can we schedule the next test. Finally, the last test loomed nearer and I felt sick to my stomach with the knowledge that I would pass yet again and be forced with the final decision to leave my home. I knelt in my living room saddened, troubled and not a little bit stubborn and spent an entire afternoon in communion with my maker. By the end of my long struggle I found myself broken, even more sad and completely at peace. It was time to go.
Moving across the country is never an easy task, but somehow everything fell into place perfectly and soon I was locked into a steady rhythm of day to day life. I missed my home and farm country and seasons and family, but I had loved ones and family here too. I was reunited with my dear cousin and childhood friend who became as close a sister to me as I ever could have hoped for had I been blessed with sisters. I had her sweet babies to love on and great friends as well as a job I did not hate after all. And in the back of my mind I had a promise of someday lingering in the distance.
Then came the summer of 2009. My dear Hedricks were leaving to go to Colorado. The Lord had a work for them and they had their witness to go. My dearest sister and friend, my babies and their father who was a confidant and trusted minister would no longer be a short drive away. I dealt with the blow as gracefully as a broken hearted girl could do when faced with the knowledge that it was right in the Lord for them to go. That year as I struggled with my loss I also had a loss of another kind. The man I was dating, who I believed to be 'the one' did not turn out to be who I had thought. I began to look for jobs in Colorado. To dream of going to be with my Hedricks again. I love the area they live in and would be more than happy to live there. The nearby areas were hiring off and on, surely I could find something. As I looked I began to pray for guidance.
Have you ever prayed for the Lord to guide you but secretly begged Him to do what you want? Well, that's what my prayers were and in my gut I knew they were wrong. Heedless of the promises I had been given here and the knowledge that I was not truly seeking God's will but my own. I began to investigate my options in earnest. I was at the edge of applying for jobs several times but always felt held back by some unseen hand. I would pray in those moments, "Please just tell me yes or no.", but a part of me was saying, "Just give me a yes so I won't feel guilty." That year as reunion came I made a determination to fast and pray for a final word from the Lord on the topic. In one of the sermons the minister said, "If you have a question to ask of the Lord, ask in faith and he will give you the answer you seek." That's it! I knew for sure this was the weekend I would finally get my answer. The days ticked by and with each meeting I sat in expectation of some word, sign or feeling...something that would for once put my mind to rest. But nothing came. Then it was the last service. My ears and eyes strained with every effort to hear or see what the Lord would answer. "Please Lord, I am listening." I cried in my heart. Nothing. Then the last song and prayer came. "Here it is", I thought, "This must be the moment." The Amen was said and no word had come. No promised answer. I left the service dejected and worn. As I walked slowly to my house I struggled inside, "Why Lord, why won't you answer me? Have I not been faithful in asking? Has my fast not been acceptable to you? Where have I failed in my attempts to seek you?" A faint image of a dinning table peeked into the corners of my mind, but I pushed it away thinking, "That is not what this is about! That was for a later time, clearly there is no hope of that for me at this time." The image then floated fully into the view of my consciousness, but again I rejected it and told myself to focus on the request at hand.
Again I addressed myself to the Lord, deliberately looking straight ahead to the mountains as I walked. "Why won't you speak to me Lord?" Then, as quiet as a whisper at the back of my mind and as loud as a burst of thunder from heaven I received my reply. "Have I not promised a life for you here?" My being, down to the marrow of my bones felt at once as frozen as ice and as shapeless as molten metal. I could not form words, but my heart acknowledged the truth. "And why is that not good enough for you?" There was the direct answer I was seeking, and the Lord was not pleased with me. I cannot explain to you how devastatingly crushed my entire being was. I do not know how I made it home through the torrent of tears and apologies pouring out of me. Of course I had been given a promise! Why was I treating it like nothing?! Why was I fighting to leave the very place I had been sent to with such great a promise as that? Because in my weak an shortsighted self I did not see the result of His promise when I wanted it to be there. Because I was impatient and attempted to make my own way instead of waiting on His perfect timing.
I entered my doorway and collapsed on the waiting ottoman. I don't know how long I cried and apologized to the Lord for my impertinence. Slowly as my strength drained away I was filled with a peace and love that told me I was forgiven. As I continued to pray pouring my heart out to Him telling him of my loneliness and my fears, He comforted me with His spirit and restored my hope until I found myself at perfect rest.
I still do not see that image in it's fullness. I would like to tell you I never have moments of doubt, after that experience how could I right? But I am a weak human and still have my moments of loneliness and fear, but I will never again ask to leave this desert He has sent me to for I know He has sent me for His good will and pleasure. This testimony is not about who I will marry or if I will marry or when I will marry. It's about my Heavenly Father who loves me enough to give me a royal chewing out when I forget His promises to me. It's about learning that whatever is in store for this life that He has given me, whatever trials or joys lie ahead, it is the life He has promised to me. And that promise alone is enough, for no matter how slothful I may be to remember His promises they are never far from His thoughts.
This post is not an easy one for me to admit to, because it very clearly shows my failings. That being freely admitted I hope you will find forgiveness for those failings and learn from my weaknesses. After all, the point of this entire blog is to share the very heart of me. I cannot honestly endeavor to share myself if I refuse to share my moments of weakness as well as moments of strength. Especially when those moments contain within them some of the most powerful examples of grace and love from the Lord. So, here goes...
This story begins Thanksgiving weekend 2003. I had traveled to Phoenix to attend a church reunion and was fully enjoying my stay with family and friends while excitedly contemplating my plans for the future. On Sunday afternoon I chose to take a small walk through the neighborhood around the church simply to drink in the sun and contemplate the lessons of the day. As I walked the streets my eyes wandered to the beautiful mountains surrounding the city. I was speaking with the Lord in my heart, thanking Him for the beauty of His creation when all at once as if sitting suspended over my view of the mountains I saw an image that I instantly knew was of a future time. I was sitting at a dinning table surrounded by my children and my husband and we were preparing to eat. As I looked on the scene I knew God was preparing a future for me in this desert. I thought to myself, "Okay Lord, I never wanted to live in the desert but if this is your plan for someday then I am okay with it." I didn't consider the image I had seen after that. It was for someday far down the road, it did not impact my current plans or life in any way so I quickly pushed it to the back of my mind and the next day was back in Kansas City moving on with life.
Over the next year I obtained a solid job with my university working in the financial aid department, I was finishing up my degree program and I had purchased my first home which was everything I could want or love in a home set on a hillside in farm country. My life was full of church, family and friends. I was on the right track. But as the year went on I felt an unsettling in my heart and I found my thoughts turned toward the southwest.
Slowly I began to do research on jobs under the guise of a 'what if' scenario. What if I did move there someday, where could I work? Where might I live? That year a group of my friends and I drove down to Phoenix for Thanksgiving weekend again. There was no bolt of lightning, no trumpets sounding or booming voice telling me to move. There was simply a growing fever burning in my heart and an image burnt on my mind imposed on the mountains. I did my best to ignore this thought of moving. Surely it was not the time, that was for a later date years and years down the road still. I had a plan, I had a life in Missouri. It was all so smooth and beautiful, surely God was not calling me here now?!
After returning home I could not get the thought out of my mind, "It's time to go." I struggled through the winter with the decision. I applied for several jobs at ASU and told the Lord if He wanted me there now He would need to prepare a job for me. Of all the jobs I applied for, only one responded...the police department. "I never want to work for a police department!", I thought, "This is ridiculous! I would hate the job completely." I didn't want to even respond, but to show obedience I responded while praying, "Okay Lord, if this is where you want me I'll need your help to get this job." Several months passed with me flying back and forth to take test after test, on each trip I was sure this would be the end of my trial and I would be able to stay in Missouri. But a couple weeks later I would get a response that I had passed and when can we schedule the next test. Finally, the last test loomed nearer and I felt sick to my stomach with the knowledge that I would pass yet again and be forced with the final decision to leave my home. I knelt in my living room saddened, troubled and not a little bit stubborn and spent an entire afternoon in communion with my maker. By the end of my long struggle I found myself broken, even more sad and completely at peace. It was time to go.
Moving across the country is never an easy task, but somehow everything fell into place perfectly and soon I was locked into a steady rhythm of day to day life. I missed my home and farm country and seasons and family, but I had loved ones and family here too. I was reunited with my dear cousin and childhood friend who became as close a sister to me as I ever could have hoped for had I been blessed with sisters. I had her sweet babies to love on and great friends as well as a job I did not hate after all. And in the back of my mind I had a promise of someday lingering in the distance.
Then came the summer of 2009. My dear Hedricks were leaving to go to Colorado. The Lord had a work for them and they had their witness to go. My dearest sister and friend, my babies and their father who was a confidant and trusted minister would no longer be a short drive away. I dealt with the blow as gracefully as a broken hearted girl could do when faced with the knowledge that it was right in the Lord for them to go. That year as I struggled with my loss I also had a loss of another kind. The man I was dating, who I believed to be 'the one' did not turn out to be who I had thought. I began to look for jobs in Colorado. To dream of going to be with my Hedricks again. I love the area they live in and would be more than happy to live there. The nearby areas were hiring off and on, surely I could find something. As I looked I began to pray for guidance.
Have you ever prayed for the Lord to guide you but secretly begged Him to do what you want? Well, that's what my prayers were and in my gut I knew they were wrong. Heedless of the promises I had been given here and the knowledge that I was not truly seeking God's will but my own. I began to investigate my options in earnest. I was at the edge of applying for jobs several times but always felt held back by some unseen hand. I would pray in those moments, "Please just tell me yes or no.", but a part of me was saying, "Just give me a yes so I won't feel guilty." That year as reunion came I made a determination to fast and pray for a final word from the Lord on the topic. In one of the sermons the minister said, "If you have a question to ask of the Lord, ask in faith and he will give you the answer you seek." That's it! I knew for sure this was the weekend I would finally get my answer. The days ticked by and with each meeting I sat in expectation of some word, sign or feeling...something that would for once put my mind to rest. But nothing came. Then it was the last service. My ears and eyes strained with every effort to hear or see what the Lord would answer. "Please Lord, I am listening." I cried in my heart. Nothing. Then the last song and prayer came. "Here it is", I thought, "This must be the moment." The Amen was said and no word had come. No promised answer. I left the service dejected and worn. As I walked slowly to my house I struggled inside, "Why Lord, why won't you answer me? Have I not been faithful in asking? Has my fast not been acceptable to you? Where have I failed in my attempts to seek you?" A faint image of a dinning table peeked into the corners of my mind, but I pushed it away thinking, "That is not what this is about! That was for a later time, clearly there is no hope of that for me at this time." The image then floated fully into the view of my consciousness, but again I rejected it and told myself to focus on the request at hand.
Again I addressed myself to the Lord, deliberately looking straight ahead to the mountains as I walked. "Why won't you speak to me Lord?" Then, as quiet as a whisper at the back of my mind and as loud as a burst of thunder from heaven I received my reply. "Have I not promised a life for you here?" My being, down to the marrow of my bones felt at once as frozen as ice and as shapeless as molten metal. I could not form words, but my heart acknowledged the truth. "And why is that not good enough for you?" There was the direct answer I was seeking, and the Lord was not pleased with me. I cannot explain to you how devastatingly crushed my entire being was. I do not know how I made it home through the torrent of tears and apologies pouring out of me. Of course I had been given a promise! Why was I treating it like nothing?! Why was I fighting to leave the very place I had been sent to with such great a promise as that? Because in my weak an shortsighted self I did not see the result of His promise when I wanted it to be there. Because I was impatient and attempted to make my own way instead of waiting on His perfect timing.
I entered my doorway and collapsed on the waiting ottoman. I don't know how long I cried and apologized to the Lord for my impertinence. Slowly as my strength drained away I was filled with a peace and love that told me I was forgiven. As I continued to pray pouring my heart out to Him telling him of my loneliness and my fears, He comforted me with His spirit and restored my hope until I found myself at perfect rest.
I still do not see that image in it's fullness. I would like to tell you I never have moments of doubt, after that experience how could I right? But I am a weak human and still have my moments of loneliness and fear, but I will never again ask to leave this desert He has sent me to for I know He has sent me for His good will and pleasure. This testimony is not about who I will marry or if I will marry or when I will marry. It's about my Heavenly Father who loves me enough to give me a royal chewing out when I forget His promises to me. It's about learning that whatever is in store for this life that He has given me, whatever trials or joys lie ahead, it is the life He has promised to me. And that promise alone is enough, for no matter how slothful I may be to remember His promises they are never far from His thoughts.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
On Baking
If you have spent any significant amount of time with me you will know that I love to bake. I love cooking in general, but baking is my favorite. The only thing I love more than baking is cooking or baking for people I love. I like to think that is something I got from my grandma Ruth. She was a phenomenal cook. Dinners at grandma's always consisted of: a meat, two veggies, a starch and dessert. Even if the dessert was as simple as cottage cheese with peaches, there was always dessert.
Now, not knowing my grandma you may wonder just how having dinner equates to love so I shall attempt to explain. My grandmother was never an overly 'huggy' grandma. While you may have gotten a short hug or a pat on the head now and again, cuddling was not something that happened often....if ever. Cuddles were grandpa's domain and he did plenty of it. Grandma was always the voice of propriety almost to the point of being straight laced. Everything was in it's proper order all of the time including children. If I were to stop right here you may get the impression my grandmother was a hard nosed and cold person, but I can never lead someone to believe that. You see, there was another side to my grandmother, one that was best seen when in the kitchen.
Most days when my brothers and I came home from school we went straight to grandma's for the afternoon/evening. As soon as I walked in the door my senses were immediately overwhelmed with the odor of hot cocoa and fresh baked cookies. Grandma always had them waiting on the kitchen table for us. Even now the thought of those chewy perfect peanut butter cookies makes me miss her. She would always stand at the counter watching as we ate. I remember wondering why she felt the need to watch us...did she think we would make a horrible mess?
Growing up on a 300+ acre farm we had plenty of woods to roam and in those woods were the tastiest gooseberries I have ever had. I remember in the summer time grandma would send us out to pick them (probably hoping for some peace and quiet) and when we would return she would bake the best gooseberry tarts you can imagine. The perfect blend of sweet and sour curled up in a flaky pastry shell, it was heaven itself dancing on your tongue. I would set up the step stool by the counter and watch while she mixed the dough and stirred the gooseberries and sugar on the stove. The house minute by minute filled with the warmth of the oven and the odor of spices and sugars mixing. When they were finally cooled (it felt like an eternity) we enjoyed them right on the spot with grandma, as ever, watching from her perch at the counter.
Sunday dinners were the biggest affair with grandma. Honey baked ham with cloves, mashed potatoes, green beans, rolls, carrots....the works were all on display on the dining table in her best blue and white china. I remember the smells and sounds of family gathered together, talking and eating and laughing. Almost always grandma was the last to eat. She was up and down getting this or that out of the kitchen, then when things would settle and the needs dissipated I would see her sitting in her chair with the food on her plate barely touched as she sat and watched us after a few moments her face would relax and she would begin eating in earnest.
Throughout my youth and adolescence I often wondered about grandma and her 'watching'. Knowing the strict side of her personality I chalked it up to her waiting for someone to make a mess or need something fixed. An inability to just relax and let the moment happen, but I now believe I was entirely wrong in that estimation.
I don't know exactly when it happened or how, but as my teenage years went on I discovered I loved cooking and baking. I enjoyed the process of combining ingredients that individually weren't so special but combined became something new and delicious. But more than that I began to realize I enjoyed the pleasure people had from eating what I made. I began to think of the people I was cooking for while I made the food. How much this person would enjoy this dish and what if I added this spice...so and so would love that flavor. The creation of the food became a process of putting my care for that person into the product. I found myself holding my breath just a bit waiting to see if those I had made something for enjoyed it. Is it too sweet? Need more spice? Should I bake it a touch longer? Those simple questions became a quest to find just the perfect combination that would bring them the greatest pleasure possible from my effort.
One evening while sitting around the dinner table with a new casserole I had invented (Cheesy Asparagus and Potatoes) I found myself sitting in my grandmothers position. My plate was full of food that was barely touched and I sat focused, not on my meal or the conversation but on the people I loved who were eating my offering. Did they enjoy it? Did they know I thought of them and prayed for them while I made it? Could they taste my love for them with every bite?
All at once the light bulb went off in my mind. That's what grandma was doing! She wasn't waiting for a mess to be made or making sure things were 'just so'. She wasn't unable to enjoy the moment, she was watching us to see how well she had done. She was waiting to make sure her offering of love had been accepted and enjoyed! She was telling us with every stir of a pot and each scrape of a pan that she loved us.
I am not like my grandmother in many ways. Where she had things 'just so' I tend to have chaos. While she was always perfectly put together, I many times am a shambles. That being said when I am in the kitchen I feel very much a part of who she was. When I am in the kitchen I am never alone, for in my mind I am standing by her side cooking away and thinking of and praying for those who would eat my small gifts of love.
Now, not knowing my grandma you may wonder just how having dinner equates to love so I shall attempt to explain. My grandmother was never an overly 'huggy' grandma. While you may have gotten a short hug or a pat on the head now and again, cuddling was not something that happened often....if ever. Cuddles were grandpa's domain and he did plenty of it. Grandma was always the voice of propriety almost to the point of being straight laced. Everything was in it's proper order all of the time including children. If I were to stop right here you may get the impression my grandmother was a hard nosed and cold person, but I can never lead someone to believe that. You see, there was another side to my grandmother, one that was best seen when in the kitchen.
Most days when my brothers and I came home from school we went straight to grandma's for the afternoon/evening. As soon as I walked in the door my senses were immediately overwhelmed with the odor of hot cocoa and fresh baked cookies. Grandma always had them waiting on the kitchen table for us. Even now the thought of those chewy perfect peanut butter cookies makes me miss her. She would always stand at the counter watching as we ate. I remember wondering why she felt the need to watch us...did she think we would make a horrible mess?
Growing up on a 300+ acre farm we had plenty of woods to roam and in those woods were the tastiest gooseberries I have ever had. I remember in the summer time grandma would send us out to pick them (probably hoping for some peace and quiet) and when we would return she would bake the best gooseberry tarts you can imagine. The perfect blend of sweet and sour curled up in a flaky pastry shell, it was heaven itself dancing on your tongue. I would set up the step stool by the counter and watch while she mixed the dough and stirred the gooseberries and sugar on the stove. The house minute by minute filled with the warmth of the oven and the odor of spices and sugars mixing. When they were finally cooled (it felt like an eternity) we enjoyed them right on the spot with grandma, as ever, watching from her perch at the counter.
Sunday dinners were the biggest affair with grandma. Honey baked ham with cloves, mashed potatoes, green beans, rolls, carrots....the works were all on display on the dining table in her best blue and white china. I remember the smells and sounds of family gathered together, talking and eating and laughing. Almost always grandma was the last to eat. She was up and down getting this or that out of the kitchen, then when things would settle and the needs dissipated I would see her sitting in her chair with the food on her plate barely touched as she sat and watched us after a few moments her face would relax and she would begin eating in earnest.
Throughout my youth and adolescence I often wondered about grandma and her 'watching'. Knowing the strict side of her personality I chalked it up to her waiting for someone to make a mess or need something fixed. An inability to just relax and let the moment happen, but I now believe I was entirely wrong in that estimation.
I don't know exactly when it happened or how, but as my teenage years went on I discovered I loved cooking and baking. I enjoyed the process of combining ingredients that individually weren't so special but combined became something new and delicious. But more than that I began to realize I enjoyed the pleasure people had from eating what I made. I began to think of the people I was cooking for while I made the food. How much this person would enjoy this dish and what if I added this spice...so and so would love that flavor. The creation of the food became a process of putting my care for that person into the product. I found myself holding my breath just a bit waiting to see if those I had made something for enjoyed it. Is it too sweet? Need more spice? Should I bake it a touch longer? Those simple questions became a quest to find just the perfect combination that would bring them the greatest pleasure possible from my effort.
One evening while sitting around the dinner table with a new casserole I had invented (Cheesy Asparagus and Potatoes) I found myself sitting in my grandmothers position. My plate was full of food that was barely touched and I sat focused, not on my meal or the conversation but on the people I loved who were eating my offering. Did they enjoy it? Did they know I thought of them and prayed for them while I made it? Could they taste my love for them with every bite?
All at once the light bulb went off in my mind. That's what grandma was doing! She wasn't waiting for a mess to be made or making sure things were 'just so'. She wasn't unable to enjoy the moment, she was watching us to see how well she had done. She was waiting to make sure her offering of love had been accepted and enjoyed! She was telling us with every stir of a pot and each scrape of a pan that she loved us.
I am not like my grandmother in many ways. Where she had things 'just so' I tend to have chaos. While she was always perfectly put together, I many times am a shambles. That being said when I am in the kitchen I feel very much a part of who she was. When I am in the kitchen I am never alone, for in my mind I am standing by her side cooking away and thinking of and praying for those who would eat my small gifts of love.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Chapter Two: A Promise by Moonlight
The Missionary's Daughter
I haven't sewed my children's clo'se
For days, the way I'd like to do;
I don't neglect 'em, goodness knows,
'Cept when it's my duty to;
They're less important, anyhow,
'Cause I'm a missionary now.
My heathen doll's not half so dear
As all my Christian children there,
And that's what makes my duty clear
To always give him speshul care;
'Cause I have found it wrong to do
The things I'm always wanting to.
-Burges Johnson
When I was about seventeen and on a trip to visit my parents in Honduras I stumbled across the poem "The Missionary's Daughter". It was in a small frame on my Mother's shelf. In the frame next to the poem there was a picture of a small girl in braids teaching a rag'a'muffin doll while her other dolls in pristine condition sat on the floor unused.
As I read the words my eyes filled with tears and all of the pent up emotions from my childhood flooded back to me in an uncontrollable tsunami of sorrow. I read it over and over, amazed that I had never seen this before in my parents home. Where did it come from and how was it written so perfectly for me? It was as though the author stepped into my seven year old brain and stood by watching every feeling I struggled with as a child. How did they know? And why of all places was it here in my parent's home in Honduras?!
Sitting on the concrete floor of my parent's living room with beads of sweat rolling down my low back from the tropical heat as the constant whir of the ceiling fan spun overhead I faded away into a distant memory. A night I promised myself never to forget, but which had grown dim with the passing of time. All at once spurred by the words of a timeless poem I was shot back into my seven year old self.
It was late at night and all of the house was asleep. As I lie in my bed tossing and turning I saw the moonlight shining brightly through a crack in the blinds of my window. Wanting to see the moon in it's full glory I quietly tiptoed down the hallway and into our living room. The carpet was being replaced (or maybe just cleaned) so the furniture was moved back into the dining room leaving the picture window completely open to view. As I turned the corner from the hallway I saw the living room full of silver moonlight. I walked up to the window staring out at the shimmering scene below. Trees a perfect blackness framed by silver gilding were casting strange shadows on the crystal blue light that filtered through the yard. Above me the sky seemed full to spilling over with the largest most beautifully white moon I had ever seen. I was in complete awe at the wonder surrounding me. In the perfect stillness I began to talk to God.
I say talk and not pray because my conversation with Him was not in the standard "Dear God" and "Amen" order. It was literally a pouring out of my heart to Him. I thanked Him for waking me to see the beauty of the night. I told Him how I had been feeling very sad, that I missed my Mom and Dad because they were very busy helping other kids. I told Him I knew they were doing an important work and I should not be upset but happy that other kids felt loved and cared for. Then I asked Him if it were possible, could He please make me poor and brown so that I could be held and cared for too? I told Him I knew Mom and Dad loved me, but sometimes I just wanted them to hold me. Then I did what as an adult I shamefully fail to do...I was quiet and waited for an answer. I watched the shadows move slowly across the lawn as I felt the Lord comfort my heart. Then I told Him I knew He was right, that my parents had work to do and I had to understand that even if it was hard sometimes. I promised Him I would not leave Him and would serve Him always, and could He please give me one blessing? Would He please bless me to never forget this night and to always find wonder and beauty in the small things He created? Then, with my heart finally at rest, I looked one more time at the moonscape before me trying to burn it into my memory and quietly slipped to bed.
Sitting in my parent's house as an adult I felt ashamed to broach the subject with my Mom, afraid she would look into my eyes and know what I was struggling through. Afraid to make her feel even the slightest twinge of guilt over their decisions when we were young. But my curiosity got the better of me and, when I felt I was sufficiently under control, I asked her about the poem and if I could take it home with me.
"Take it home with you? That's my favorite poem, I love it. No you can't take it.", I looked in her eyes pleading for understanding, "Mom, this was written for me. I was that little girl.". My Father overhearing the exchange became upset, "No you can't take it. Your Mother gives up everything for everyone all of the time. This is something that is special to her and I am putting my foot down. You can't expect her to give up everything you know.". The whole while he spoke I maintained eye contact with my Mom, my eyes growing teary as I tried to hold back my tears. I do not know exactly what my Mother saw in my eyes, I have never asked her. But I know what she saw convinced her of my deep set need for validation. To know that at some level she understood there was a piece of me in that work, even if it was something she might never fully know or understand. As she watched me never breaking eye contact she said, "No honey, it's okay she can have it."
They say there are two sides to every coin and as humans we are rarely if ever able to fully see or comprehend the side opposite to us. A missionary's work is necessary and important, but I find only the glory of it is ever spoken of. There is a glorious side, one that made me into the woman I am today who does her best to be reliant on the Lord at every turn. There is also a side of great sacrifice that cannot be ignored or imagined away. It's a sacrifice that is unexpected and affects every member of the family. Growth is not achieved without sacrifice and because of that I am thankful for the sacrifice my family has made.
Monday, July 2, 2012
Chapter One: His Hand Held Back the Tide
"He gathereth the waters of the sea together as an heap: He layeth up the depth in storehouses. Let all the earth fear the Lord: let all the inhabitants of the world stand in awe of Him." -Psalm 33:7&8
I was born of goodly parents. That phrase has stuck with me since I first read it. I have always believed it was the perfect beginning of a life story. Because where does any story begin, if not with one's parents? My story happens to begin with my parents and, thankfully for me, they were (and are) indeed goodly parents.
There are moments in your life that become imprinted on your memory, on the very essence of your being. They influence and forever change who you will become. My story, my heritage, is fully stocked with such moments and I feel utterly and desperately inept to put them into words with any justice to their creator. I have taken a breath, said a prayer and hope against hope that somehow when I type the final words, a grace beyond my own capabilities will have stepped in and covered my inadequacies.
When I was about three and a half years old my parents made a decision which, at the time, seemed to be a foolhardy venture into self destruction with their entire family in tow. They both felt they had been called to travel to Honduras to see for themselves what the impoverished families in that country might need for daily survival. They wanted to serve, and they felt led to find service there. Let me set the scene more completely for you. My parents who did not speak Spanish (My mother had taken a couple classes, but spoke very little and nothing fluent.) decided to load myself and my three brothers into our Volkswagon van and drive from Rosemount, Minnesota to the Central American country of Honduras where we knew absolutely no one. At that time the country of Nicaragua, just to the south of Honduras, was in full blown war and the refugees were being sent to camps in Honduras. There was also during that time period civil unrest in both Southern Mexico and Guatemala. Several missionary families had already been kidnapped by various guerrilla forces in each country and held for ransom. Both of these countries would have to be driven through to get to the final destination.
My family members begged my parents not to go, and if they felt they must go please do not be foolish enough to take the children. Homes were offered for us to stay in while my parents went on their adventure together, but the offer was denied. My parents decided if we were to go we would go as a family. They would not separate us for if the Lord saw fit to protect them, surely He would protect us together as well. The appointed day for travel came and we set out on the road. Little could I have known at the age of three and a half that the direction of my life would be forever changed in that single decision. That very first leap of faith by my parents made all of the difference in the woman I am today.
I should add that my Mother always said a very specific prayer whenever we would begin a trip. She would ask God to bless us with faith and teach us to trust in Him. It is a prayer I remember well and one I hope to pray over my own family someday. But I will warn you, it is a prayer that is not for the faint of heart. We quickly learned when Mom prayed for faith we were most certain to be faced with a dilemma that could not be solved without great prayer and reliance on the Lord. As we got older my brothers and I felt a certain amount of dread when we heard the yearly prayer from Mom's lips. I remember begging her, "Please stop praying that! We have enough faith now, I just want a nice peaceful trip this time." Mother of course, being a loving Mother, did not listen to my pleas but reminded me we would never reach a point in our lives when we would have enough faith because if faith is not growing it is most assuredly dying.
I firmly believe it was because of my Mother's prayers that we never traveled to Honduras without having some mishap occur. What to me at the time was anything from an inconvenience to a terrifying encounter, became in my heart the foundation of my faith in God. Not as a being who watches our lives from a throne on high, but as a true Heavenly Father who is actively an omnipresent being in our lives. Ever with us and in us and working through us as we struggle to understand our place in this world and the world to come. This is the story of the first building block to that foundation in my life.
It was, I believe, on our second trip to Honduras. My brother Ronnie was about thirteen, Tommy six and John Michael just Three. As we traveled toward Chorpus Christi, Texas my Father decided it would be neat to drive us down onto the beach several miles north of town. It being winter time there was no one on the beach and he knew when the tide was out the sand would be packed down hard enough to drive on.
I remember the beach being grey and cold with a pretty stout wind blowing the grasses on the sand dunes that we passed driving toward the water. We were all squealing at Dad not to drive us into the water while he laughed and said we could just drive our way to Honduras through the ocean. I could barely make out the outline of the city as I looked down the beach into the cloudy horizon. Everything was giggles and happiness until Dad realized he had miscalculated the tide. All at once he realized the tide, which he had thought would still be out, was coming in and coming in fast. Before he could put the van in reverse the tide had pulled our solid ground out from under us and we were stuck fast and hard. Dad made one attempt to back up, but quickly realized that would only be certain disaster as the water rushed in even more pulling us under even more deeply.
It was decided Mom and Ronnie would head down the beach toward town to get help while Dad waited with the rest of us at the van. Looking back I cannot imagine what it must have been like for Dad to send off his wife and son into an unknown city while he waited, helpless to do anything to get us out. How he must have wondered, what if something happened to them? How long might it take before he needed to worry and what could he do about it? What on earth would he do to occupy three children under six while we were all trapped inside a van being pulled into the sand? None of those questions occupied my four year old mind. At the time it did not dawn on me that my Father had anything to worry about. All I found myself wondering was, why was Dad pacing back and forth outside the van and what if we are stuck here forever? Could you get sucked into the ocean?
I don't know who's idea it was because I have no memory of discussing it with my brothers, but somehow we decided what we needed to do was pray. The three of us crawled into the back of our van and knelt down bowing our heads as far as we could. Out loud and with as much fervor as I have ever prayed we asked the same thing over and over. "Dear God, please keep the water away, please keep us safe. In Jesus' name amen." For the entire time my Mother and Ronnie were gone we prayed non stop. It must have been at least an hour's time, maybe more but we did not give pause until we heard the sound of an engine coming toward us.
When we finally looked up we saw my Mother and Ronnie coming down the beach in a tow truck. The driver was able to pull us from our precarious position and we continued on our way, lesson learned. Now here comes the amazing part. It was years later that I heard my Father's account of that day. It is through his account that I learned how swiftly and miraculously God answered the prayer of his three children that day.
While I was watching my Father pace back and forth on the beach totally unaware of his concerns and fears, he was doing his own praying. He watched the sand pull away from the front tires of the van until they were sunken in more than half way. Quickly losing hope of getting the van out in time he was pacing and asking God what he could do when, to his amazement, he saw the water was not coming up to the tires anymore. Unable to believe what he was seeing he walked around the van and saw that everywhere on the beach the tide was rushing in up past the tires of the van, but in the space right around the van no water was coming in. For the entire time that he waited for my Mother to return he watched the tide as it stayed back from the van, never once coming near.
After my Mom returned with the tow truck and everything was hooked up he watched as the driver pulled the van from it's location. As soon as the van was pulled out the water rushed back into the space taking back it's rightful place on the beach.
I know of no science that explains how the oceans tides will pick and chose where to come in and where to hold back. I do know of a God who made the ocean tides, who for His own good will and pleasure can and will hold back the very waters of the sea as His children plead for His grace and protection. I know it because I was there when His very hand held back the tide.
I was born of goodly parents. That phrase has stuck with me since I first read it. I have always believed it was the perfect beginning of a life story. Because where does any story begin, if not with one's parents? My story happens to begin with my parents and, thankfully for me, they were (and are) indeed goodly parents.
There are moments in your life that become imprinted on your memory, on the very essence of your being. They influence and forever change who you will become. My story, my heritage, is fully stocked with such moments and I feel utterly and desperately inept to put them into words with any justice to their creator. I have taken a breath, said a prayer and hope against hope that somehow when I type the final words, a grace beyond my own capabilities will have stepped in and covered my inadequacies.
When I was about three and a half years old my parents made a decision which, at the time, seemed to be a foolhardy venture into self destruction with their entire family in tow. They both felt they had been called to travel to Honduras to see for themselves what the impoverished families in that country might need for daily survival. They wanted to serve, and they felt led to find service there. Let me set the scene more completely for you. My parents who did not speak Spanish (My mother had taken a couple classes, but spoke very little and nothing fluent.) decided to load myself and my three brothers into our Volkswagon van and drive from Rosemount, Minnesota to the Central American country of Honduras where we knew absolutely no one. At that time the country of Nicaragua, just to the south of Honduras, was in full blown war and the refugees were being sent to camps in Honduras. There was also during that time period civil unrest in both Southern Mexico and Guatemala. Several missionary families had already been kidnapped by various guerrilla forces in each country and held for ransom. Both of these countries would have to be driven through to get to the final destination.
My family members begged my parents not to go, and if they felt they must go please do not be foolish enough to take the children. Homes were offered for us to stay in while my parents went on their adventure together, but the offer was denied. My parents decided if we were to go we would go as a family. They would not separate us for if the Lord saw fit to protect them, surely He would protect us together as well. The appointed day for travel came and we set out on the road. Little could I have known at the age of three and a half that the direction of my life would be forever changed in that single decision. That very first leap of faith by my parents made all of the difference in the woman I am today.
I should add that my Mother always said a very specific prayer whenever we would begin a trip. She would ask God to bless us with faith and teach us to trust in Him. It is a prayer I remember well and one I hope to pray over my own family someday. But I will warn you, it is a prayer that is not for the faint of heart. We quickly learned when Mom prayed for faith we were most certain to be faced with a dilemma that could not be solved without great prayer and reliance on the Lord. As we got older my brothers and I felt a certain amount of dread when we heard the yearly prayer from Mom's lips. I remember begging her, "Please stop praying that! We have enough faith now, I just want a nice peaceful trip this time." Mother of course, being a loving Mother, did not listen to my pleas but reminded me we would never reach a point in our lives when we would have enough faith because if faith is not growing it is most assuredly dying.
I firmly believe it was because of my Mother's prayers that we never traveled to Honduras without having some mishap occur. What to me at the time was anything from an inconvenience to a terrifying encounter, became in my heart the foundation of my faith in God. Not as a being who watches our lives from a throne on high, but as a true Heavenly Father who is actively an omnipresent being in our lives. Ever with us and in us and working through us as we struggle to understand our place in this world and the world to come. This is the story of the first building block to that foundation in my life.
It was, I believe, on our second trip to Honduras. My brother Ronnie was about thirteen, Tommy six and John Michael just Three. As we traveled toward Chorpus Christi, Texas my Father decided it would be neat to drive us down onto the beach several miles north of town. It being winter time there was no one on the beach and he knew when the tide was out the sand would be packed down hard enough to drive on.
I remember the beach being grey and cold with a pretty stout wind blowing the grasses on the sand dunes that we passed driving toward the water. We were all squealing at Dad not to drive us into the water while he laughed and said we could just drive our way to Honduras through the ocean. I could barely make out the outline of the city as I looked down the beach into the cloudy horizon. Everything was giggles and happiness until Dad realized he had miscalculated the tide. All at once he realized the tide, which he had thought would still be out, was coming in and coming in fast. Before he could put the van in reverse the tide had pulled our solid ground out from under us and we were stuck fast and hard. Dad made one attempt to back up, but quickly realized that would only be certain disaster as the water rushed in even more pulling us under even more deeply.
It was decided Mom and Ronnie would head down the beach toward town to get help while Dad waited with the rest of us at the van. Looking back I cannot imagine what it must have been like for Dad to send off his wife and son into an unknown city while he waited, helpless to do anything to get us out. How he must have wondered, what if something happened to them? How long might it take before he needed to worry and what could he do about it? What on earth would he do to occupy three children under six while we were all trapped inside a van being pulled into the sand? None of those questions occupied my four year old mind. At the time it did not dawn on me that my Father had anything to worry about. All I found myself wondering was, why was Dad pacing back and forth outside the van and what if we are stuck here forever? Could you get sucked into the ocean?
I don't know who's idea it was because I have no memory of discussing it with my brothers, but somehow we decided what we needed to do was pray. The three of us crawled into the back of our van and knelt down bowing our heads as far as we could. Out loud and with as much fervor as I have ever prayed we asked the same thing over and over. "Dear God, please keep the water away, please keep us safe. In Jesus' name amen." For the entire time my Mother and Ronnie were gone we prayed non stop. It must have been at least an hour's time, maybe more but we did not give pause until we heard the sound of an engine coming toward us.
When we finally looked up we saw my Mother and Ronnie coming down the beach in a tow truck. The driver was able to pull us from our precarious position and we continued on our way, lesson learned. Now here comes the amazing part. It was years later that I heard my Father's account of that day. It is through his account that I learned how swiftly and miraculously God answered the prayer of his three children that day.
While I was watching my Father pace back and forth on the beach totally unaware of his concerns and fears, he was doing his own praying. He watched the sand pull away from the front tires of the van until they were sunken in more than half way. Quickly losing hope of getting the van out in time he was pacing and asking God what he could do when, to his amazement, he saw the water was not coming up to the tires anymore. Unable to believe what he was seeing he walked around the van and saw that everywhere on the beach the tide was rushing in up past the tires of the van, but in the space right around the van no water was coming in. For the entire time that he waited for my Mother to return he watched the tide as it stayed back from the van, never once coming near.
After my Mom returned with the tow truck and everything was hooked up he watched as the driver pulled the van from it's location. As soon as the van was pulled out the water rushed back into the space taking back it's rightful place on the beach.
I know of no science that explains how the oceans tides will pick and chose where to come in and where to hold back. I do know of a God who made the ocean tides, who for His own good will and pleasure can and will hold back the very waters of the sea as His children plead for His grace and protection. I know it because I was there when His very hand held back the tide.
Monday, June 18, 2012
What Makes My Heart Swell
There are many things that make my heart swell with joy and perfect happiness, the following is but one. This will not take long and may not be tremendously poignant to you, but for me it is a moment that will live in my heart forever. My dear friend Amy's oldest son is a very grown little man at nine years old now. He has become old enough that he makes it clear he does not need kisses anymore and only sometimes wants to hug or cuddle with you. I am good with this, I am familiar with the process of separation that comes naturally as sweet cuddly boys grow into themselves and I do my best to give him whatever space he needs. But I do not do so without feeling a good amount of sadness and longing for the days when he would crawl into my lap and want me to rock him and sing him songs before bed.
Having felt those childlike strings being cut away from me it was a special thrill to have the following conversation with him a couple weeks ago. He walked up to me during a break in our Junior Young Peoples group at church and out of the blue felt the need to tell me he only liked to spend the night at his grandma's house, not anywhere else. I asked him, "what about times when you have spent the night with me?". "Oh yeah", he replied, "I do like to spend the night with you." "Well, what about your Aunt Erica?", I asked. He pursed his lips into a small smile and said, "Well really I just mean I only like to spend the night with family."
Now, those of you who may be reading this and not have met me yet will not know the different smiles that I have. I have many, and they often randomly flash across my face without my realization. I have a smile that says I am exhausted but I love you so I am trying to listen. One that says I am thinking about something I find clever or a pun on what you just said. I have angry smiles that are reserved for when I am telling myself to contain the emotion welling up inside me. There is the smile that says I am perfectly content and have no cares at that moment in time. A smile of pride when someone I love has done something well. Some of my smiles reach all the way into my eyes and make them twinkle (I know cuz I can feel them shimmering) and some of them are so slight just the corner of my mouth and one eyebrow go up. I could go on and on but I know I already have babbled too much, you don't care about my myriad of smiles and I have tortured you long enough.
In that moment in time, when I was granted the most honored status of family by this sweet boy I have loved and held in my arms and my heart for so long, I smiled more fully than I have ever smiled in my life. I think my whole body smiled as my heart swelled up inside of me till I thought it might burst from the joy. Family...even thinking of it now the smile plastered on my face makes me look like a fool and I love it. He will probably never fully know the gift he gave me that day. It was better than all the treasures of all the kingdoms ever.
Having felt those childlike strings being cut away from me it was a special thrill to have the following conversation with him a couple weeks ago. He walked up to me during a break in our Junior Young Peoples group at church and out of the blue felt the need to tell me he only liked to spend the night at his grandma's house, not anywhere else. I asked him, "what about times when you have spent the night with me?". "Oh yeah", he replied, "I do like to spend the night with you." "Well, what about your Aunt Erica?", I asked. He pursed his lips into a small smile and said, "Well really I just mean I only like to spend the night with family."
Now, those of you who may be reading this and not have met me yet will not know the different smiles that I have. I have many, and they often randomly flash across my face without my realization. I have a smile that says I am exhausted but I love you so I am trying to listen. One that says I am thinking about something I find clever or a pun on what you just said. I have angry smiles that are reserved for when I am telling myself to contain the emotion welling up inside me. There is the smile that says I am perfectly content and have no cares at that moment in time. A smile of pride when someone I love has done something well. Some of my smiles reach all the way into my eyes and make them twinkle (I know cuz I can feel them shimmering) and some of them are so slight just the corner of my mouth and one eyebrow go up. I could go on and on but I know I already have babbled too much, you don't care about my myriad of smiles and I have tortured you long enough.
In that moment in time, when I was granted the most honored status of family by this sweet boy I have loved and held in my arms and my heart for so long, I smiled more fully than I have ever smiled in my life. I think my whole body smiled as my heart swelled up inside of me till I thought it might burst from the joy. Family...even thinking of it now the smile plastered on my face makes me look like a fool and I love it. He will probably never fully know the gift he gave me that day. It was better than all the treasures of all the kingdoms ever.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
On Failing
"I couldn't live up to her." He had allowed himself that lapse into an urge that was thrown back like a wave from a rock. He had not considered the alternative, the living down to a woman. -Warwick Deeping
I read that passage in a book today and it struck a chord in me. It made me pause and ask haven't I found myself in that place before, being willing to live down to the level of a lesser man because it was easier than fighting to be worthy of a man to be lived up to? I do not mean a lesser man in the sense of being unworthy of love and caring, but lesser in the sense that he chose to live far below the goal of his potential. I know the answer is yes, and I know that in giving that answer I must admit that I was living below my own potential. I was not a woman to be lived up to and in that weakness of character how could I ever hold out a helping hand to lift him out of himself? The reality shames me. In thinking I was somehow showing grace and love, I was living selfishly and for my own glory. What else inspires you to take the easy road and give in to your personal romanticism but selfishness and pride? A dream of helping someone be greater than they wish to be? Love would have stood on solid ground as an example, always beckoning but never faltering from the truth. I failed myself and in doing so I failed him, it is a sorrow that cannot be changed only learned from.
My hope is to be found a woman worthy of being lived up to. To someday find a man I must live up to. That together standing on a firm foundation we will be examples to each other. The one always encouraging the other to push harder and further than they thought possible. Each moment inspired by my desire to be the best me possible and in turn be worthy of the best that he desires to be. I recognize that union can never be without my constant focus on the Lord, always striving to be my best for Him. Likewise it cannot be without his constant focus on the Lord, always striving to be the best for Him. I recognize if that man never crosses my path, I am beautiful and perfect and whole so long as I am focusing on what is right and true.
I have 'lived down' for someone before, and I could not respect who I had become. The inherent weakness in me that I knew was in control. I have come out the other side and see my own stupidity for what it was. I only hope as I find my sure footing, that the Lord grant me grace and mercy not to fail so again. That I might be a light on a hill, His light. And, if it is in His will, someday, I may find someone standing next to me helping me to hold tight as the waves of life crash around us.
I read that passage in a book today and it struck a chord in me. It made me pause and ask haven't I found myself in that place before, being willing to live down to the level of a lesser man because it was easier than fighting to be worthy of a man to be lived up to? I do not mean a lesser man in the sense of being unworthy of love and caring, but lesser in the sense that he chose to live far below the goal of his potential. I know the answer is yes, and I know that in giving that answer I must admit that I was living below my own potential. I was not a woman to be lived up to and in that weakness of character how could I ever hold out a helping hand to lift him out of himself? The reality shames me. In thinking I was somehow showing grace and love, I was living selfishly and for my own glory. What else inspires you to take the easy road and give in to your personal romanticism but selfishness and pride? A dream of helping someone be greater than they wish to be? Love would have stood on solid ground as an example, always beckoning but never faltering from the truth. I failed myself and in doing so I failed him, it is a sorrow that cannot be changed only learned from.
My hope is to be found a woman worthy of being lived up to. To someday find a man I must live up to. That together standing on a firm foundation we will be examples to each other. The one always encouraging the other to push harder and further than they thought possible. Each moment inspired by my desire to be the best me possible and in turn be worthy of the best that he desires to be. I recognize that union can never be without my constant focus on the Lord, always striving to be my best for Him. Likewise it cannot be without his constant focus on the Lord, always striving to be the best for Him. I recognize if that man never crosses my path, I am beautiful and perfect and whole so long as I am focusing on what is right and true.
I have 'lived down' for someone before, and I could not respect who I had become. The inherent weakness in me that I knew was in control. I have come out the other side and see my own stupidity for what it was. I only hope as I find my sure footing, that the Lord grant me grace and mercy not to fail so again. That I might be a light on a hill, His light. And, if it is in His will, someday, I may find someone standing next to me helping me to hold tight as the waves of life crash around us.
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