Making connection, making magic

I'm in Fort Collins, Colorado this week for the biannual CRU conference. So one night I went to a concert of the band, Needtobreathe.  Great name - the chosen spelling takes your breath away even as you read it! The week was packed with teaching and fellowship and entertainment, like this particular evening. It turned out neither the band nor most of the audience  knew what to expect from the evening....

Needtobreathe was started by two brothers from rural South Carolina- their daddy was a preacher and the boys played football and guitars.  A bass player joined them, they have a keyboard player and a drummer who tour with them.  They play very loud rock music and I couldn't understand most of the lyrics.     http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Needtobreathe

                    needtobreathe.net


The band didn't know the reception they would have. At one point in the evening, the lead vocalist said they expected about 150 people to come. I'd estimate at least a thousand people were in the CSU Moby arena.


Low expectations.

I was going along for an interesting experience.
They had committed their band without assurance of numbers.  

Just letting life happen.

Magic.


Turns out some people did know the band and the lyrics. In typical rock concert style, the young adults stood at the front of the arena floor and yelled song titles, jumped up and down and sang the lyrics. They were close enough to smell the sweat of the hardworking musicians.  Some of us were more content to be further back, more removed from the crowd but the sheer excellence of the musicians revived that "I remember when rock music moved me like this..." and I just soaked in the notes.

But both generations of the audience were caught up with the lead vocalist when he couldn't hold back his tears and sang,

Daddy was a preacher
She was his wife
Just tryin to make the world a little better
You know, shine a light
People started talking
Just to hear their own voice
Those people tried to accuse my father
Said he made the wrong choice
Though it might be painful
You know that time will always tell
Those people have long since gone
My father never failed

And we all sang together,

 Even when the rain falls

Even when the flood starts rising
Even when the storm comes
I am washed by the water

At the end, we stood and clapped and stomped, and insisted on an encore.  Bear Rinehart returned alone and accompanied himself on a quiet acoustic guitar for "Difference Maker"

Yeah ain't it just amazing
How a god can tend a broken man
Yeah let him find a fortune
And then ruin it with his own two hands
Oh isn't it amazing
How a man can find himself alone
Calling through the darkness
For an answer that is never known
He walks on up the hill
The rock on which he stands
Looks back at the crowd
Looks down at his hands and he says
I am a difference maker

http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/needtobreathe/differencemaker.html

He was singing to a crowd of Christians who have devoted either this season or their entire life to making a difference in their world.  And he knew it.  The three other vocalist joined him around a single microphone and when he lost the lyrics, he stopped and said, "I've lost the lyrics. I'm starting over 'cause I want YOU to get this.

Yeah I am on the fence about
Nearly everything I've seen
And I have felt the fire
Put out with too much gasoline
And we're all strangers passing through
Places one afternoon
And life is but a vision
In a window that we're peeking thorough
A hopeless conversation
With a man who says he cares a lot
It's a hopeless confrontation
About who might throw a punch or not
But we are all transgressors
We're all sinners
We're all astronauts
So if you're beating death
Then raise your hand
And shut up if you're not

The rest of the band joined them and we all sang, 

Oh I am a difference maker
Oh I am the only one who speaks to him
And I am the friendliest of friends of god

http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/needtobreathe/washedbythewater.html

Is it perfect theology? No  Did I love the music? No. Was it still magic? Yes.  

Anytime people reach out across the divide and souls touch, I'll call it magic.  The band came to do a free concert  and expected a small crowd who may not have known them.  This isn't a typical Christian worship band. The lyrics are gritty and cryptic.  We didn't all lift our hands and sway in unison as we repeated the same line over and over.    But it was obvious that the connection was made- the crowd was receptive and the band members responded with a entire second set of wonderful music. 

What's my point?  I almost skipped this evening. I'm here to visit with old friends on staff and they weren't going to the concert.  I listened to a Needtobreathe song on youtube and I knew it would be loud rock music but  even I could recognize their musical ability. And an new friend, a younger believer, knew and liked the band. She wanted to go. 

 I love all live music- there is something about the ability of creative people to put their work and themselves on the line and be willing to risk the exposure that draws me in.  The intersection of creative vulnerability and my curiosity is always.... well, magic. 

Bike ride with the Clouds

Yesterday I rode on my bike route, the Mickelson Trail.  I've been busy with projects in the house and the garage and I had also decided to whack at my driveway weeds with a scythe in the morning.  I needed some play time!  

So after yoga (core yoga... I may have taken on a bit that evening),  I drove south toward Custer to access the trail.  There are trailheads along the roads- some a bit less accessible than others- this "road" was a gravel for almost a mile and then it became dirt and went over a steep edge to get to the path.  I was grateful for my all wheel drive vehicle! 

But once I got on the trail- what a great ride!

Look at those clouds!
I thought about a hat or a visor but it was late, I wouldn't get sunburned....

This cannot capture how white that cloud was against the blue sky.
I love South Dakota!

I cruised along and in about 20 minutes, arrived in the town of Custer.  I zipped through the back alleys avoiding "traffic"- mostly tourists who might not be watching for a bike.  Oops- forgot my bike lock back at the car so I left my bike right by the door, rushed in for a banana and protein bar.  And some GORP- good old raisins and peanuts.... or in this case- raisins, peanuts and M&M's.  Dinner and some energy for the trip back.


Good idea, it turns out.

Any time you cruise along a bike path in "21"- three on the left gear handle and seven on the right, means... you are in gear twenty-one. You are going DOWNHILL!  Duh... I thought about it only as I got into Custer and the path took  a sharp dip down onto the street.

But I had ridden partway to Custer before. A friend and I left Hill City and rode UP about six miles toward Custer before we turned around.  So... I have ridden UP toward Custer... skipped the summit, obviously, and ridden DOWN toward Custer for the the next four miles.

So the trip back north to Hill City, at the end of a rather long day, was ALL UPHILL.
In gear five, not twenty-one.

And into the setting sun.
A visor would have been handy.

That's not a white sky- it's the sunshine in the camera.

So I had to stop- frequently... for pictures.  And a handful of peanuts.

Beavers create a pond for reflection. 

The clouds continue their magic.

More magic

A barn just past the sunset- I'll have to come back to watch that light again. 

And a bit of history. Whew- I needed a break anyway.

Custer was here. 

These contrasting photos are fascinating. 

And Cleveland was here!
I resisted the urge to carve my initials into a tree.

And that field is full of deer- stealth, invisible deer.  They'd pop up on the trail, look at me and jump off into the meadow. Never close enough to photograph. 

One last rest- and another gaze at the clouds.  And my trusty bike.

The clouds reflecting the colors of the sunset as I look toward  the highway to Custer.
A great ride- even uphill.

Reflections on a life

I drove home last night in a pensive mood, taking time to photograph the water that caught my eye.


Reflections in a small eddy of a stream, 


the stream itself as it sparkled in the setting sun. 


The ripples of water on the lake and the sun streaming through the pines. 



This morning I woke to rain pattering, then pouring on my steel roof. Lighting cracked the mist and there was my brother's dog, leaning against my patio glass door. Jade hates thunder.  She wanders down the hill occasionally to check on me but she never comes into the house. Today she came in and after circling restlessly, finally flopped at my feet.  Glad for unexpected company on a rainy day, I read poetry to both of us and waited for the rain to stop and the electricity to return.

After the brief storm, I had electricity. Jade returned up the hill to her doghouse. I made my tea and toast and checked my emails.

"It's over. Leslie passed...."


I didn't know Leslie well but she is, I guess she was, a friend of a friend.  She fought a valiant fight against all odds and after the cancer was driven from her body, she succumbed to a lurking parasite deep in her brain. In the end, her weakened immune system could not defend her against the toxoplasmosis she was exposed years ago.  She leaves behind a loving husband and son, and a host of friends and friends of friends who have prayed with her, for her in this final season.

ripples in the lake formed by a passing boat.

 Leslie's friends connected to support her
 and continue to ripple into each other's lives.

  Leslie's suffering affected us all.

Can there be beauty in that? 

I was able to go to Virginia and stay near National Institute of Health when Leslie needed a companion after her bone marrow transplant. That's how we met- in her hospital room.  She was funny but very firm about what food she could eat. She was grateful for my company but spent hours on an internet live feed watching eaglets hatch in Indiana.  She was a real person and still a saint.  I was blessed to know her and I wear the hat and scarf she knit for me with gratitude.
Our time together closed my own grief circle and released me from my fear and dread of hospitals. My husband spent his last months at Bethesda Naval Medical Center, directly across the street from Leslie's room.  Our time together was healing- for both of us.



But her body, like Bill's, did not endure the brokenness of earth.  And none of ours will survive it either.  We come from dust,  we return to dust.  No one gets out of here alive.





Except we do.  Just like the mist obscures my vision today and the hills are hidden behind a veil of white, our vision of what is after this life is obscured.  The veil between what we know and what is coming is a fog.  But I know the hills are there- in the light they stand strong.  And we know by faith that behind the veil of death, life awaits.   So, rejoice in Life, Leslie!  Gaze on Jesus.  Say hello to Bill and my dad.  I trust you've already hugged yours.  

 We'll all be there soon enough.

What will the ripples of our life look like? 

Setting the pace

I went riding yesterday. Four hours including much walking- which is good and easy. Then there's trotting- lean back, relax, sink into the saddle. Or  else you'll bounce, bounce, bounce.



After conquering the level logging roads, we, well, the horses scrambled up steep hills and picked their way down the other side. I called it timber bashing, our leader said bush whacking or something. Either way, this was no sedate trail ride.

 One time we had to dismount and let the horses pick their way down the pine needle covered rock slope, "Just make sure you are uphill of the horse in case they go down." Good advice, scary advice.  We made little jokes comparing ourselves to the man from Snowy River.

We didn't go down anything quite this steep but it felt like it.
And aren't these great rocks!

But we made it. I was riding a lovely old quarter horse, a gentleman name Wahoo.  He was barrel trained and every time I shifted my sore buns, he moved right or left. He quickly figured out I had no idea what I was doing with my thighs besides trying to stay on and he cut me some slack.  So I gave him some slack and he all the grass as he wanted whenever we stopped.


At one point Wahoo's owner, who appears to be a horse whisperer/ equine wizard, asked if I wanted to canter. Well, I've ridden some but it's often months or years in between rides. I know the canter of a horse is much easier than the bouncy trot. But it feels so out of control. Well, yeah- I have a thousand pound animal beneath my frail body and they could be totally in control, if you let them.

 I hemmed and hawed.  She turned in her saddle and looked at me, "It's up to you. If you're ready to canter, we'll canter. If not, we won't."

It wasn't if YOU don't want to, YOU don't have to.

 It was, "If you aren't ready to canter, WE won't canter."

She continued, "The rule is - the group only rides as hard as the most vulnerable person can handle. And one of us will canter with you. The goal is to keep you safe."


It was humbling. And yes, I did canter. And jumped a log while cantering up a hill; I should say I stayed on while my horse cantered and jumped. It was fun.  Dismounting and  escorting a big horse down a very steep slope covered with pine needles was not fun, but it was empowering. We accomplished something!  We were a strong team.

It was a glorious day- like this. 

As I soaked in epson salts last night and examined my bruises, I thought about riding as a team,  in the context of the life of faith.

What if our heart goal was this?

"We only go at the pace of the most vulnerable among us?  

When we're together, we're a team." 

Of my fellow riders yesterday, the other three women ride all the time.  They could have cantered or even galloped much of the trail.  Two of them study horse anatomy and one is a world-known horse hoof trimmer. Not a farrier- she trims hooves so they don't need shoes and their leg problems are solved. It's an art and she teaches others. She was flown to Spain to teach this technique.

 She's a great teacher, "Lean back, settle into the seat. Looks good. Give him a little rein. Don't touch the saddle horn."  Not bossy, not all the time but when she saw me floundering, she was there with a wise word.

As Christians, we don't necessarily watch out for the weakest among us. 

We're in our Bible studies and we'd welcome a newbie,  but do we take the time to notice their trepidation?  Do we learn how to gently instruct with wisdom and grace?   

We know, after some experience,  how to scramble up and down the rough patches in life,

 but do we take the time to slow down and go at the pace of the weakest, the most vulnerable? 

On the trail, I felt safe. I felt welcomed, no one seemed to mind, no one rolled their eyes or sighed when I lagged behind, then bounced in my saddle as Wahoo trotted and we caught up. I did miss some of their conversations  but I was just so glad to be included, to be learning more about riding, to be out in God's creation and on the back of a big, gentle horse.  I didn't have the confidence to take a camera so I'll use some pictures from last year. Once again it was beautiful- green and lush with wildflowers and flowering bushes.  And wonderful rocks.



And after our time together on horseback, we put away the tack and let the horses loose in the pasture. Then we drove into town and celebrated our victories, figured out our journey with a map and shared a meal. We told our stories and got to know each other.

 Sounds like what Jesus might have done, 

"Look at where we've walked today,  

remember the fish you caught, the people we met, 

 be aware of God's miracles. 

 Let's share the meal."

Riding the trail or walking the faith- it's all about being part of a team. A team that considers the more vulnerable and chooses to slow down the pace.  

The goal is to get everyone home. 

The Smell of Summer

My friends came into my house almost obscured by the purple blooms- they brought a huge bouquet of lilacs.  The dining room filled with their fragrance and I was back in my grandmother’s bedroom.

It’s spring here in South Dakota and while trees are just greening up near my house, it must be another gardening zone here in Rapid City. 

Here the wildflowers are popping up through the pine needles.....

Even the dandelions are fresh and full of spring. 

the bushes are blooming..... 

Found some honeysuckle! Reminder of Virginia where it is everywhere.

and the lilacs are having a bumper year. 

 The lilac bushes, ten feet high, are rows of lush purples and whites set off by rich green leaves.  The smaller the house, the bigger the bushes. In the older neighborhoods of crowded streets, small houses sit right next to each other on small lots. But the lilacs in those neighborhoods.  A king’s garden has no lilacs to best these. Strong healthy bushes practically dwarf the houses and cast their purple hue over the entire neighborhood.

When I smell lilacs, I’m on  a narrow cot in my grandmother’s bedroom. The room is small and my bed blocks off the one closet but it’s right against the window.  The sash is cracked for fresh air and I lay on the cool pillow and listen to night sounds. Crickets sing and an occasional car passes with a swish.  The dark always puzzles me.  We drive down from Alaska every other summer and even the long drive doesn’t prepare me for summer nights that get dark. Alaska summers have daylight way past our bedtime and now it feels strange to be in bed in the dark.  But I hear the soft breathing of my grandmother and I smell the lilacs.  They crowd the bedroom windows and block the path of broken stones around the house.

Everywhere in Colorado we play we climb under or around lilacs bushes 

but it’s here in grandmother's room, 

the night is quiet, that I breathe in the lilacs and sleep.

On being an adult...or aging isn't for sissies.

 I still panting and weak as I plop down at my keyboard, determined to record my thought before they flee my oxygen deprived brain.  Grateful for spell check, I review my new work out plan.

Yeah, yeah, I get it... but tie those shoes on before you race up the stairs...

 I had set the light timer for the stairwell light for ten minutes. The goal is to keep my heart rate up for the entire ten minutes- how hard can that be? It's only ten minutes.  I race up and down the steep steps – well, I race carefully down and try to race up. Those last two steps are clearly much deeper than the rest and I have to pause to catch my breath. Undaunted, I repeat the grueling workout, up and down the treacherous steps four times.  Then at the base of the stairs, I turn and race down the short hall and enter the far guest room. It is decorated with mementos of trips to Africa and I pretend I am a stalked animal.

Quickly, I race around the double bed remaking it with fresh sheets and fending off the  lions.  I bounce on my feet while I tug pillows into clean cases. I jog in place as I smooth sheets,  fluff the comforter and dust the elephant.  Surely, the timer must have run down and I missed it. No, the light is still on at the top of the stairs.  It leers down at me in full strength and again, I sprint up the steps to challenge its supremacy.  The sprint is more of a jog but I make it up and down another three time.  The light remains on.

I jog down the hall- it takes fourteen steps at this pace. I sprint back to the staircase and glance up at the light before running on to the family room where I do twenty jumping jacks, each slower that the last.   I rush to the couch and replace the cover. Dashing around wildly, I arrange the throw, replace the pillows, fold the blanket and toss it in a basket- all while bouncing or running in place.  I'm sure I look like a crazy woman.  

And I can hear that incessant timer ticking on and know without looking that the light continues to shine in the stairwell.

I resume jumping jacks, I race myself down the short hall again, I climb the steps with gasping breath. The light switch timer mocks me with its buzzing countdown.

I quit.

I’ve just started my regimen- three times a day, ten-minute episodes of getting my heart rate up. Exercising the lazy muscle that maintains my life is becoming a priority. No longer content to sit quietly in my chest and pump fresh blood like it’s supposed to, my heart is either pumping too hard and stressing out my arteries or my arteries are clogged, swollen, stiff, uncooperative, lazy...whatever and my blood pressure reflects their poor performance. Clearly, I am not certain to the cause of my high blood pressure. 

All I know, I have taken my circulatory system for granted for years. When I ran after small children it responded and pumped harder.  I took aerobics classes when it was just a fad and the ticker did just fine. Later, when I did the occasional hike or perhaps a small run, my red face showed my excellent blood flow and then my cheeks immediately faded to my normal, unfortunately pale complexion. 

Suddenly, well, no, not suddenly, this is yet another body change that snuck up on me as my hormones shifted and fell. My lifetime of low blood pressure changed to ‘borderline’, then ‘high’ and now, medication is not working.  My heart is not working the way I assumed it always would. 


It’s not fair.  My mother is eighty-five and she has never had high blood pressure. The women of her family live into their centenarian years and I should, too. I think. As I age, I do question the wisdom of living into our second century but I don’t want to go quite yet.  But my father had his first heart attack at sixty-four and my fifty-nine year old brother upped the ante last month when he was rushed to the hospital and a stent was placed into a blocked artery.  And he has low cholesterol, unlike me who somehow managed to also inherit our father’s high cholesterol.  Perhaps I am not so much my mother’s daughter as my father’s.  I have his appreciation for art, his moodiness, his ability to charm strangers and irritate family.  And now it appears I share his genes that can lead to death by heart attack.   

To avoid this..... I'm doing this-

 I am cutting out dairy, eating even more fiber and huffing and puffing my way up and down my stairs.  And I checked that timer- it is not at all accurate. When set against the microwave timer, it dinged a full two and a half minutes after the microwave beeped.  I am vindicated. I did the full ten minutes. Only two more sessions today and then, three heart pumping, ten minute sprints every day.

For the rest of my life.

http://www.nhlbi.nih.gov/hbp/hbp/intro.htm

or

http://watchlearnlive.heart.org/CVML_Player.php

I'm trying to find a cooler picture of a heart but it's stressing me out so this will have to do. And I think red wine is full of antioxidants, also dark chocolate but I had that for lunch.  I refuse to be held hostage by my genes!

From roses to .... yep, snow

Nashville's Parthenon
http://www.nashville.gov/Parks-and-Recreation/Parthenon.aspx

I was in Nashville last weekend. The temperature did drop 20 degrees the day after I arrived but the last day was lovely and I walked around the Vanderbilt- Belmont- Centennial Park area.  Lots of walking but hey, how many times do you get to see the Parthenon in America?



So the day I flew into Denver it was 80 the day before and this happened that night.... what's with this??   Everywhere I go, it snows, except North Carolina and Nashville. There the temperature dropped and it rained.   I am the Queen of Winter.

Ready for summer dinners on the deck at my sister's house

Lawn chairs ready to enjoy a nice cozy fire- we could use the heat!

I am so ready to get on the road and to home-
I think....  what will happen when I arrive in South Dakota?
Last time- ten inches of snow.

I couldn't drive home yesterday- high winds closed some Wyoming highways.  Ice caused chaos on Denver roads last night.

I'm trying!