Paring down, traveling light,.....whatever

I’m flew to Seattle today and my carefully packed carry-on went in the plane’s hold, checked at the gate.  I tried and could lift it over my head so I could have wrestled that thing into an overhead bin but why push the limits of my upper body strength.

Arrived!

And this week, going from Denver to  Seattle-
I took two umbrellas!

(Well, one was packed, one snuck in- that was the extra weight)

I had packed carefully- with three flights in a two-week trip I was determined not to pay an extra hundred dollars just to have more choices of clothes.  Of course, this trip includes cool, rainy Seattle and warm, practically-summer Waco, Texas.  So it took some creative clothing selection. Only two pairs of shoes, lots of layers and my sincere hope that my hosts will have down jackets or extra T-shirts if I’m desperate.

I was pretty content with my packing job until my sister opened her birthday package of raw coffee beans and insisted I add the cute burlap coffee bag from Panama to my stuffed carry-on.  A big burlap bag.  “Paul will love it. You need to take it to Seattle for him. Besides, I have enough stuff already.”

Don’t we all?  Have enough stuff...

When I moved West I shredded or tossed about a quarter of my possessions and gave away about another third.  It was hard but exhilarating, too.  I kept sorting and chucking, keeping only the essentials or things I really loved. I was going to travel light, live pared down, embrace simplicity in this new season of my life.

“Life is really simple, but we insist on making it complicated.” 
― Confucius

Well, it’s been two years and I still haven’t unpacked all the boxes.

Why is it so hard to keep life simple?  I made good choices, I was generous with others as I gave my stuff away, I was sure I needed all that I kept.  But the fact is, I also filled in the gaps once I moved. I have a borderline-obsession/love of thrift stores.  “How could someone get rid of that? I need it.”  Sure the ten-dollar down comforters were a great idea and an amazing deal. But the collection of globes I’m accumulating?  Those I just wanted.  And I obviously wanted them more than I want simplicity.

But my wandering off the path of simplicity isn’t so obvious to me when I do it.  I have room for guests so that means towels, bedding, children’s toys,  heavy jackets for cool summer nights, hiking shoes in various sizes – just in case.  I have a fully equipped kitchen- for guests and I do eat. But I also have art supplies because I really want to get back to my art one of these days, when I have more time.  I have more books than I’ll ever read but they are good books and maybe the children will want them some day.  I heard that you can learn a lot about a person from their library and that the digital age could end the idea of a personal library heritage.  I want to leave a heritage of books. And art. And the stuff that says, "This is me." Or someday, "This was my mother, this was your Bebe, or your Gran-Bebe."

Ready for fun....
and almost organized. 

Ready for art-
looks MUCH cooler now that those drawers are hung on the wall. 

This is BEFORE we added  several more bookshelves and many more books.....

But I also want to live simple.

Maybe simple is less about stuff and more about my attitude about the stuff.  I love having guests and I appreciate being able to anticipate their needs so my home can be their haven.  I want to know when I’m ready to create; I’ll have the supplies to use.  I just can't seem to get rid of books but I'll sort again for next Friends of the Library book sale. Meanwhile, my guests are quite entertained by the library. So it's not exactly simple living but it's working out. 

United Airlines was more than willing to gate check my carry-on freeing me to stroll unencumbered through the airport.  Grabbing a verse completely out of context, Jesus said "My burden is light, my yoke is easy."  I don’t have to carry around the burden of my stuff and I certainly don’t have to hold it over my own head. I can look around at what God is doing and join Him- like being hospitable and creative. I can choose carefully what I need for each leg of the journey. I can trust others will share when I have need.  I can soak in the comfort and memories of the pieces I keep. 

Turns out the road to simplicity is a bit more complicated than I thought.  Kinda like life. 

“A child of five could understand this. Send someone to fetch a child of five.” 
― Groucho Marx

Making hay while the sun shines....

I came West to avoid traffic, competition and the suburban obsession with green turf lawns.  Well, not quite but those are three things I do not miss.  I hated the grass part of yard work.  I know planting beds are more work, the plants mature and take over and have to be tended or replaced, etc. Grass is "easy"- except it takes timing and chemicals and watering and well, some kind of system I never figured out and never cared about. Heck, we spent a good part of one beautiful fall on our hands and knees plugging zoysia grass only to discover it crept into the beds and turned dead brown in the fall.  It would have been fun to have a sumptuous green patch to walk on barefoot or toss bocci balls on or to have some insane bragging rights but it was not to be.   So I mowed the weeds of my suburban lawn and swore I'd move somewhere without a lawn. 

 A place with no grass, like the Wild West of South Dakota. Only God put me down in a lovely log home... on the edge of the prairie. For those of you not from prairie country, prairie is made of.... grass. Lots of long and short grass.   And South Dakota has had a spectacular season for... grass. 

It has rained all summer and we've had the most wonderful wild flowers. This would have also been the perfect year to plant trees -who knew.  The valleys are lush and green. The farmers are making hay. The horses and cattle are fat and sleek.  Everyone's happy. 

Hay bales in the neighbor's far pasture

And I have grass. Lots of grass.  

Love my grasses! 

A couple of months ago my neighbor charged up on the local vehicle of choice- a dusty all-terrain vehicle, and bellowed, "When are you gonna cut that grass?"  Add all the colorful expletives you can imagine and that's my neighbor, Wild Bill.  It isn't lost on me that my husband's nickname in college was Wild Bill, but compared to this man, he was a very introverted (and clean-mouthed) wild man.  But my current Wild Bill is a good neighbor and laughed when I indignantly informed him I had moved west to avoid grass cutting. 


Well, this year with all the rain, the grass grew and grew and now it's a fire hazard.  Firemen here only defend houses that are defensible. No trees brushing the roof, no piles of firewood on the porch- oops and certainly, no three foot sea of dry grass around the house. 



So I started up my sturdy, little second-hand tractor and made hay.

 I hit a few rocks- don't tell my brother, we share the tractor and he already thinks I've a few bolts loose.  I did buy new blades.... we're going to need them.

Rocks hiding in tall grass...

I cut a path and tried to avoid rocks! 

I pulled out rocks- this is clearly land that does NOT want to be cut into lawn ....

And I mowed grass.....over and over  in small bites since my tractor is really a LAWN tractor, not a FIELD tractor. 

This is HAY!

These are the rocks I removed and tossed out of the grass. 

These rocks?
I'll mow around them.

And as I bumped along with my lousy attitude, eyes on the ground looking for rocks, I slowly relaxed. That amazing, just cut grass smell mingled with the older scent of cut hay.  My grass is drying and the pungent green of lawn clippings gave way to the warm fragrance of golden brome grass.  I grew up on a farm. The autumns of my childhood smelled of hay cut and drying in windrows for baling.   My dad fed hay and silage to the cows and there was plenty of fields to mow before it snowed. But even in the flurry of harvest, he cut carefully around the pheasant nests- not for hunting but just to share the land with them.


So today, I made my own hay but for a sweet moment, I was a little girl back in Alaska on my dad's lap, steering his big red International Harvester tractor.

As I rode, I thought of my dad and the hours he spent cutting, raking, baling- harvesting hay. I turned the corners and the cut grass blew around me and littered my hair green and brown. My arms prickled with the dry chaff.  My hands gripped the steering wheel and buzzed from the tractor's motor. The sweat dripped down my back under the hot afternoon sun. I breathed deep the familiar scents and missed my dad. I wanted him here to tell me I was doing a good job, to tell me to watch out for that rock ahead.


But all I have are the memories of him- the memories of a outstanding farmer, a good man and my loving father.  And under the bright blue western sky making hay on my little red tractor,  it was enough.

More grass to mow....
another day.

http://www.livinghistoryfarm.org/index.html

Broken people

She was tall and blonde, athletic with a big, wide smile.  

She stood before a small group of women to share her story and had been introduced as a former head of the local chamber of commerce and active on various non-profits.  

She had organized hundreds of Christians to share their faith at the Salt Lake City Olympics.  

She was beautiful, friendly and she loves Jesus.  What's not to love?

Or perhaps, what's not to envy? 

Before my husband died, I'm ashamed to admit I had divided the world into fairly neat categories of people.  And the irritating, grumpy ones, the ones with some misbehaving brats?  They were tolerated with gritted teeth. "What was wrong with 'you' people?  I'm behind you in a grocery line and you're buying junk food and cola. Of course your kids are rotten.  And you look like something the cat wouldn't drag home.  Can't you get yourself together? And get over your attitude."

Then I became the weird woman in line. I cried and fled from the men's underwear section. I saw his favorite lemon meringue pie in the freezer case and walked away from my grocery cart.  I went out in public without looking in a mirror and people sympathetically asked how I was feeling.  Clearly I looked like I "couldn't get myself together."  On good days I was distracted and distant in the checkout line; on bad days, I was the grumpy, disheveled women.  

And in that season of grief, my heart was broken and I understood. Everyone in line, everyone in the store, everyone I meet is either going through something or will.  We live in a broken world and we are broken people.  Jesus came to walk through the human experience. He give us His spirit to indwell us and walk within us, to walk through life.  But no one gets a pass on suffering. 

So it was with our speaker. She stood before us in her cute, short white skirt with her long tan legs. She looked great and poised.  She had notecards and a outline with more points than most sermons.  She asked us to think about our times of doubt.  She spoke of her family and their doubts. Then she repeated herself and strained to keep to her notes. 

Finally she lay them down and said, "You know why I'm here.  Last year I was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's disease. I am not a doubter and I know God is with me but this is a horrible diagnosis. This is hard. My family can't understand how this could happen. My husband can't handle this."  Her voice cracked and her eyes filled with tears.  And at once, the whole room leaned in with love and sympathy.  She admitted her brokenness- in this case, her brain is breaking down and there is nothing medical science can do to stop the inevitable mental decline to death.  Now she lives in an independent living apartment, a step away from assisted living. Then it will be a nursing home.  

She is 52. 

And then she spoke of joy. Of learning to appreciate each day and looking for ways to share her faith with other people. She wonders if there is a ministry waiting in the facility she now lives in.  She wants to make the most of each season before her. 

The best of her life appears to be behind her and the light of her life will begin to fade, much faster than she anticipated. 

 This beautiful, 'all together' woman is one of the broken.  So am I.

May we continue to bring forth beauty. Even in the fading light. 

Above the clouds

I've been looking forward to this week in August for months. Each year the earth passes through the particles of the tail of the comet Swift- Tuttle. The particles burn up in the earth's atmosphere and once again, create the Perseid meteor shower.
http://earthsky.org/astronomy-essentials/everything-you-need-to-know-perseid-meteor-shower

Last year I forgot but my son-in-law and his father were up late and watched from my porch. This year would be different. I set my alarm for 2am and went out expecting this.....

http://news.yahoo.com/perseid-meteor-shower-peaks-weekend-watch-online-tonight-153217562.html

I got nothing.

My neighbor had his yard light on and it cast enough light to create shadows from my trees. His light isn't usually that bright but last night any and all light reflected off the low cloud cover. It has been a cloudy, humid, lush summer in our normally arid Black Hills.  Lovely flowers, lousy stargazing.


I stood for a moment, saw nothing but a few stars peeking behind cloud cover and went back to bed. This morning the sunrise looked like this- a hazy sun under more clouds.

The morning fog hasn't burned off yet and given our cool temps, it's rarely more than 80 degrees.....
it may just be a another weird cloudy day.

When I went online to find a picture of the Perseid, I learned that the week leading up to the peak is also a great time to star gaze. There have been much clearer nights this week.  It takes up to 20 minutes to adjust to the light of the night sky- I gave it about two minutes.  There are lulls between the bursts of meteor activity. Maybe it was just one of those quiet times when I chose to step onto my porch.  These would have been helpful tips had I searched earlier, before my quick peek.

I knew the meteors were up there above the clouds. The earth has been passing through this comet tail for at least 2000 years.  Other people were showing proof of the show.  But my quick scan was fruitless.


It isn't just meteor showers and stars we gaze upward for.  How many times have we looked for answers to our questions and found nothing? Sure other people seem to have adequate "proof" that they found God or comfort or peace but it sure didn't work for us.  It's easy to read about an event and assume your experience will mirror others but often it doesn't. Or read a self-help book and assume a quick scan will get the results we seek. There may are lights or shadows in your environment obscuring your view, or  baggage and wounds in your heart clouding your vision of yourself.   Perhaps you stepped into the uneasiness of your questions and quickly retreated to the warmth of your comfort zone, the way I returned to my bed in the middle of the night.   Perhaps, like me, you read the directions after the fact.  Is it too late to try again?

Tonight is another chance and I have a plan. I'll get up and drive about ten minutes to the darkest place I know, with some hot tea in a thermos and shoes on my feet this time. I'll put a lawn chair and some blankets in my car. And I'll give this whole thing some time. And maybe I'll still miss the show- I can't control the weather!

But I know the meteors are up there. I know the particles are burning up and flaming across the late night sky. I can trust the evidence others produce and rest assured in that truth, until my perseverance pays off and I see the show, too.


In the same way, I can bring my questions up again and again and trust that in good time, the Maker of Heaven and Earth will reveal Truth in my searching.  Meanwhile, I'll try to be faithful to what I know right now, right here - under the clouds.

Boundaries

I've been on another bike ride.  It's the season to be out and about in the beautiful countryside here in South Dakota.

We've had amazing rains and cool weather and the wildflowers have popped. Fields of them.

It's been great fun to drive through parks or hike on trails and see ....

Sunflowers

Purple burgamot

White yarrow....

Last week a new friend and I rode about twelve miles- uphill first, then down back to the car. That sequence always feels like a reward.  We're just getting to know each other so we shared our stories, and everything from food  preferences to our respective marriages.  We are both widows,  eat healthy or weird depending on your perspective, and met at a contemplative workshop so our faith is the glue.  It's a relationship I can see blossoming.

 

At one point on the trail, we rode through a tunnel of decent length .  You enter from the sunlight into the tunnel and the light penetrates about twenty feet onto the rough hewn stone.  The path is ahead and you can easily see the opening at the other end, with the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel showing the stone walls again.  Up to 1949 a passenger train traveled through this very tunnel.  Obviously there's plenty of room for a bike or two, even side by side. 

 

But in the middle, between the patches of light that glisten off the dark sides, it is pitch dark. Disorientatedly dark.  For a few seconds stretching into eternity, you are suspended. No sound, no light, no boundaries.  Only  your head knows you are still traveling toward light.


My friend and I were quiet but after a few yards out of the tunnel, we looked at each other. "That was uncomfortable."  And off we rode down the trail.  Safe in the light.

 

Humans need boundaries.  We use our senses to orient ourselves in the world. We see the horizon, we hear footsteps or cars approaching.  We feel the edge of the door frame in the dark of the night to get back to bed.  We even sniff before we eat and drink to confirm  our food.  When all of those senses are removed or blocked, we are lost.

What are other boundaries we need to keep our humanness "real",
 to be "found", not lost?


I love the saying, "Don't doubt in the dark what was revealed in the light."  Riding into the light at the beginning of the tunnel and seeing the light at the other end told me that the tunnel continued safely through.  The floor didn't disappear in the center. The walls were still safely there and holding up the stone ceiling.  But the utter darkness removed the signals I rely on to understand my world.
I had to trust.



I've been in other types of darkness.  I've lost my moorings and the old reliable symbols of safety in my world.  I've struggled with anger and wondered where the Transforming God was in all my frustration. I've wandered in the darkness of depression and wondered where the Comforting God was. I have held my precious child gasping for breath in the throes of asthma and I've sat at the deathbed of my beloved husband shuddering in the last breaths of life. Where is the Healing God in that void?

I didn't always trust what I knew was true. My intellect only went so far to keep me grounded. The bike ride through the void was only seconds long. It is much harder to remain in the darkness of disorientation when it lasts weeks, months or years.


At the time I didn't comprehend the Light at the other end of my emotional darkness. But He was there.


My anger didn't just go away.  I discovered the root of fear in my anger. God, who does transform, gently and slowly worked in me.  One day I realized I was no longer the angry woman I had been. I was changed.

My years of learning about myself through depression gave me the strength to be gentle with that self when I could have truly fallen off the edge of grief.  I learned deep in my spirit, there is always hope and resting in Him will eventually lead back to the light, back to the path.

My child with asthma grew up to be a runner and a man who is mindful of his health and now the health of his own child. He is compassionate and intentional about his body.  He has learned the limits of the human frame and, more importantly, the power of God to maintain health or heal to build faith.

And my husband passed into eternity, not easily or sweetly but fighting for every breath just like he fought for esteem and confidence in life.  His body could not overcome the Fall, just as none of ours will. But his spirit was healed by the God who is as interested in our spiritual wholeness as we are in our physical health.


Boundaries include more than physical ones. I observe when I'm missing the grounding of solitude or silence or a good night's rest.  I chose to be more aware of the visceral responses in my body when I'm confronted or offended. He is teaching me something new and healing my spiritual wounds.   And just like riding in the old railroad tunnel, I move through my discomfort- continuing in faith toward the Light.

http://www.blackhillsvisitor.com/featured-articles.html?pid=879&sid=952:Time-Line-of-Black-Hills-Railroads

http://www.rosyinn.com/5600a04.html

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.