Places…

It’s hard to believe that it’s been seventeen years this month since I came to the beautiful mountain town where I live. A teaching job brought me to this gorgeous land of enchanting mountains, wandering trails, captivating wildflowers, melodious streams, and above all, a unique people. After living here for several years, I left once so that I could find a place where I could afford to buy a home, only to return two years later to the place that truly felt like home. 

    Unlike the students that I teach, I didn’t have the opportunity to grow up spending my winters skiing these stunning peaks, camping in the stark Utah deserts during the springs, or passing the summers wandering the mountains and rafting the rivers and biking the trails. I grew up in cities of both the midwest and Colorado’s Front Range. Once I reached Colorado’s Western Slope for college and became acquainted with its small-town mountain life, I knew I was home. For me, this is a FOUND PLACE–one I journeyed to and made a life in, like many others.

    As a former history major, I’ve often been fascinated by the theme that people shape places, and places shape people. I see it in the beautiful sun-etched lines, tanned wrinkles, toned bodies, and large smiles of the people here. I see it in my former students who wander far, have a passion for travel and adventure and the outdoors, who live in other places for a time, but who often find their way back home. The FOUNDATIONAL PLACES that gave them roots also provided them with wings.

    For me, when I see the big rivers and lakes of the midwest, the colors of the hardwoods in the fall, or walk or drive through a cornfield like those of Iowa where my grandparents once farmed, sweet memories wash over me and take me back to the innocence of childhood. Fog reminds me of driving through the bluffs on the way to my other grandmother’s home in southwestern Wisconsin, which sat on a hill where there was a small orchard. My siblings and I would walk through a screened in back porch where my grandfather was usually smoking his pipe to find my grandmother at work in the kitchen. 

    Places that have stretched, shaped and enlightened us can also be NOSTALGIC PLACES. I lived in Puerto Rico for a short time on a couple different occasions, and then taught English and served as a missionary in the Dominican Republic for a little over a year. Years later, I spent a summer in Costa Rica. These experiences gave me a great love for Latin America and its people, the Spanish language, and the ocean. They were also some of the most refining years of my life, for I was being reshaped by different places and people, but stretched in ways that redefined me. 

    And then there are places of IMAGINING AND WONDERING, places that call a deep longing within us that we often can’t quite name or identify. I’ve also been fortunate enough to have the opportunity to travel to Spain on a few occasions and cannot begin to express how much I love this country. I’ve only ever been for several days at a time with a group of students, but each time, it has felt as if I’m made to be there. Its deep layers of history, the beauty of its people and architecture and geography, the amazing food and the gorgeous language–they’re all so captivating. Returning there this summer with students nourished my soul in ways I can hardly express.

    We all have those places that captivate and inspire us. Perhaps it’s home–perhaps it’s somewhere new, but may we let ourselves be continually shaped by the beauty around us, and may we all find ways to contribute to that beauty. As the great author Wendell Berry says, “I am always surprised, whenever I look back on times I have known to be worrisome or troublesome or hard, to discover that I have never been out of the presence of peace and beauty, for here I have been always in the world itself.”

    “A Parachute of Love”

    An old song by the King Cole Trio says, “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and to be loved in return.” How true this is. It is indeed the greatest journey and learning experience of life. We were created out of love, and out of love we are sustained and made new. And yet, because of the broken world we live in and the difficult experiences we share, many of us struggle to accept or give love as we should.

    I’ve often been told that the place to begin is to learn to love ourselves–to accept the infinite love God has for us. This LOVE was great enough for Him to send His only son to the cross to die for us, LOVE great enough to forgive us every mistake and flaw, LOVE that knew us and wanted a relationship with us before time began. I John 3:1 says, “See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God!”

    My therapist recently suggested that a good exercise for me would be to look in the mirror at least once a day and say, “I love you.” to myself. I laughed when she said this because it sounded like such a silly idea to me, but said I would try it. Actually doing it was MUCH harder than I expected–I found myself sobbing in the mirror because I couldn’t say the words. At that point, I realized how much I needed this practice as a means of forgiving myself and all those who have not accepted or loved me as I needed. It’s a means of placing radical trust in God and the worth that He says I have in Him.

    A former mentor once asked me how many people were allowed on who I am. With that question, I realized that I was allowing everyone a vote, that my worth could be easily shattered by the opinion of someone I barely knew. Twenty years later, I’m not sure how much I’ve grown. I probably don’t let strangers vote anymore, but I seem to allow almost everyone who knows me, be they friend or foe, some sort of say. Looking back, I can see the way God built me up with friends and mentors and encouragement in my early twenties, then  allowed me to be torn down again and stripped of all that approval in various ways. One day, I will learn that His approval is all that I need–His vote is the only one that truly counts.

    Nathaniel Branden said, “Self-acceptance is my refusal to live in an adversarial relationship with myself.” Seeing it put that way, I’m aware of how often my thoughts are self-critical and how that really means that a state of civil war exists within me. In order to find peace, I must come to terms with all the bits that are hard to accept, with all the bits that others haven’t liked, with both my humanity and my divinity. I must, as William Stafford said, “…[weave] a parachute out of everything broken.” As the band Macaco sings in one of my favorite songs “Un Mundo Roto/A Broken World”, I mustn’t let this broken world destroy my smile.

    One of my favorite authors, Leeanna Tankersley wrote something that captures my intention:

    “A voice is whispering to me as I watch the river…let it happen. Let it happen to you. The losing, the finding, the falling apart, the coming back together. All of it. Sit very still. Keep breathing. And let it happen.”

    Mi Hija…

    There’s a lovely phrase, in Spanish or in any language, “Mi hija…my daughter.” I’ve always loved how Spanish-speakers pronounce it as though it were one word instead of a phrase, like two notes to the same beautiful song. Now it is mine! I am a mama to THE most amazing and beautiful baby girl (not that I’m biased). Almost three months old now, I fell in love the moment I knew she had arrived in the womb. But this is nothing compared to the love I felt meeting her for the first time, or have felt every day since. It’s as though I have always known her, and yet, how wonderful it is to get to know her still more and more each day. 

    This all has me thinking a lot about the kind of woman and mom I want to be. Recent months have provided ample opportunity to refine my character and expose its weaknesses, yet it feels like real growth for me to be able to say there are some things I like about myself. As an older first time mom, I’m confident in who I am and what I want out of life. And even if I can’t always achieve or obtain those ultimate goals, I know how to sit with that too. I know to delight in the preciousness of this time despite its challenges, to treasure each and every single moment. Even in the difficult ones, the words of an old country song by Trace Adkins often come to mind, “You’re gonna miss this.”

    But I’ve also realized how difficult it can be for me to be present, how easily focused I can become on looming to-do lists, how inclined I am to look at the glass as half-empty, and how rapidly I become irritated. I’ve become more aware of how prone to anxiety and compulsiveness I am and of how much I STILL need to grow. Above all, I see how self-critical and perfectionistic I am. 

    I want my daughter to know me as hopeful and humble and kind, a woman at peace and at rest each day. I hope she’ll witness strength intertwined with gentleness, wisdom with wit, patience with perseverance. May she learn from a mama who works hard but who also knows how to quit…one who can play and laugh and dance, especially with her. May my daughter see someone who can forgive herself and who has a growth mindset. As she watches me with others, may she witness integrity, joy, and a generous spirit, someone who listens well and truly gives love and presence.  Of all this I fall far short, a reminder that a profound sense of failure is one of the emotions I did not expect to arrive so quickly in this journey of motherhood.

    It’s easy to get ahead of myself…to become so full of ambition for what I want to be that I lose sight of and gratitude for what IS. But that’s just what a dear friend encouraged me towards recently, to be “…a lover of what is.” She encouraged me to take God at His word that I have all that I need…to INHABIT my fullness and completeness. I think I’ll be sitting with all of that for quite some time to come.

    When I think of the women I admire most, real women who have blessed me with the opportunity to be a part of their stories, they’re not perfect either. They are humble and patient with themselves as they journey. How grateful I am to have wonderful examples in my friends, most of whom have shown me generosity and kindness beyond measure in this season. And above all, I have an amazing example and a constant companion in God, whose strength and grace I am dependent upon each and every step of the way. 


    Once again, although I know what I want, I’m not always sure of how to get it, which brings to mind the words of the great Wendell Berry, my favorite author: “What we must do is this: ‘Love always, pray  continually, in everything, give thanks.’ I’m not always capable of it, but I know those are the right instructions.”

    “No Hard Feelings” (Avett Brothers)…

    I recently watched a documentary about Audrey Hepburn. It wasn’t the first I’ve seen about an amazing actress and humanitarian I’ve long admired for her beauty, grace, joy, and sweetness. The documentary featured an interview with her in her later years in which Audrey was asked how she maintained her positivity in the face of the loss and hardship she had experienced in life, particularly during her youth when she lived, and nearly starved,  in Nazi-occupied Holland during World War II. Audrey responded that she had always felt that life gives us a choice…we can choose to embrace it with all its complexity, or to reject it with all the consequences that will follow that attitude.

    How true that is! Life is complex, ever offering a mix of loveliness and ugliness, joy and grief, happiness and hardship. Though our individual journeys vary widely, we all wade through our own circumstances in their seasons–no one rides for free. And yet, despite all that is out of our control, there is so much for which we can claim ownership. First and foremost among these are our attitudes and ways of engaging in the world.

    Chuck Swindoll once said, “The longer I live, the more I realize the impact of attitude on life. Attitude, to me, is more important than facts. It is more important than the past, the education, the money, than circumstances, than failure, than successes, than what other people think or say or do. It is more important than appearance, giftedness or skill. It will make or break a company… a church… a home. The remarkable thing is we have a choice everyday regarding the attitude we will embrace for that day. We cannot change our past… we cannot change the fact that people will act in a certain way. We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude. I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% of how I react to it. And so it is with you… we are in charge of our Attitudes.”

    The Avett Brothers have a beautiful song entitled “No Hard Feelings.” The authors ponder how they will leave life when it is time, asking, “When my body won’t hold me anymore and it finally lets me free, will I be ready?” What will our attitudes be when our bodies fail and give up our battles to accomplish and own and succeed? The authors determine that their goal is to leave life and embrace what lies beyond “…with no hard feelings.” They sing,

    “Under the curving sky, I’m finally learning why,

    It matters to me and you, to say it and mean it too,

    For life and its lovely nest, and all of its ugliness,

    Good as it’s been to me, I have no enemies.”

    May we all have the ability to embrace the paths before us and accept life and ourselves, in all their complexities and imperfections, with no hard feelings.

    “A World Made, Yet Being Made” (John Muir)…

    Snow falls gently again today after a weekend that brought a foot of snow. I look out the windows past my Christmas twinkle lights and the silver star that tops the tree, seeing and seeking a world made new. What a wonderful God we have–a God who brings beauty from ashes and makes all things new. I think of the many situations in my life that have seemed hopeless, yet through it all, God made a way.

    John Muir said that we live in a world made, yet being made. Our awesome God is Creator and Sustainer of the earth. Yet in His great wisdom and affection for us, He has allowed us to play a role.Paradoxically, we all carry both beauty and brokenness within us. We live in a fallen world, yet we bear the image of a perfect God. Endless choices of what we will reflect are before us. In God’s Kingdom, we can choose to allow Him to redeem us, our surroundings, and our circumstances. Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “Though we travel the world to find the beautiful, we must carry it within us, or we find it not.”

    An encounter with creation is always an encounter with its Creator. In God’s mysterious glory, He meets us there and allows us to come to His feet in whatever condition we are in. He has made us, yet we are being made. Whatever our journey, He is our Emmanuel, God present with us. And as the apostle Paul declared in Romans 8, “If God is for us, who can be against us?” 

    In The Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, author Annie Dillard sought to observe and experience the marvels and mysteries of nature. She wrote, “I am prying into secrets again and taking my chances. I might see anything happen. I might see nothing but light on the water. I walk home exhilarated and becalmed, but always changed, alive. ‘It scatters and gathers, Heraclitus said, ‘It comes and goes.’ And I want to be in the way of its passage and cooled by its invisible breath.”

    We may feel we have nothing of significance to offer the world, but God says differently by choosing to create and sustain our lives. Nelson Mandela used the following quote from author Marianne Williamson in his inauguration speech, 

    “It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented?’ Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

    In this season that holds the darkest days of the year, yet one in which we celebrate the coming of the light of Christ the Messiah, may we each choose beauty…to let our own lights shine in the places we inhabit.

    Call to Wonder…

    As I drove home a couple of nights ago, a pink-orange sky bathed the rugged snow-capped mountains and low-hanging clouds in mystical light. The scene took my breath away. I thought of a card a dear friend once gave me for my birthday that pictured a little boy, mouth agape, gazing out the window at a newborn bird. The caption said, “Never lose your sense of wonder.” What a privilege to marvel again and again at God’s creation and this wonderful wild land where we live. As John Muir said, “Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul…. All that sun shines on is beautiful, so long as it is wild.”

    As my husband and I await our first baby and stand in awe at this miracle of life developing each week, I am awakened once again to this Christmas season of wonder. I marvel at our creative Creator and the artistry with which he put together the world and each miraculous, unique life to grace it. Though this past year has been one to remember for all of us–a friend told me she’s heard 2020 will be the new swear word–I’m astonished at all the ways, big and small, our great God has provided for us within the storms.

    In her many books and blogs, author Ann Voskamp invites us to offer a song of gratitude each day for every grace we are given. In Unwrapping the Greatest Gift she states, “You were formed to have front-row seats to waves hugging the shore, to trees touching the sky, to stars falling across the night–the whole of the universe falling in love with God…. You could unwrap the wow today just by going to the window. By going to the front door, to the park, to the backyard, or to the top of the highest hill you can find–standing there and staring and being wowed by the shape of the clouds or the color of the sky or the size of the sun when you hold up your hands.”

    Edith Wharton, first woman to win the Pulitzer Prize for literature, has a quote I adore about how this kind of spirit can even keep you young. She said, “There’s no such thing as old age; there is only sorrow. In spite of illness, in spite even of the archenemy sorrow, one can remain alive long past the usual date of disintegration if one is unafraid of change, insatiable in intellectual curiosity, interested in big things, and happy in small ways.”

    As we do the work of remaining alive and curious and grateful, may we be assured with the knowledge that regardless of what storms may come, we will never be alone on our journeys. As Lamentations 3 and the great hymn say, “Morning by morning new mercies I see. All I have needed Thy hand has provided, Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me.”

    “Walk Down This Mountain…”

    Though I walk each day on a flat country road, I live in a land of mountains and valleys. They parallel life for me—a life that is a journey, but one that feels like a roller coaster more often than not.

    I make the arduous climb to the top of various mountain peaks, some of them relationship or personal struggles, others life or professional goals, and others various lessons or faith journeys. The reward is often a breathtaking vista and the wind in my hair—exuberant joy and renewed passion, even if only for a few moments in time.  These summit moments might be among my favorite memories, but mountain peaks are cold, dangerous, and lonely places to dwell. It’s hard to stay there. Eventually, I must descend.

    I walk down mountains, knowing that my journey will end with a return to valleys. Often, my heart and mind and body feel weary and dread the new low valley experiences, the new climb that will need to be made before I can summit again. 

    Third Day, one of my favorite bands, has a song called “Mountain of God.” In it, author and lead singer Mac Powell says, “I thought that I was all alone, helpless and afraid, but You are there with me—You are there with me.” In the chorus, he continues,

    “Even though the journey’s long, and I know the road is hard,

    Well the One who goes before me, He will help me carry on.

    After all that I’ve been through, now I realize the truth,

    That I must go through the valley to stand upon the mountain of God.”

    As the song implies, the valley experiences are necessary to prepare us for climbing and summiting mountains. In the valley, it’s easy to feel we are alone. By the time we reach the mountaintop, having made our way through the clouds, we know we have been accompanied all along. Despite difficulty, we were never abandoned. Through the journey, we learned, grew stronger, realized the depth of our hunger for relationship and growth, and eventually, we were rewarded. The panoramic view that filled our senese at the peak also gave us the companionship and understanding we longed for and a vision for the future. Even more, it filled us with confidence that we are in fact, strong enough to be equal to such journeys. What we’ve done before, we can do again. God has been faithful before and He will be again.

    So there’s no need to fear the next valley or climb. We must bolster our own hearts, as Julian of Norwich did when she said, “All is well…and all manner of things shall be well.” As Bebo Norman sings, we can…

    “Walk down this mountain with your heart held high. 

    Follow in the footsteps of your Maker. 

    And with this love that’s gone before you and these people at your side, 

    You offer up your broken cup. 

    You will find the meaning of true life.”

    This Moment…

    This moment, I’m struggling to be here now. My thoughts, as usual, are running quickly ahead of me, attempting to rush me on to the next place and the next phase, all without allowing me to slow down and arrive in the place that I’m in. So slow down, beloved. It’s up to you to choose.

    As Thoreau said, “Live in each season as it passes.” I slow, remembering that haste makes waste, attempting to be mindful of simple pleasures—washing my hands w/ sweet smelling soap and hot water, a pleasure around seventy percent of the world doesn’t have. I take in the beautiful fall colors as I walk—stunning hues of browns, golds, and reds in the tundra and trees. I breathe in the cool fall air and autumn scents. I thank God for the breath and life he gives, for legs that move and walk and a body that allows me to get out of bed and outdoors each day.

    This moment…this moment…is a gift. Each holds possibilities of wonder and joy, or perhaps sorrow or grief. As most often happens, each will hold a mix of things. I have no control over what the next moment may hold, but I do have the power to accept and embrace it—to allow myself to experience it, come what may. If I don’t allow fear to rule me regarding the many difficulties that may come, I may find I am more equal to greeting them. I may encounter a greater capacity for celebrating and enjoying the good ones—abandoned to joy instead of holding some space for anxiety of the future or regret for the past. The ability to be present will fill me, recharge me, strengthen me.

    There is so much my mind, heart, and body are holding at any given moment, especially at this season of life—family, finances, relationships, work, and a pandemic world struggling with conflict. Balance feels elusive. If I look around at others, it’s easy to feel they have it mastered, but most people freely admit they struggle too. What would it feel like to let go…to release the burden of trying to measure up and figure it all out? This is the ideal, yet something I’m not sure I know how to do. “God, give me the strength to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference” (Serenity Prayer).
    Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it is called  the present.” May I live this day with the knowledge and acceptance of the gift of every moment. And moment by moment, may I live this day. As the wonderful Celtic poet John O’Donohue said, “May I live this day/Compassionate of heart/Clear in word/Gracious in awareness/Generous in love.”

    “Just As I Am…”

     

    Mistakes and failure seem to be a part of venturing bravely and wholeheartedly into this great big world, or just staying at home. I can’t say I’m thrilled about it. Over and over again, I come to the feet of God, the plea of Charlotte Elliott’s old hymn on my lips:

     

    “Just as I am, without one plea,

    But that Thy blood was shed for me.

    And that Thou bidst me come to Thee.

    O Lamb of God, I come. I come.”

     

    As many times as I think I’ve accepted the fact that I’m going to make a million mistakes in this human adventure, the ugliness of failure hits me anew each time like running into a brick wall. Like author Anne Lamott, I must tape Hillel’s line on my wall, “I get up. I walk. I fall down. Meanwhile, I keep dancing.”

     

    Nelson Mandela said, “The greatest glory in living lies not in never failing…but in rising every time we fall.” And I have this blessed hope. As I pick myself up and dust myself off, my loving Father greets me with His arms wide open. He looks at me tenderly, telling me without words that all is well, and all manner of things shall be well. He whispers that He has loved me with an everlasting love (Jeremiah 33:3) and I am completely right with Him through the blood of His Son (II Corinthians 5:21).

     

    I walked yesterday, a few things troubling my spirit, the weather windy as a storm rolled in. As I rounded the corner to my house, a warm sunset greeted me. Pastel purples, pinks, and yellows stretched thin across the western sky. Just then, a small wren landed on top of my wind chimes and sat there bouncing joyfully in the wind. As he began his song, accompanied by both the stormy breeze and the chimes, silhouetted by the mellow evening sky, part of a favorite song came to me: “I sing because I’m happy, and I sing because I’m free. His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.”

     

    That night I read a portion of Bill Holm’s poem Ann Lamott quoted in her book BIRD BY BIRD called “August in Waterton, Alberta,” and it connected these musings on failure and songs in storm:

     

    “Above me, wind does its best

    To blow leaves off

    The aspen tree a month too soon.

    No use wind. All you succeed

    In doing is making music, the noise

    Of failure growing beautiful.”

     

    Though perhaps my time for success in certain realms has not yet come, if it ever shall, and the wind may blow all the while, my roots grow deep and my colors turn bright and beautiful. “Meanwhile, I keep dancing” (Hillel).

    Let’s Be Still…

    The past few weeks, I’ve been in a season of mandated rest. Thank God. This is what my body, mind, and spirit have craved for years, yet somehow, it’s a place I could not arrive at by myself. Why must I be forced to do what I most crave? A wonderful question, but still, undeniably true. I needed the help of being temporarily unemployed and recovering from unexpected minor surgery to get here, but alas, here I am at last.

     

    I’ve learned to make my coffee and sit outside in the morning sun to read…to rest at midday…to walk more slowly and take in more of my surroundings and schedule fewer things…to quite sooner and push less. I can’t fully express how good it feels to give myself a little bit of breathing room and to have the gift of being able to do so. Not everyone gets this and I know I won’t always have it, so I am soaking it up with as much gratitude as I can muster.

     

    Leeana Tankersley, an author I’ve been reading a lot of lately, writes about learning to be a companion to yourself. This is the art of treating yourself kindly, as you would a dear friend, instead of punishing, criticizing, and bullying yourself, as so many of us are prone to do. It’s occurred to me in this time that the driven pushing that is so much a part of my perfectionist personality is a part of that adversarial relationship with myself that I would love to leave behind. How do I learn to do this? Perhaps the answer is, at least in part, more simple than I expect…through stillness and breath. In her book, Breathing Room, Leeana Tankersley writes:

     

    “The human body’s urge to breathe is irrepressible and essential. When we hold our breath, we begin to feel a pain inside our chest…called our critical line…. Our body tells us it’s time to exhale. Only then can we take in the air we need.  ‘As it turns out,’ a breathing researcher writes, ‘the opposite of holding your breath isn’t inhaling, it’s letting go.’ ”

     

    So this is the key to providing the way to the spacious place in which I want to dwell—letting go. May it be so, and if only it could be as simple as saying it. I know each day I will need to teach myself anew to breathe, exhale, and let go in the moments where I most want to cling and tighten. The more that I practice, quieting my heart and opening my eyes to the beauty around me, the easier it becomes. As C.S. Lewis said, “The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing…to find the place where all the beauty came from.”

     

    My favorite band, The Head and the Heart, sing a song that captures it well called “Let’s Be Still:”

     

    The world’s just spinning a little too fast

    If things don’t slow down soon we might not last

    So just for the moment, let’s be still