The Power of Place

I don't know how other people have marked seasons of their lives, but I have largely marked mine by different map dots and zip codes.  Do you ever stop to consider the power of geography, how the topography of a map really becomes the topography of your life?

Author Hannah Anderson said in a recent post,

"The paradox of place is that while God may exist everywhere, human beings don’t. Made from the dust of the earth, we’re forever linked to it and can no more escape its boundaries than we can escape ourselves. In fact, we each owe our existence, at least in some small way, to geography. We can’t trace our heritage without simultaneously tracing the map, the places where our forebears lived and loved forever bound up in the strands of our DNA. So important is geography to human identity that when God the Son became human, when he willfully assumed the limits of time and space, he became Jesus of Nazareth, the son of the carpenter Joseph who went up to Bethlehem because he was of the house and lineage of David."   

I owe my existence, in some small way, to geography.  The wide open spaces of Missouri's farmlands were where I learned to flourish and thrive as a Christian, the place where I sunk deep spiritual roots.  The jaw-dropping mountains of Jackson Hole were where I found rest and a piece of my heart.  The endless savannas of Kenya and its horrifically bumpy roads were where I learned satisfaction, the deep-in-your-gut kind of satisfaction.  The winding roads and dusty horse show arenas of Kentucky were where I learned the value of discipline and perseverance.  The island waters of New Caledonia were where I learned to let go of fear and preach the gospel (and that I am never ever going snorkeling again).  The deep red bricks of Red Square and the shadows of the Kremlin of Russia were where I learned the weight and gravity of my own depravity.  The lush jungles of Guatemala were where I learned the lengths some people will go to in order to get their hands on the gospel.

All these places, and so many others in between.

They are how I've marked my life.  Season by season, I've traced my life through pages of road atlases, Google Maps and airline miles.  I've flown over those "flyover states" more times than I count.  I've crossed the Atlantic, and I've crossed the Pacific.  I've seen the Rocky Mountains, the Caucuses Mountains, the Smoky Mountains, the St. Elias Mountains, and a few others in between.  

But there's always that one place.  That one place that has marked us more significantly than all the others combined.

San Diego has been that place for me.

The summer after my sophomore year of college, I lived in Mission Beach, an area not far from downtown San Diego.  That summer changed everything for me.  Jesus changed everything for me.  He completely altered the trajectory of my life, in ways I couldn't have fathomed as a college kid or fully comprehended at the time.

Sunset over the Pacific, off the shores of Mission Beach

I had been wanting to go back to San Diego for years.  Other trips kept taking priority and I kept putting it off.  Five years rolled by, ten years rolled by, twelve years rolled by.  The more time that lapsed, the more I felt the need to go back.  I finally decided last summer to quit talking about it and just go.  I booked flights, made arrangements with an AirBnB, convinced my mom to go and off we went a few weeks ago.

I set foot on that beach a few weeks ago, and I was taken back in time, remembering that college girl I used to be.  I recognized so many of the shops and streets and buildings, all of them reminders of a different season of life, a season so full of wrestling, doubt and uncertainty, a season that disrupted my life and set me on a path of fierce determination to chase after Jesus for all my days.  San Diego is where I anchored my faith out in deep waters, the place where I shouted at God in the pages of my journals, desperate for him to reveal himself to me.  It's the place where I demanded signs of him and all I got in return was silence and that still small voice.  It's the place where he asked of me, "Are you all in whether you ever sense my presence again or not, whether you ever see me move again in your life?" No cloud, no whirlwind, no bolt of lightning.  Just that still small voice.

And I hear that still small voice again in this season of life.  This season of anxiety and panic attacks, a season of feeling like the rug got ripped out from underneath me, leaving me floundering, my body feeling the shock waves for months now.  A season when he's asking yet again, "Are you still all in?"

I stood on the beaches of San Diego a few weeks ago and told Jesus -

"My answer is 'yes.'  I'm still all in."      

I was marking another season of life by geography.

In 1 Samuel 7, Samuel took a stone, set it up between Mizpah and Shen and named it Ebenezer.  "Thus far the Lord has helped us."

He was effectively declaring, "It is here, now, in this place, where we will proclaim what God has done for us, how he has carried us thus far."

It was there, then, in that place, on that beach, where I declared, "Thus far the Lord has helped me."

My life has been forever marked by the sand and shores of San Diego.  It was between Coronado Island and Pacific Beach, in a neighborhood called Mission Beach, where I took a figurative stone, named it Ebenezer, and declared:

Thus far has the Lord helped me.

You always have to take a jumping photo for good measure.

__________________________________

If you want to read more about the power of place and location, check out Hannah Anderson's compelling read over on the The Gospel Coalition's site, "Finding Our Place: Our Family's Long Quest for Calling and Home."

A Piece of My Heart

From my journal, March 2007

There are some moments in life when you feel the world tilt upright just a tad, when you find at least one corner of your world makes a little bit more sense than it did before.

I felt my world tilt upright just a bit this past week.

I went back through my journals the other night, searching for the pages when I last knew Wyoming had been on my radar. (Thank God I have been a lover of journals because these are the moments when I am so grateful I have spent time documenting the seasons of my life.) I had written in one entry, my last semester of college, "There is something that is drawing me to Wyoming.  I'm not sure how to explain it - and I don't know if I have built up a romanticized ideal of Wyoming or what, but I just really want to go there." 

That longing became a reality this past Tuesday when I found myself driving north out of Jackson, Wyoming.  The Grand Tetons were looming large ahead on my left and the expanse of the valley stretched out to my right.  I was in love and I hadn't even been there but an hour.

A little over eight years ago (March 27, 2007, to be exact) I was offered a job at a ranch in Wyoming - Turpin Meadow Ranch.  I had somehow managed to stumble across a job posting for the place, just a summer job doing housekeeping.  I was feeling restless at the time, having no clue what I was going to do once I graduated (does anyone ever know what to do with a degree in History??).  I wasn't too keen on going back home, and I was feeling a little desperate to find a place to go.  I had also applied for a position with Lifeway at their conference center in Ridgecrest, North Carolina, around the same time I had applied at Turpin Meadow.  

I remember getting a call from the then-owner of the ranch. (It's now owned by a different couple.)  I missed his first call and he left me a voicemail, saying I was exactly the kind of person they were looking for to work at their ranch.  I saved that voicemail for I don't know how long, and then saved his phone number until I deleted it just a year or two ago.  Don't ask me why I held onto that phone number for so long, but I did.  I was also offered a job at Ridgecrest, though, which left me in a panic as to which one to choose, convinced one would somehow be right and the other one was somehow wrong, and if I didn't choose wisely my whole life was going to be a royal and indefinite mess.  I was being irrational I realize, but at the time, the decision felt monumental.

In the long run, I chose North Carolina.  It was a good summer and I wound up meeting a girl (that would be you, Miss Kristen) who is now one of my dearest friends.  I don't regret that summer, but I have spent the last eight years wondering what life would have been like out at Turpin Meadow.

This year was the first in a handful of years that I had no plans or offers to go somewhere overseas.  So many other things kept trumping a trip to Wyoming over the years and I decided I didn't want to put the dream on hold anymore.  I started saving money as if I were a squirrel stashing nuts for the winter, and finally booked the details of the trip over Memorial Day weekend. 

The lodge at Turpin Meadow

I booked 4 days/3 nights at the ranch, booked a flight into Jackson, rented me a pickup truck (don't worry, that truck will get a blog post all of its own), and outlined my itinerary.  I think I had always envisioned going on this trip by myself, which naturally got some strange looks from folks, but the time and the place felt a little sacred so I wasn't too eager to have traveling companions.  And let's be honest - as an introvert, I probably enjoy being alone more so than the average person. 

Finally, September 8 rolled around and I couldn't wait to hop on that plane to Denver and then onto Jackson. I landed amid the Tetons, grabbed the keys to the truck from the rental company, and set off on the first of four days that would tilt the axis of my world just a little bit, for the better.  

I took my time driving north to the ranch, passing through Grand Teton National Park, before settling in for the evening at the ranch.  The next day I hoofed it up to Yellowstone to see Old Faithful and stopped at what seemed nearly every single lookout along the way, taking photograph after photograph.  I was probably a hazard on the road, so busy looking at the scenery around me that I had to consciously remember to pay attention to the road in front of me.  I couldn't seem to get enough of the surrounding views.  The day after that, I stuck around the ranch and spent the morning going horseback riding and just generally enjoying my time there.  

Sunset from the porch of the ranch, Tetons in the distance

And then Friday, my final day there, rolled around.  I think even my body was in mutiny over me leaving, as I slept horribly, woke up nauseated and with a queasy stomach.  I honestly wasn't sure if I was going to be able to keep breakfast down or not.  I dreaded the thought of leaving, and my body was agreeing.  Nevertheless, I packed up my things and hit the road back to Jackson.

I cried off and on most of the way back to Jackson.  That small corner of my world that suddenly made sense was now getting left behind.  I went into town for a few hours, slipping in and out of the numerous art galleries, which also stole my heart just a little bit more, knowing how much stunning talent and art was tucked away in the town.  I finally returned the truck to the airport and reluctantly made my way through airport security to start making the trek back home.  

This trip was everything I dreamed and then some.  Even long before Turpin Meadow specifically showed up on the map, one of the very first things I had ever put on my bucket list, starting back in 2000, was to go to a dude ranch for a week or two.  Granted, this trip was only four days, but I'm still crossing it off the list as accomplished.

So, to you Jackson Hole, Wyoming and Turpin Meadow Ranch - you are etched in my mind forever.  You stole of a piece of my heart and I am beyond grateful for the time spent with you.  Give me enough time and I'm sure you'll be seeing me again (maybe as a resident? Who knows).  Hopefully it doesn't take me another 8 years to make that happen.

"How Far is 180 km?"

Too stinkin' far, that's how far.

Our time in Guatemala was coming to a close and we were on way back to the capital to meet up with the other team who had stayed in Guatemala City.  It had been a rich week - a lot was crammed into the few short days we had in Chisec.  We had loved on the kids in the schools and we had loved on the kids in the villages.  We had washed the feet of pastors' wives and we had held the hands of those seemingly forgotten by the rest of the world.  We had run from spiders and rats but we had run to Jesus when some were missing their kids and some were missing their comfort zones.  We had laughed when we wanted to cry and we smiled when we wanted to weep.

We set out from the mission station at 8 a.m. on Friday morning.  The goal was to get to Guatemala City in a timely manner, do a little bit of souvenir shopping, get cleaned up at the hotel and then meet the other team in time for dinner at 7 o'clock.

That goal got squelched about 45 minutes into the nearly 7 hour drive.

We were in Chisec, to the north, and
had to get to Guatemala City, to the south.

First off, I barely made it down the road before I got horribly nauseous from motion sickness.  A sinus infection had kicked in too the night before. I had already taken one Dramamine, thinking that would be more than sufficient.  I normally take a QUARTER of those tiny pills, but on this trip, I was popping a full dose every day. (I took two to get me through this particular trip.)  It wasn't that the roads in and of themselves were bad, it was that they were so windy, going up and down and all around through the mountains.  I should have known I would be doomed as soon as I sat a couple rows back in the bus.  It's such a miserable feeling, motion sickness.

So, I move up closer to the front of the bus, in the front seat.  The motion sickness gets less just because now I can actually see the road and see where I'm going. (If you've never had motion sickness, this will not make sense to you.  Consider yourself lucky.)

We kept cruising along and I kept wishing the trip was already over.  Meanwhile, my aisle buddy, Jill, was worse off than I was.  She caught some sort of bug and was getting sick to her stomach every so often. So there we were on the front seat of the bus, sicker than dogs.  We made quite the pair.  I took another Dramamine because the world was still spinning.

We came around a bend and found that traffic had come to a dead stop.  Cars were parked on the road and it was immediately clear nobody was going anywhere.  Manny, of Cindy and Manny, the husband and wife team that started Mission2Guatemala, parked the bus and got out to go see what was happening.  Manny was born and raised in Guatemala so he's well-acquainted with Guatemalan customs, traditions and odd things like stopped traffic mid-morning.

He came back a little while later and said the road is barricaded, we can't get through.  The indigenous people are protesting the government, we don't know when the blockade will be lifted.  There is absolutely no way through.

Awesome.

So Cindy and Manny started making phone calls to local friends and family who might know what was happening. At one point Manny suggested we might have to take the long way around, all the way to the coast and then back down to Guatemala City.

And I thought, "You've got to be joking me.  You can leave me on the side of the road at this point because I can't imagine another 8 hours on this bus."

We decided to turn around at this point and head back to the mission station and wait it out.  We eventually received tentative reports that the barricade would be lifted at 1 o'clock but we didn't want to get on the road again until we knew for sure.

Jill and I were still not doing so hot at this point.  We had come back to the mission station, found some empty beds and crashed, hoping the world will stop spinning and that our stomachs wouldn't betray us.

Word came that the barricades would likely be lifted soon.  If we were going to have any chance of making to Guatemala City before dark, we would need to leave soon.  So, out the door we went again.

The blockade had, in fact, been cleared and we rambled on down to Guatemala City.  At one point, I turned to Jill, who is still feeling miserable and I told her, "Should I end up on the floor for any reason and medical personnel need to know what pills I have taken, here they are..."  I figured somebody ought to know what I'm on in the event that these drugs don't mix well.  I realized in hindsight that she probably was not the ideal person to have told.  She had an equal chance of being on the floor next to me, with the medics asking her the same question of what drugs she had taken.

We were about 180 kilometers from Guatemala City when Jill sees the sign indicating the distance.  She turns to me and asks rather groggily, "How far is 180 kilometers?"

My equally groggy but smart aleck answer was "too stinkin' far."

Over 6 hours later and a few pit stops along the way, we finally made it to Guatemala City.  By then it was pouring down rain and the streets were flooding.  But I thought what's a little rain when you're so doped up you don't care anyway?  We were late for dinner so we went straight to the restaurant to meet the other team.  They, of course, look halfway decent, have clean clothes on and are actually looking and sounding rather chipper and happy.

I found it insanely annoying.

I had on a pair of khakis that hadn't been washed in a week and had been worn nearly every day of the trip.  I had no makeup on. My hair was pulled back in a ponytail with a headband on and I was still feeling miserable.  I really just wanted to be left alone in a dark corner for the next 24 hours and not speak to another living being.  It's the introvert in me.  I was on people overload and just ready to hide.  

And poor Mimi.  She was on the other team and she asked me how I was doing and if I was up to sharing any stories.

My response was simply, "No." And then I turned around.

Clearly I lose my filter when I don't feel well and am tired.  And clearly I am more prone to being rude. Note to self:  work on bad attitude when medicated and overwhelmed.  I apologized to her at the airport the next day, I felt so horrible about how I had responded.

We hopped on a plane the next day without a hitch, smooth flying from Guatemala City all the way back to Columbus.

But I still say 180 kilometers is too far.              

The Tribe's Trip

Now back to our regularly scheduled programming...

You've met The Tribe before, as well as Twyla, Jonathan's mom.  A week ago we all made a little road trip down to Virginia.  It wasn't even so much a girls' weekend as it was weekend to just get away, for everybody to have their own personal little retreat and to spend some time taking a break and talking to Jesus.  I do believe this little patch of earth where we stayed is one of my very favorite places now.  There is just such a sense of calm, such a sense of God's presence.  It makes it hard to leave.  And the fact there is no cell phone reception boosts its appeal even more in my estimation.  

The grass was just starting to turn bright green and there was a slight hint of leaves budding on the branches.  The creek was flowing rapidly and the weather was absolutely outstanding.  It really is a little slice of heaven.

We drove down late after work on Friday.  We made a few wrong turns in the dark, but we eventually got there.  The burning lights of the cabin were a welcome sign in the pitch black.  There were a lot of holes in the floor of heaven on those nights we were down there, crystal clear skies with stars poking out everywhere.  You could hear the sound of the rushing water down at the creek.  Bliss.

When we got there Friday night, I think we all crashed shortly thereafter, but we made plans to head to Cascade Falls the next morning in order to hike to the waterfalls.  The sunrise Saturday morning had matched the bliss of Friday night's stars and it was a perfect day to go hiking.  We also discovered everyone else had the same idea when we got to the falls, but we were not deterred.  Now, I think you know I don't harbor an overwhelming love toward hiking.  I will argue, though, there really is something in me that feels deliciously alive on little adventures like this.  I do genuinely like being outdoors and I do enjoy some solid physical exertion every now and then - I just don't want to go overboard on that exertion.  My philosophy is contradictory to the phrase "no pain, no gain."  I say "no pain, no pain."  Sounds like a solid outlook to me.

So, off we go.  Twyla stayed at the trail head as Jill, Alex and I set off on our excursion.  Alex enjoys rock climbing and so on occasion, we made pit stops so she could get out her climbing shoes and traverse a few boulders.  The photos below basically outline how the day went.  Since I am behind the camera, imagine Jill is representative of me.    

Alex climbing.

Jill [Courtney] sitting and watching Alex climb.

Alex climbing some more.

Jill [Courtney] sitting and watching Alex climb some more.

Alex still climbing.

Jill [Courtney] still sitting and watching Alex climb.

You get the idea.  I was more than happy to stand on the sidelines to take pictures and cheer on Alex.  I mean, no sense in injuring myself or anything crazy like that.  Somebody has got to walk back off this mountain if she falls and breaks her neck.  I can totally take one for the team and sit this one out.  Besides I needed to hold Alex's engagement ring, make sure it didn't scratched while she was climbing.

We finally made it to the falls and it really was a pretty spectacular sight.  According to the goodness of God, we had this perfect 70-degree day with sunshine that felt amazing on the skin, especially after feeling like I hadn't legitimately seen the sun in about 6 months.  It was enough sun though to give me a decent sunburn on my forehead, nose and ears.  I had these unfortunate tan lines about half-way up my lower arm from only having my sleeves pulled up so far and I had just the top of my forehead burnt due to the fact that my head had been down most of the day staring at the ground, making sure I didn't fall flat on my face.  But if burnt skin is what I have to suffer in order to see God's beauty for a few hours and to enjoy the sun, I'll take it.

I'm not sure what the funny story was, but I love this
picture of Alex laughing.  

After we hiked the two miles in and the two miles out, we headed back to the cabin.  Jill and I crashed on the deck for awhile, and Alex found her own little corner on the black top to bake for awhile.  Of course, the weekend came to an end all too soon as we left Sunday morning to make the trek home.

Alright, now here comes the part that is now funny in hindsight.  I wasn't really laughing or having much of a sense of humor at the time.  And probably still not really laughing about the fall out, but we'll get to that.

We're all four piled into my car to head home.  Another day of great weather.  We enjoy solid conversation along the way, stellar music, and Jill and Alex caught a cat nap or two.  We are nearly home, maybe 40 minutes from Columbus, just south of Circleville.  I pull up to a traffic light on Route 23.  I feel the car lurch and come to a halt and then everything shuts off.  Well, this can't be good, I thought.  I put my hazards on, put it into park and turn the keys off.  I try starting it again and pop it into gear.  Kills the engine immediately.  Cars are piling up behind me in traffic.  I give it another whirl.  Still nothing.  Few more attempts.  Nothing.  Numerous cars are now going around as I'm nearly sitting in the intersection.

At this point, it's obvious we aren't going anywhere.  So then Twyla launches into action and you would have thought we were having a Chinese fire drill.  I pop it into neutral and out piles Jill, Alex and Twyla, all while Jill is scrambling to get her flip flops on before any of us get hit by oncoming traffic.  Out they go and off they start pushing my car into the abandoned BP parking lot.

In the next twenty minutes, I felt like half the town of Circleville showed up.  I was just waiting for the circus tents and elephants to arrive by the time it was all said and done.  Out of nowhere comes this girl named Misty or Missy, I can't remember which.  I really don't know where she came from.  I never actually saw her appear from anywhere.  One minute she wasn't there and the next she pops the hood and starts looking at my engine.  Then appears James, the owner of Captain D's seafood restaurant just down the road.  He looks at the engine.  Misty/Missy disappears, not to be seen again.  James now calls his friend Tommy, who is apparently the scroungiest guy you'll ever meet but knows his cars inside and out.  So then Tommy rolls up in his beat up SUV of sorts, along with three other guys we don't know, most of them in bib overalls with cut-off shirts and a lot of tattoos.  Then Harley from AAA comes rolling in because I had called for a tow.  Turns out Harley knows Tommy, James and just about everybody else that is standing around at this point, so they all start shooting the breeze.  I found out later that Jill had jokingly mentioned to Alex, "I think there are more people here than teeth."  There was probably a lot of truth in that statement.  

I am now officially feeling overwhelmed and I really just want everybody to leave.  Mind you, I haven't showered since sometime on Saturday.  I'm wearing my pajama bottoms that I've had since freshman year of college. I'm sporting a My Little Pony t-shirt.  Zero makeup on and my hair pulled back in a mess of a ponytail.  I am not immediately finding the humor in the situation, considering I had just had my car in the shop days prior specifically for this reason since I was nearing 100,000 miles on my car.  I am not a happy camper.  At one point Jill says, with a sweet smile on her face, "Should I take a picture to capture the moment?"  I must have given her a look that clearly said no.

Tommy wasn't able to do anything so we loaded it up and AAA towed it back to the mechanic shop.  Twyla's husband, Tim, arrives as do my parents and we all finally head home, albeit not quite according to the schedule we had planned.  I fully realize this is totally a first-world-problem of sorts.  It's just a car and nobody was hurt. It could have been a lot worse.  And there were a lot of pluses to the situation:  1) How often do I hoof it all over the country in my car by myself and the one time when it actually breaks down, I'm not only not alone, but have in fact three other people with me to help.  2) It was a gorgeous day, so at least we weren't standing in the rain.  3) We were close to home.  We could have been in Virginia when it happened.  4) Help was readily available in the form of family and a small band of people who were going out of their way to help.

The downside to the situation is that I have to get a new transmission.  But I'll get over it after I cry a few times about the price tag.  But what's a new transmission compared to a sunburn, an invigorating 4-mile hike for which my body paid the price, lazy days spent sunbathing on the deck of my new favorite spot on earth, some amazing company, and some sweet time spent with Jesus, right?

Besides, driving the big white boat of a family van for a few days while your car is in the shop keeps you humble.

Alex, me and Jill.  Twyla was behind the camera,
so unfortunately we don't have a group shot!  Thanks to these gals
I maintained some form of a sense of humor while Tommy/James/Missy/Misty/Harley
all looked at my car and each declared it officially dead.  

                

Road Trips and the Best Sunrise That Never Was

Hiking up the trail near Linville Falls

"You have never taken a solitary road trip across country? I mean everybody's got to take a road trip, at least once in their lives. Just you and some music."  - Elizabethtown

Road trips are good for the soul.  They are good for my soul, anyway.  Just me and some music and maybe some Louie Giglio sermons.  I'm used to the drive out to Missouri - a straight shot on I-70, but this time I took a meandering drive down to North Carolina to see my sweet southern friend, Kristen.  There were, of course, a few moments as I'm driving through some obscure parts of western Virginia or North Carolina when I thought to myself, "I am going to die out here.  And nobody is ever going to find my body."  It's not a comforting or pleasant thought.  But I tried to banish those thoughts and focus instead on the stunning countryside.  But that also was hard to do when it seems there isn't a single road in this state that goes straight for more than a quarter of a mile or has a sign to tell you where the heck you are.  I just kept hearing one of the characters from the movie Twister in my head when Helen Hunt was yelling at him to find a particular road, "Find this road...it's probably like Bob's Road..." Drives me crazy.  Every time I go away somewhere, I'm always reminded of how much I love my cornfields and straight roads back in Ohio.

I finally made it to NC alive and in one piece and Kristen and I set off on our adventures.  First, I took a tour of Samaritan's Purse, which was quite inspiring.  After that we spent the day hiking (I use that term loosely since I'm horribly out of shape and not much of a hiker) and the weather was simply perfect (this would not be true by the time I left the great state of North Carolina).  We drove up to Wiseman's View to overlook the Linville Gorge and came back down the mountain to drive up another mountain.  Lots of mountains that day.


Linville Falls

On Saturday, we trekked down to Asheville to go to the Biltmore Estate, which is one of my very favorite places in the whole wide world.  Maybe it's the history-lover in me, but I just can't seem to get enough of that place.  We spent the night at Ridgecrest, which is the conference center where Kristen and I met five years ago when we were both summer staff.

Here's where my little story takes a turn.  Kristen loves hiking.  I don't harbor a strong affection for it, especially at 6 a.m.  But she said she wanted to hike Rattlesnake, which is one of the tougher trails at Ridgecrest, early Sunday morning to see the sunrise.  I thought, "Well, I don't particularly want to get up at the crack of dawn, but I also am not letting my friend hike up to the top of a mountain all by herself."  

She's telling me how beautiful it will be and that will be worth getting up this early to go see the sunrise, etc, etc, etc.  I'm holding loosely to that hope.  The plan was to get up at 6, hike for maybe an hour or so, be there in time to watch the colors change and then the sun was to be up by 7:49 a.m.

So, off we go at 6 a.m.  It's pitch black, extremely foggy, and I look like I'm ready to hibernate for the winter, I've got so many layers on.  All I've got is a little tiny LED flashlight and she's got the flashlight on her phone.  We clearly didn't think very far in advance when it came to preparing for this hike.  We drive up to the trailhead, roll out of the car and try to find our way in the dark.  This is the second point of the weekend when I thought to myself, "I'm going to die out here.  And nobody is ever going to find my body."  But I also thought that nobody is ever going to find my body because it'll be stuffed into some black bear's den for the winter.  

We start hiking and it's still so black and foggy out that you can't see but maybe 20-30 feet in front of you.  I often questioned our wisdom in doing this hike by ourselves in the pitch black.  But then that's when the little reminder dings in my head, "Courtney, you just flew all the way to East Africa by yourself, for crying out loud.  I think you can handle this one, too."  The leaves were up to our ankles and they got wetter and slicker the higher up the mountain we went, which made for some near-face-first-falls. It's eerily quiet other than us shuffling our feet along through the piles of leaves.  I'm huffing and puffing my way up the face of this mountain and Kristen occasionally asked if I was cursing and swearing at her yet.  Not yet.  

The going is somewhat easy for awhile until we near the summit, then rocks and boulders appeared everywhere and it got a bit tougher.  It's still dark and foggy, with no signs of sunrise colors.  We reach a higher point and decide to stop until we can get some more light because we're not even sure we can find the right path for the summit.  So, we hunker down in the middle of a rock outcropping and wait for the sun to come up.

It ain't happening.  

It's about 7 by the time we get to this little spot and our hopes are fading of seeing the sunrise.  Heck, we could barely see back down the trail we just came up, let alone anything resembling a sunrise.  At this point, we're nearly in stitches laughing about it all, one of those moments in life where you think, "I can't believe I just got my fanny out of bed for this."  We would get quiet for a moment or two and then you could hear the laughter bubbling up from the other person and the giggling would start all over again.  And maybe I was secretly loving it all, finding freedom and relief in this absurd little adventure.

It's nearly 7:49 by now and this is still all we can see:           

          

That's not blue skies you're looking at, by the way.  Nothing but fog.   

We decide to call it quits on the hike and head back down.  Clearly the sun is not willing to fight its way through this fog and delight us with her colors this morning.  Back down the mountain we go.  

And what do you think the skies look like by 9 a.m.?  Sunny and brillant blue.

Figures. 

But maybe that's what makes the best stories, the best memories - the times when you hike all the way up a mountain to see a sunrise that never comes, don't get eaten alive by bears or fall off the face of a cliff.

Yeah, I'd say roadtrips are good for the soul. And so are 6 a.m. hikes.       

 

"What? You Too?"

"Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: "What! You too? I thought I was the only one."   - C.S. Lewis

I must say, I've got it good when it comes to friendships.  This past week I took a little road trip out to Missouri, back to my alma mater to spend a few days catching up with some of the dearest people in my life, and to also witness a friend's wedding. 

It's always a whirlwind returning to Missouri for such weekend excursions, but every moment winds up being so valuable.  As soon as I landed on Wednesday afternoon, I met up with a friend for dinner and then spent the evening with Ed and Debbie.  I can't even begin to express how much that couple has influenced my life, particularly Debbie.  I imagine college would have looked very different without her guidance. 

Thursday was spent drinking and eating my way through conversations - and by drinking I mean French Vanilla cappuccinos and strawberry smoothies.  I made a pit-stop back on campus to see former co-workers, people I consider dear friends.  Friday was similar with a surprise visit from a friend that I wasn't expecting to see, but was so grateful to spend time with her.  Just so many good conversations, the ones that just feel so right.  The ones where it's a little bit like coming home.  The ones that are exactly what C.S. Lewis was talking about, where you remember the moment when you first met and said, "Yes!  Someone who gets me.  It's nice to know I'm not alone in my zany-ness and quirks and insecurities." 

It's nice to know I've got kindred spirits who are willing to laugh along with me, who know not to take ourselves too seriously.  It's nice to know I've got a friend close by who will move with me into a convent when we've decided we've had enough of boys and their shenanigans.  (We're totally joking, but we often say we're going to join a convent when we want to take the easy way out and just avoid boys all together.  It's happened frequently as of late.)  It's nice to know I've got friends who can talk Mizzou and Ohio State football as well as they can talk about theology, Tozer, and whether I should go with this nail polish color or that one.  It's nice to know that everyone else's family is just as crazy as mine.  

So, to my "other family" in Missouri - I am blessed because of you.  And so very grateful.       

I Want a Dog Like This

While Jill and I were cruising down the highway on our way back from Nashville last weekend, we came upon this little red truck.  At first, I didn't think much of it, but then I had to do a double-take.  I thought, "There is no way that is a dog on the back of that truck."  We're cruising along at 70-something miles per hour and this little truck was passing us.  But yes, lo and behold, not only was this dog sitting atop the tool box in the bed, he was asleep.   Eyes closed, content as could be, oblivious to the fact that he could potentially be toast in a matter of seconds if an accident were to happen.  At this point, Jill and I were in the middle of a really intense emotional conversation and I finally had to tell her, "Jill - I hate to interrupt this moment, but I have to get a picture of this."  I couldn't believe it.  Where can I find me a dog like that?  



Long Time, No See

Ahhh, Matt Wertz. So good to see you again, my friend.

My buddy Jill and I took a road trip down to Nashville (NashVegas to some) this past weekend to see Matt Wertz and Ben Rector in concert.  The last time I saw Matt in concert was 4 years ago and the ticket cost $5 - and to be honest, I didn't know who Ben was until probably a month ago when we decided to actually make the trip happen. 

It was at this little venue called Exit/In in the West End of Nashville, near Vanderbilt's campus.  We spent Friday night and Saturday morning/early afternoon bumming around downtown Nashville, The Gulch, and then the West End.  So many great little niches in the area.  And after walking around Vandy's campus, I had fleeting thoughts of wondering why I didn't go to school there. 

Our tickets said 8:00 start time.  So, in my orderly little mind I took that to mean the show would actually begin at that time, with doors opening maybe an hour or so early.  I should know better when it comes to such things.  We walk up at 7:15 or so and there is already a line of people waiting.  So we jump in line, thinking the doors will open soon.  But no.  The doors don't even open until 8, let alone have the show start.   We finally get in, get settled up on the balcony, decent view.  Eight-thirty rolls around.  No Ben.  Nine comes and goes.  No Ben.  Not even so much as someone walking on stage to check his guitar or something.  Jill and I are checking our watches, thinking we are such grandmas because we are already yawning, thinking what a brutal morning it is going to be after being up so late and then having a 7-hour drive ahead of us.  Nine-thirty - movement behind the curtain.  It's Ben!  Finally!  He jams out to a few songs, and then the magic hour rolls around.

Matt makes it on stage at 10:30 and I think I broke out into the most absurd grin ever.  I adore this guy and I love his music!  He plays a great set and then about part-way through, he's talking about how he wrote this next song with a good buddy of his,  Dave Barnes.  Then Dave walks out!  Could the night get any better?!  I was done checking my watch at this point.  We stuck around for the encore songs and walked into fresh air at 12:15 a.m.  My body didn't know what to do at that hour.

Matt Wertz and Ben Rector - you were worth the 14-hour round-trip from Ohio, the long wait in line, the hotel bill, and everything in between.

But do you think you could make it to Columbus next time?     

Adventures in Disappointment

You ever have those adventures where you've got your hopes up so high and then you get to wherever it is you're going only to be disappointed?  I had one of those adventures today.  But as I've learned through life, you learn to make the most of the situation and try to figure out a way to redeem it.  It usually involves a lot of silliness.

Case in point - I had nothing on the agenda for the weekend but really didn't want to sit around either and do nothing.  So I texted my cousin to see what he was up to.  Nothing.  Awesome.  Glad we're in the same boat.  What do you want to do?  I don't care, whatever you want to do.  Statehouse tour?  Christmas shopping?  Tour of local caverns? (I almost wrote taverns - that probably would have been just as exciting.)  I don't care, you pick.  You're no help.  I have a coupon for the caverns, let's go there.  Awesome.  See you in the morning.

So we roll out of bed and get ready to go on our little adventure up to Olentangy Indian Caverns, about 20 minutes from where I live.  On the car ride up, while listening to Taylor Swift's new CD (my choice), we discuss the merits of her music and try to determine whether she can actually sing.  We have no solid conclusion to that discussion, other than the fact that Taylor gets bonus points for writing her own music. 

As we get closer to the caverns, we're taking bets that we will be the only people there on a cold Saturday in November.  We were pleasantly surprised to find about 5 cars in the parking lot, better than nothing.  We grab our tickets and head underground.  We've got our handy dandy map and I look like I'm about ready to climb Everest.  I've got a ski cap on, my quilted jacket, a polar fleece coat under that, a long sleeve t-shirt under that, mittens, and snow boots on.  Hey, I get cold easily.  I know to be prepared.  So even though I look like an eskimo to the rest of the world, I'm quite comfortable.

We trudge down the stairs into the cave, pushing the buttons along the way that give audio recordings explaining this, that, and the other.  We follow the map to the first room.  Basically stand in one point spot, turn in a circle, and that's about it.  So maybe you're 150 feet below ground at this point and the ceiling is about 50 feet high.  Cool. Okay, next room.  Skinny Man's Squeeze where we find Indian Lover's Bench (no joke - that's what it's called on the map).  And yes, it's skinny.  Even I had to turn sideways to make it up there.  End of that room.  Next.  Turn in a circle, go up a few walkways and we're done.  Next.  A stalactite that looks like a beehive.  Hmm. Could have fooled me.  Crystal Room?  Uh, you might you want to give it a different name because I'm pretty sure these look nothing like crystals to me.  Looks more like moss.  Chief Leatherlips' profile in the rock?  Your guess is as good as mine.  I think maybe this is his nose and those are his eyes.  Or maybe this is his forehead and that's his nose?  Wait, if you stand here I think I see an elephant.   

Twenty minutes later we're wondering if we read the map wrong and somehow missed half of the cave because there's no way we can be done.  

But we were.  And then we were invaded by a Boy Scout troop and we decided to exit stage left.  

So now what?  We drove all the way up here and we've seen it all in less than 30 minutes.  Disappointment was setting in.  Is it possible to be disillusioned with a cave?

What do you do when all else fails? Picture time!  This is when silliness sets in, shortly after you learn to let go of your disappointment.  We trounced around the cave looking for the next great photo op.  But try finding a flat surface in a cave that isn't covered with dripping water or moss so that you put your camera on self-timer.  Not easy.  So we walked back through all the rooms again wondering we where we could snap our next Kodak moment.  Some photos I felt like we were shooting really cheesy senior photos, only underground.  But then we got to laughing so hard we didn't care.  After awhile we decided we could no longer delay our return to the surface because there was literally nothing else left for us to do.  Only so many photos can be taken.

By the time we got to the top of the 3 flights of stairs, we were both breathing so hard and our legs were burning so bad that we had to take a pit stop and gulp in air, right next to the life-size wooden Indian, of course.  (I have never claimed to work out regularly or do any form of exercise.  It clearly showed today.)  We made it back to the car and where we decided we had no Plan B by which we could redeem the day.  So we drove home, watched Ohio State's game and decided that we were glad we had a coupon for buy one get one free because I'm sad to say, Olentangy Indian Caverns isn't worth the $8.50 they charge.  

But I did get a smashed penny out of the deal.  :)