Leaving and Staying

Before I bought my grandmother's house in 2022, I had moved four times in five years. When I moved into the house, I had no plans of buying it, but over time one of the chief reasons I decided to buy was because I was sick of putting my life in boxes and asking friends and family to help me haul things around the city. I had moved in September 2017, June 2019, December 2020, and then finally into my grandmother's house in December 2021. I joked with my parents shortly after I formally purchased the house in June 2022 that they could just bury me in the backyard someday because I was never moving again.

This is a radical change from how I spent virtually all of my college and young adult years. It was then that I did the bulk of my traveling and leaving. If my memory serves me correctly, before I left for college, I had been on a plane precisely two times—to and from Alaska with my parents and grandmother in the summer of 2002. But during and after college, I lived to be on the go. I dreaded the thought of being in one place for too long. I was terrified of getting ‘stuck.’ So, I just stayed in perpetual motion, the restlessness a raging force in my life: Missouri, Russia, San Diego, North Carolina, Kenya (twice!), Guatemala. And, of course, I picked up friends from these places along the way, who were also coming from other parts of the country, so then I’d go back to visit them, or we’d meet up somewhere. Missouri was the longest stint, living out there six out of seven years while I finished both undergrad and grad school. It was an interesting sensation when I watched the movie Up In the Air—which was filmed primarily in the St. Louis airport and was the airport I flew in and out of while I lived in Missouri—and essentially knew which terminal almost all the airport scenes were filmed.

Then it seemed that when I hit my thirties, I discovered a figurative set of brakes, or at least how to pump them. Life slowed down, and the restless tug grew quieter and quieter. The last time I went overseas was when I was twenty-nine. The desire to leave the country seemingly vanished, and I set my sights on more domestic longings. I was thirty-one when I went to Jackson Hole for the first time in 2015. And then I went again, and again, and again. Once I discovered Jackson, I had little interest in going elsewhere. There were still a few places I would go on vacation to with family, but by and large, Jackson ruled the roost for me.

Now, in my forties, I prefer to just leave my life car in park altogether, especially after these last two years. I feel Nate Bargatze's clip on how he moved through the first half of his life deep in my bones because it's so on point. It reflects all too well my own progression from my twenties to my thirties and now my forties. For those in their fifties and beyond, feel free to to extend Nate's observations and weigh in on what the possibilities could be for my future decades.

As I've been looking back on each of these decades recently and all the moving I did, I am often reminded of how the Israelites moved about after they came out of slavery in Egypt. I recently started attending a new church over the last several months, and it has already become dear to me in a very short amount of time. The pastor decided over three years ago to preach through the entirety of the Bible, verse by verse, beginning with Genesis 1. He just reached the fourth book of the Bible, Numbers, when I arrived in October.

The book of Numbers follows the Hebrew people in the days and months immediately following their freedom from Egypt and slavery. They have crossed the Red Sea and are now in the desert. God is giving them the purity laws, explaining to them the ways in which they are to conduct themselves as his chosen people. He’s also explaining to them how to lay out their camp according to the tribes, with the tabernacle at the center of all they do. He chooses a cloud to indicate his presence, which is perpetually present, serving as an indicator of God's continual presence with his people. If the cloud moved, the people of God were to move. It didn’t matter how long or short they had been in camp; they moved when God moved.

Think about this: over one million people were living in tents, and all their worldly possessions with them, including their livestock. Every time they moved, they had to pack their clothes, gather their herds, families, and all that they had plundered from the Egyptians (with God's permission!), pull up tent stakes, pack up the tents, and move. And then, when they arrived at wherever it was God intended they should go, they did everything in reverse order. Sometimes they moved multiple times within a week; sometimes, maybe once a year. But they did this countless times—for forty years. Packing, leaving, unpacking, staying. Packing, leaving, unpacking, staying. Wash, rinse, repeat, over and over and over again. Numbers 9:18, 22-23 explains:

At the command of the Lord the people of Israel set out, and at the command of the Lord they camped. As long as the cloud rested over the tabernacle, they remained in camp. Whether it was two days, or a month, or a longer time that the cloud continued over the tabernacle, abiding there, the people of Israel remained in camp and did not set out; but when it lifted, they set out. At the command of the Lord they camped, and at the command of the Lord they set out. They kept the charge of the Lord at the command of the Lord by Moses.

I can’t fathom that kind of nomadic lifestyle. What if they didn’t want to move? What if they liked that particular piece of ground? What if someone in their family physically didn’t feel well and traveling was difficult?

It didn’t matter if they didn’t want to, didn’t feel well, or were tired. What mattered above all else was the presence of God. They moved when God moved. And if he wasn’t moving, then they weren’t moving either. I wonder what I would have done if I were among the Israelites. Would I have become bitter over what felt like such a grueling exercise in futility and inefficiency? Or would have there have been any part of me that would have appreciated the process or been grateful, beholding the wonder that was the presence of God himself in a cloud? Would I have been asking God why he couldn't just get us to our destination in a single trip? 

There's a lot of things God was teaching the Israelites through the use of the cloud, but one of which was to see that the staying and leaving both mattered, for however long. God was teaching them to be tuned to his presence above all else—above their own preferences, above their own wellbeing, and above their own longings. Because whether staying or going, it meant proximity to the presence of God and it was proof that they were a people marked, sheltered, and protected by God himself. Moses, the leader of this mass of nomadic people, said in Exodus 33:15-16 explained why the presence of God mattered so much, “If your Presence does not go with us, do not send us up from here. How will anyone know that you are pleased with me and with your people unless you go with us? What else will distinguish me and your people from all the other people on the face of the earth?”

Moses was desperately pleading with God to not send them somewhere that God himself would not go with them, for who were the Israelites if Immanuel, which literally translates not just to the "God Who is With Us," but to "the With-Us God", did, in fact, not go with them? What was going to set them apart from everyone else on the face of the earth? It would be meaningless for them to go anywhere that God was not, and Moses inherently knew this. The Promised Land was a meaningless promise if God did not go with them.

I hope God physically doesn't move me again anytime soon, but I want to be where the With-Us God is, attentive to his Holy Spirit and his workings. And I'm not just talking about whether I continue to live in this house or not. It can also mean other spaces and categories. I don't want to be in a job where he isn't. I don't want to be in a friendship where he isn't. I don't want to be in a conversation where he isn't. Yes, I understand that we as believers who live under the power of the New Covenant do not live like the Old Covenant Israelites where God did not dwell in them. I have the power of the Living God in and with me at all times. So, I don't actually need to ask God to be with me like Moses did, but I do still have to be aware of his Holy Spirit. I often pray Galatians 5:25, that I would keep in step with the Spirit. If he moves, I want to move with him. If he's telling me to pull up stakes, then I'm pulling up stakes. If he's telling me to write something specific, then I'm writing something specific. If he's telling me to text a particular person with a particular encouragement, I'm texting. From the big to the small, I want to be where he is. For how else will anyone know that I belong to him? I want to go where the cloud of his presence goes, leaving and staying when he leaves and when he stays.

Who knows what the remainder of my forties look like, but I hope that no matter what decade I'm in that I'm moving wherever the presence of God is, even if I do have to pack up boxes. Again.

Health update

Treatment already feels like it was some sort of dark, distant nightmare, even thought it's only been four months since I took my last chemo pill. I don't know what it is exactly about the latter half of 2025, but it seems like somebody punched the light speed on humanity's collective Millennium Falcon, sending us all hurtling into space with entire galaxies whizzing by like long streams of thin white lines. And it seems as though everyone else has been feeling the same way, not just me.

I had my first post-treatment MRI last week and then met with the neuro-onc immediately after. The tumor is stable and shows no signs of growth, which is the hope for every MRI moving forward. Generally speaking, as soon as treatment was over, I didn't have any lingering symptoms other than some blood count issues. I had been working with a functional medicine nurse and nutritionist prior to treatment ending with the express intent of getting things in place so that my body would rebound well from the hits it took during treatment. And that seems to have happened. All things considered, it's a miracle that I am doing as well as I am neurologically and functionally. 

My next MRI should have been scheduled for February at the standard three month mark, but the doctor felt I was doing so well that we could go ahead and extend the interval out to April, which is good news. I still have a smattering of appointments between now and then, most of which are just routine care and check ins with other specialists. All in all, I am doing well, by the goodness and grace of God!

Day 8: Wyoming 2022 - Greatest Hits

It's no secret how much I love Jackson Hole, Wyoming. I won't bother elaborating on that because you can read about my previous adventures elsewhere. I made the trek out there this past September for the fifth time and it's still as stunning as ever. This trip was a much slower pace and I had less of an itinerary planned. It was just my mom and me, so we were able to wander to and fro to places we had been to before and some we hadn't. So, without further ado, I present to you Wyoming 2022: The Greatest Hits:

• I didn't get mistaken for a boy on this trip! Unlike two out of the four previous trips. This feels like a victory. 

• I discovered the joys of a heated steering wheel. What wizardry is this?! We rented a Chrysler Pacifica, which didn't really jive with the whole rugged mountain terrain vibe I had hoped for, but when you have a heated steering wheel? Who cares! Soccer mom minivan it is!

• We went to Mammoth Hot Springs one day while up in Yellowstone. It felt like a ghost town, which was amazing. Normally I'm not a fan of the place because it always feels like such a cluster, but due to the historic flooding that had occurred earlier in the summer and damaged so much infrastructure,  a lot of lodging and restaurants were closed. 

• On my second trip out to Wyoming with my friend Kristen in 2016, she introduced me to some friends of hers, Donnie and Pat. They quickly became my friends. And then when I was out there again in 2019 with my mom and a family friend, we ran into Donnie and Pat by happenstance, out of the blue while waiting in line at a restaurant up in Mammoth. This time around, we intentionally reached out to them and made plans. Funny, delightful, lovely people.

• We tried to see a few things we hadn't before, one of which was Cody. We were staying in West Yellowstone so we drove allllll the way over to Cody one day, on the opposite side of the park, and poked around there for the day. Driving through Sylvan Pass is a bit of a white-knuckler for me, but we made it.

• After we spent a few days in Yellowstone, we headed south for Jackson. While on the way, we spotted a bald eagle and some other kind of bird duking it out in the skies above. They kept following the same river we were driving along, so we were able to just keep going and watch them as we drove. 

• We stopped at Colter Bay on the northern side of Grand Teton National Park and our eyes nearly popped out of our heads. We couldn't believe what we were seeing. The marina, normally filled with docked boats was completely empty - boats, water and all. It was shocking to witness. 

• We stayed in downtown Jackson, which was a first. Normally we stay out in the Wilson area, but AirBnB prices were getting ridiculous, so we opted for a hotel near the Town Square. So convenient. Loved it.

• Two rainbows marked our trip, one while out in the Buffalo Valley near Turpin Meadow Ranch and another directly at the base of the Tetons. 

• We, of course, milled around town and walked through art galleries, especially since it was the annual Fall Arts Festival. One thing that was a major bummer for us on this trip was that they did not host the Showcase of Homes. We LOVED this when we went in 2019 and had so hoped we could do it again. Alas, it was not to be. 

I don't know that I'll make it back to Wyoming in 2023, as I've got my sights set on somewhere new. We'll see if it captures my heart and imagination like Jackson Hole has, but this new place has a lot to live up to. Time will tell!

This was one of the many terrible selfies I took in 2015. This is also Colter Bay then...

...and Colter Bay in September 2022. I'm standing in almost the exact same spot. 
Now you know why our eyes nearly popped out of our heads.

I mean, c'mon.

While taking the Moose-Wilson Road, we joined the crowds to watch these two for a bit.

Rainbow #1 while driving along Highway 191, just north of Jackson.

Rainbow #2, sunset, driving back from Turpin Meadow Ranch, down along the Buffalo Fork

This was in the opposite direction of the rainbow.
No matter which way we turned, the view was incredible.

What is Yellowstone without bison?

And, of course, a jumping photo.

Wyoming 2021: Still Working on the Selfie Game

In case you've missed the memo at any point along the way, I really love Jackson Hole, Wyoming. A lot. And I love taking other people there to experience it, to see it fresh through someone else's eyes. Much like the rest of the world, I had a hankering to travel, particularly back to Wyoming. I rustled up some traveling companions in the form of my mother and cousin, and off we went last week. 

It turns out I still love the place as much as ever. I typically only ever go out in September, but had been wanting to experience the Tetons and Yellowstone in a different season. I think I will forever be more partial to the Tetons over Yellowstone, so we spent the bulk of our time in Grand Teton and spent only two days up in Yellowstone.

And it's probably for the better that we only spent two days there. While it was hotter than hades back in Ohio, I was wearing 3 layers of clothing, gloves, a winter hat and using a kitchen knife to scrape snow off the car windshield up in Yellowstone. Hey, when you don't have an ice scraper in your rental, you work with what you've got. Kitchen knife it is. We woke up early our first morning to get into the park before the rest of the world woke up, making a beeline straight for the Canyon area, but it was snowing so hard and the roads were just getting worse the farther north we went, so we aborted that mission. Doesn't matter how beautiful the waterfall is if you can't see it through blinding, blowing snow. And when we were leaving Yellowstone to head back to Jackson, it was nearly whiteout conditions, with visibility maybe less than a quarter of a mile. I'm all for cold but I do have my limits.

Our time in the Tetons, however, involved far less snow, and was spent exploring some new areas I hadn't been to before, while still revisiting some tried-and-true favorites. While browsing the maps, I stumbled across a lookout point called the Wedding Tree, about 30 minutes east of Jackson that most people don't know about, on a gravel road through the Bridger-Teton National Forest. How the heck did I not find this place sooner? It was stunning, and for a brief time we had it all to ourselves because no one else was around, so you better believe I sat and admired the view and the silence for a bit while keeping my bear spray close.

Hidden Falls was another winner, but that place is fairly well-known and an easy hike into the backcountry, so by the time we were hiking out, the crowds were growing in size. Y'all - I cannot say this enough - if you ever visit the Tetons or Yellowstone, get your tookus out of bed early. This tactic pays dividends, and you will be so glad you gave up those few minutes of extra sleep.

Other highlights included:

• Seeing Bear 399 within hours of arriving. If you're not familiar with her, she's literally the famous famous grizzly bear in the country, if not the world. My mother is enamored with this fellow mother, and nearly did a happy dance when we came across 399 and her four cubs. Between seeing her and another grizzly, it's the most grizzlies I've ever seen. And to say it's the most I've ever seen, it's to say they are the only grizzlies I've ever seen out there, despite this being my fourth trip.

• Watched paragliders literally jump off the side of the mountain. My cousin and I took the Bridger Gondola up to the top of the mountain at Jackson Hole Mountain Resort, and while up there, we were treated to a front-row seat of several people thinking it was a good idea to fling themselves into the wind off the side of a mountain. Tip: Don't buy the blueberry muffins at Off Piste. You'll wind up with sticker shock when you shell out $7 for a muffin that is somewhat of a letdown.

• The hunt for the world's perfect baseball cap. I bought a baseball cap the last time I was out to JH and it has proven to be my very favorite hat ever. I was determined to find another one just like it. Y'all. I practically scoured that town and could not find one in that exact style, by that exact brand. They had every other style, just not.that.one. It was maddening. I practically spent more time hunting for that baseball hat than I did for wildlife. Why is it that companies always feel the need to stop carrying the ONE product you absolutely love?

• Weddings. So many weddings! I can't tell you the number of brides and grooms we crossed paths with or saw from afar, getting their wedding photos. We even saw one bride in her gown, hoofing it up the path to Inspiration Point, on the far side of Jenny Lake in the Tetons. It's one thing to do that trail in hiking boots and regular attire, let alone in a wedding dress. The things we do for the perfect photo.

• I realized on this trip that every time I've been out to JH, I've been the one driving, which I don't mind, but it means I don't always get to take a good look at the scenery. Next time I go out, I need to find someone else who will drive. And I need to find someone who legit wants to hike. Not camp, just hike. I like a comfy bed, a warm shower and clean clothes, and I like those things on a daily basis. So no camping. And I can assure you I have zero interest in pitching a tent anywhere out in bear country, but there's so much hiking yet to do!

• I got mistaken for a boy. AGAIN. This time by a 5-year old on the plane. "Mommy, is that a boy or a girl?" I'm starting to lose track of the number of times I get mistaken for a boy. And it's always when I have a ball cap on, so I can't say that I entirely blame people, but seriously. It gets old. And discouraging. But not enough to make me swear off wearing my favorite ball cap.

• Gros Ventre Slide. I hadn't ever ventured over to Kelly, Wyoming, but one of it's more notable features is the landslide that occurred there back in the 1920s. It wiped out the town, killing 6 people and leaving a newly-formed lake in its wake. There's a trail that takes you to the base of the slide and literally looked like a bomb went off, even after nearly one hundred years have passed. 

• Lots of baby buffalo! It's calving season, so it seemed there were just bundles of baby buffalo scattered all over the place, mainly up in Yellowstone. This was the first time, however, that I saw exactly ZERO elk in Yellowstone. Not a single one.   

• Webcams. These can be your new best friend when traveling, and here's why: There are some mornings you'd really love to watch the sunrise, but you're also not sure if the view will be worth the effort to crawl out of your snuggly warm bed. Is it rainy? Is it cloudy? Can I even see the mountains? Enter webcams. There were several mornings I thought about checking out the sunrise but was also feeling mildly lazy. So, I would just check out a select few webcams, see if the view was worth it or not. If not, I rolled over and stayed in bed. If it was, I flung back the covers, grabbed my trusty ball cap, car keys and jetted out the door. #YoureWelcome.

As for the rest of the highlights, I'll let my camera lens do the talking. If you ever make plans to visit the Tetons or Yellowstone yourself, I will gladly serve as your trip advisor. And the first thing I will tell you is don't go to Yellowstone before June. And yes, you need to buy and carry your bear spray if you go hiking. And yes, you need to get your fanny out of bed at o-dark-thirty.  

 

Hidden Falls, just a quick boat ride and a hike across Jenny Lake

View from inside the Cunningham Cabin

The rubble at the base of the Gros Ventre slide. That patch of snow way up 
on the mountainside is where the slide originated.

Schwabacher's Landing. I mean, c'mon.
How can you not fall in love with a place like this?

Perfect mirror reflection at Schwabacher's

View from Wedding Tree. There was one stubborn cloud
that absolutely refused to move from the top of the Grand
the entire time I sat there.

 The view from Teton Point turnout

Heyyyo. Still working on my selfie game. It's been a work in progress since 2015.

My fellow sojourners, Old Faithful in the background

And, of course, no trip is complete without jumping photos
in front of the famous antler arches in Jackson's Town Square.

My Selfie Game Has Mildly Improved

Ah, Wyoming. How I love thee, let me count the ways.

It seems I can never quite get enough of that place, particularly Jackson Hole. Just stunning.  There's always some small part of me that feels like I'm home when I'm there.  I just love it.

I made it out recently for the annual fall arts festival, which was celebrating it's 35th anniversary.  And since I'm turning 35 myself in a few short weeks, I thought it only natural to celebrate the milestone in my favorite place.  My mom and a friend of our family also went with me for this girls' trip, and we had a fabulous time.  Words could never do the place justice, and I'm not sure pictures will either, but here are a select few photos highlighting our adventures.

I absolutely love watching sunrise over the Yellowstone Lake at West Thumb.
We were practically the only ones there, and it was glorious. 

This buffalo surprised us a bit.  We were coming down the hill after hiking up to the
Grand Prismatic overlook and he appeared out of the tree line, munching on some grass. 

I wore no less than two layers, sometimes three, most days, which I loved.  We were out hiking
near Leigh Lake where I could finally catch a few patches of the sun's rays and warm up a bit. 

I usually drink a grand total of two amaretto sours a year.  I drank this year's allotment in one week.
Nothing like a good amaretto sour with a view of the Tetons.  

The other great place to catch an amazing sunrise is near Moulton Barn on Mormon Row.
I rolled out of bed early one morning, threw on a ball cap and was able to catch the sun just as it started
to cloak the top half of the Tetons.

We took a tour of 4 homes in Jackson in their Showcase of Homes. Oh.my.stars.
So this is how the other half lives.  One home we walked through was valued at $10 million.
Ten.million.dollars. My mind can't even conceive.  And almost all of them were not primary residences.

Schwabacher's Landing is a favorite of mine.  We caught sunset there one night, and I got
some of my best photos there.

Selfies always feel ridiculous to me (see also my first trip to Wyoming with a series of epic selfie-fails),
so I took this one mainly for my own entertainment.  This is my pensive, mountain-admiring, contemplative look,
like I'm trying to be ultra-serious and reflective.  I think my selfie-game has improved since the first trip, yes? 

Wyoming 2016: The Greatest Hits

 Ah, Jackson Hole, how you slay me. 

When I went to Wyoming one year ago, I didn't fully realize the love affair that would commence. 

I just got back less than 12 hours ago from two weeks in my very favorite place in the whole wide world, and I already miss it.  I traveled the first week with my friend Kristen, mostly through Yellowstone before we ended up in Bozeman, Montana. After I shipped her back to the East Coast, I kept on trucking through Idaho and then back over to Jackson. 

I realize probably no one else is going to want to listen to me drone on about all things Jackson Hole and the Grand Tetons, so for you, my dear readers, I made you a list.  Think of it like a greatest hits.  This is the abbreviated version of the things that stood out to me about the trip - favorite moments, favorite memories, things I don't want to forget.  Here I present to you my top 30 moments of the last two weeks, in no particular order:

1) Watching a female elk swim a small channel at Yellowstone Lake.  It just seemed like an unique wildlife moment.  Most elk we saw were busy eating grass or sleeping, which is kind of boring to watch.  But here was this one doggie-paddling her way through the water. 

View from Driggs AirBnB, Tetons

in the background

2) Watching a buffalo jump over a 5-foot fence.  Yes, these hefty beasts can haul their fat rears over fences with little effort.  I was driving along and saw this lone buffalo walking along a fence line.  He stopped, pivoted, and then he hopped over the fence, as if he was some elegant little deer.  I have no photographic proof, but this guy does.  He's the chef at Turpin Meadow, amazing photographer. 

3) The "Owl Barn" in Driggs, the little AirBnB I rented for two nights. I felt like I won the AirBnB lottery.  I couldn't stop taking pictures of the view, which overlooked the west side of the Tetons.  I loved, loved, loved this place.  If you're ever in Driggs, this is a must-stay!  A couple had taken this old barn and converted the upstairs into an apartment, with this little gothic-shaped window, allowing a perfect overlook.  I wish I had stayed longer.  We also did an AirBnB in Jackson and Bozeman. It's just a great way to travel.  Your budget will thank you also. 

4) Teton Public Library.  I know.  Who goes to the public library when they're on the vacation? I do.  I love libraries.  And Teton PL did not let me down.  I almost started crying when I walked in.

5) Taking pictures at Schwabacker's Landing.  Beautiful. 

6) Meeting Shari Turpin of Pearls by Shari. Delightful, Jesus-loving woman, married to the man who gave me his business card last year and said to call him if I ever wanted a job in Jackson.   

7) Meeting random families while I was by myself the second week, which I may not have done otherwise if I had been with others.  I took the tram up to the top of the mountain at Jackson Hole Mountain Resort, where I met one whirlwind of a family.  They had three young boys and one little girl.  The boys were named Bear, Maverick and Gunner.  The little girl, strapped in a backpack on her dad's back, was simply named Grace.  Dad clearly had the naming rights on the boys.  I would not be surprised if someday they have a fourth boy and name him Goose.  

8) Getting caught in a hail storm driving up Signal Mountain.  We made an abrupt turn around, especially given that we had zero hail coverage on our rental. 

9) Hiking Old Faithful and the Upper Geyser Basin at sunset with hardly a soul around.  We had the whole place practically to ourselves.  And the sunset colors were amazing. 

10) Wearing my winter hat, gloves, scarf, and several layers of clothes while it was in the 90s in Ohio.  Bring on colder weather, I say. Summer is by far my least favorite season. 

11) Driving through the barley fields of eastern Idaho.  No better sight than farm lands for this country girl. 

12) Getting a free upgrade to a Toyota Tundra.  The rental place was slammed when we arrived, so they offered to upgrade us for free to a pickup truck from an economy car since they didn't have economy cars left apparently.  I wanted to do a happy dance.  It was no Ford, but I sure as heck will take a truck over an economy car, that's for sure.  You don't have to ask me twice. 

13) Watching Kristen try to get off her horse, Curtis, after a 4-hour ride.  Sorry, friend, I know it was a bit rough, but that was pretty darn hilarious.  I personally have never been so happy to get off a horse before in my life.  Great ride with great views, but my heavens, I was so desperate to climb out of that saddle. 

14) Being back at Turpin Meadow Ranch.  Holds a special place in my heart. 

15) Driving through the Tetons, just to drive. 

16) Art - lots and lots and lots of art.  Jackson hosted their Fall Arts Festival, which was one of the reasons why I stuck around an extra week.  Gah, so many galleries.  I would spend hours just walking through the galleries, mentally tallying just how broke I could go if I bought all the pieces I wanted.  And look, this is not some chintzy arts and crafts fair we're talking about here.  We're talking some of the greatest modern-day western and wildlife artists and photographers around today, with pieces selling for $50,000 or more.  Deb Fox. Cole Johnson.  September Vhay. Amy Ringholz. Micqaela Jones.  Gary Crandall.  Tom Mangelsen.  Troy Collins.  I could go on and on.  These are simply my favorites.

17) Time alone. 

18) Time with Donnie and Pat Critcher, friends of Kristen.  Donnie is a storyteller, and a good one.  He regaled us with stories of his former days spent as a cobbler.  Hilarious. 

19) Aspen trees in the fall.  I can't get enough of these trees.

20) After seeing ZERO moose in all of Yellowstone and the Tetons, I spotted one in someone's yard in Jackson.  Just chillin', munching on grass. 

21) Doing laundry.  Small thing, but it was nice just to get some laundry done half-way through the trip. 

22) National Museum of Wildlife Art.  Chocked full of amazing works. 

23) Buying a $10 fleece pullover from a shop in Jackson.  I lived in that thing for pretty much the remainder of the trip. 

Sunrise at West Thumb, overlooking Yellowstone Lake

24) Sunrise at West Thumb with an elk herd around.  There were maybe 10 people there, and given that parts of Yellowstone can be a MAJOR cluster during peak hours, this is proof that it pays to get up early.  Less people, more wildlife.

25) Buffalo in Hayden Valley.   So serene.  Very Dances with Wolves kind of moment.

26)  The architecture of Old Faithful Inn.  Just stunning. 

27) Snow!  It snowed up in the higher elevations the second week.  Yellowstone got around 6-8 inches and some of the roads closed.  Jackson got mostly rain, which was a relief actually because they desperately needed the precipitation to douse the wildfires ravaging the mountainside. 

28) Basil chicken sandwich at Jackson Hole Roasters, one of my favorite places to eat in Jackson.  So good I went two days in a row.

29) Purchasing my first can of bear spray. And thankfully not having to use it. 

30) Driving through Montana and Idaho in a pickup, windows down, country music blaring.  Pure bliss. 

And bonus!  I didn't get mistaken for a boy this time around!

PS: My selfie-taking skills have not improved. 

My awesome selfie skills on display with the resident cat at

Turpin Meadow Ranch.

Homesick for a Place That Has Never Been Home

According to my countdown, I have roughly 53 days until I am back in Jackson Hole, Wyoming.

The days can't fly by fast enough.

I'm heading back for two weeks in September, meeting up with my dear friend, Kristen.  We will spend the first week roaming the Tetons and Yellowstone, making our way from Jackson on up to Bozeman, Montana.  I then put her on a plane back to the East Coast while I stick around another week and hang out in Idaho for a couple of days, and then back to Jackson for the duration.  I fell head over heels in love with that corner of the world, and I don't think a single day has gone by since I got back that I haven't thought about Wyoming.  It captivated me in such a compelling and profound way, maybe more so than any other place in the world I've been to.  And I've been to my fair share of places.  

Isn't it curious, the places we have maybe never been to, or have visited only once, yet they still manage to beckon to us some like sort of Siren from the pages of Odyssey?  

I felt that way about Kenya for the longest time.  This strange, inexplicable attraction to it, even as a child.  I didn't fully understand it - and still don't - why I felt such a pull to that country, why I felt such an urge to hop on a plane and fly halfway around the world.  After I made the first trip and came home, I couldn't get the country off my mind.  I thought about that place incessantly, and did so nearly every day until I returned two years later. I felt like every waking moment was filled with a deep longing to return some day.

I feel that way now about Wyoming.  Like a homesick feeling.

Only Wyoming has never been home.

I think we all have those places, those corners of the world where we just feel like we belong, like we're coming home even though we know it's not really our home and never has been.  Maybe for you it's the secret hiding place at the park down the way.  Maybe it's the coffee shop around the corner.  Maybe it's the far reaches of some country so remote that it takes you two days, four planes, one bus, and one canoe to get there.  Maybe it's your favorite aunt's kitchen table two states away.  Wherever it is, it's the one place where you feel settled, like a piece of you clicked into place, and no matter what's happening in the world, you know you are right where you should be.   

That tells me something.

What I feel for Wyoming - that homesick feeling for a place that has never been home to me - tells me that I'm not meant for this world.  It tells me there is something buried deep inside of me - in all of us, really - that pokes at my heart, saying, "Hey - don't get too comfortable.  You don't really belong here.  This was never meant to be your home."  I think the longing we have for the places that have never been home to us are indicators of a larger story being told, one that speaks of eternity.

In Sheldon Vanauken's book A Severe Mercy, he exchanged a series of letters with famed Christian theologian and apologist, C.S. Lewis.  They were discussing the concept of time, reflecting on this idea that we were not meant to call this earth home:

C.S. Lewis asked how it was that I, as a product of a materialistic universe, was not at home there. 'Do fish complain of the sea for being wet? Or if they did, would that fact itself not strongly suggest that they had not always been, or would not always be, purely aquatic creatures?' Then, if we can complain of time and take such joy in the seemingly timeless moment, what does that suggest? It suggests that we have not always been or will not always be purely temporal creatures. It suggests that we were created for eternity. Not only are we harried by time, we seem unable, despite a thousand generations, even to get used to it. We are always amazed by it - how fast it goes, how slowly it goes, how much of it is gone. Where, we cry, has the time gone? We aren't adapted to it, not at home in it. If that is so, it may appear as proof, or at least a powerful suggestion, that eternity exists and is our home.

Homesickness is ultimately the fingerprint of God, embedding a longing for heaven deep within us.  Ecclesiastes 3:11 says, "[God] has also set eternity in the human heart."  When we're homesick - whether it's for the home we've known our whole lives, or for a place that we've merely seen pictures of, heck, even if it's a place that we have never fully identified, we just know there's something in us that longs for this unidentifiable place - we need to acknowledge it's just a symptom of a deeper sentiment:  we don't belong here.

You better believe I'm going to keep counting down the days until I am back on a plane and winging my way back to Jackson.  My new favorite quote as of late is from John Muir, "The mountains are calling, and I must go."  Every time I look at pictures from Jackson, my spirit groans within me, I just want to be there already.

The mountains are calling, and I must go.  But I'll let the longing for those mountains serve as a reminder:  This has never been home.  And never will be.        

2015: Year in Review

Remember this little prayer from the end of 2014?  Whatever gets me more of Jesus is what I prayed.

Yeah, one of those big, bold prayers that we rightfully should make a habit of praying, but then within about 2 minutes you wish you could take it back.

This past year proved to be a tough year, mainly due to my job and the accompanying stress level.  It was an intense time of growth and refinement on so many levels.  A lot of hard lessons learned, and at times life felt a bit like a crucible.  Joy was a struggle.  Motivation was a challenge.  But I was determined to lean in.  And I was determined to press in that much closer to Jesus.   

Similar to last year, I recap 2015, based on my journal entries.  Always around this time of year, I recite my usual prayers of gratitude that I am a journal-er at heart, prone to cataloging my many thoughts, putting ink to paper.  One of my favorite quotes from Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts echoes my soul: "Because the picking up of a pen isn't painful and ink is cheap medicine.  And I just might live."   

I've spent the last year picking up the pen, cataloging the pain I was experiencing elsewhere in life.

And maybe it was cheap medicine, taking pen to paper.

But it was good medicine.

And I lived.

So, I present to you my 2015 in a consolidated fashion, month-by-month:

(On December 29, 2014, is when I prayed "Whatever gets me more of Jesus.")

January:  By January 18, I was writing, "Can I take back that prayer?"  January felt like the month from Hades.  I was already running for the hills and we weren't even three weeks out from that oh-so-grandiose prayer of mine.  It was a brutal month work-wise and I think I came home nearly every day for lunch and sobbed my face off.  But I also kicked off reading the book of Hebrews, working through it with my small group.  So timely, for so many reasons, as there were so many verses that were nudges and reminders to fix my eyes on Jesus.  It's also the month in which I added this t-shirt to my wardrobe.

February: For the first time in maybe 15 years, I found myself not wanting to travel.  Anywhere.  "I feel like a traitor to my own soul when I admit I no longer have the urge to travel," I wrote.  Me, the girl who had spent a large portion of her 20s finding a plane to get on, suddenly didn't want anything to do with driving, flying, packing, or daydreaming of distant lands.  It was short-lived, however.  I booked a flight to Wyoming three months later.  I felt like less of a traitor after that.

March: "I think I would make a very successful hermit," is the sentiment expressed through most of March.  I wanted to crawl into a dark hole and hide most of this month.  My job was so stressful that most evenings I just wanted to come home, pull the curtains and not speak to or see another human being for a very long time.

April: There are zero entries in the month of April.  Which means it was either so insignificant that I didn't feel compelled to write about anything, or it was so dreadful that I didn't want to record it for posterity and have to relive it ever again.

May:  In this month there was much writing about the Holy Spirit, surrendering to him, and how I usually am unwilling to do so.  I also wrote of the WordStrong sessions I attended at my parents' church, Northwest Bible.  One of their teaching pastors, Mark Trotter, delivered a killer series on Revelation, particularly the closing segments on Revelation 3, sessions 39, 40, and 41.  Rocked my world.  And then I cat/dog/house-sat for my aunt and uncle on Memorial Day weekend.  I simply wrote, "I haven't even had these creatures for 48 hours and I'm over it.  I'm okay if I don't ever have pets again."  No reflection on them as they are well-behaved creatures, I just suddenly realized that weekend I have no idea how I managed to have pets for nearly 29 years of my life.

June: I don't normally comment on external national or world events, but I did feel the need to note that American Pharoah won the Triple Crown.  The TRIPLE CROWN, people.  I have to work at overlooking the misspelling of his name, but seriously the TRIPLE CROWN.  In other news, I'm still cratering mentally and emotionally.  One friend pointed out I may potentially have depression.  I was so thoroughly annoyed with him for even pointing it out because I totally wanted to deny it.  He probably had/has no idea how angry I was with him for even suggesting it.  I was annoyed not that he said it - but maybe because I knew there was truth in it.  I also stepped down as a mentor with Freedom a la Cart and the CATCH program.  I figured I had no business mentoring women, trying to tell them how to be healthy when I couldn't get my own act together.

July: I'm feeling stretched thin. Just totally pulled apart at the seams.  I wrote, "This job is going to do me in.  Some moments this week I have felt like I am reliving the week from Hades back in January." It's also the first time I ever experienced Lakeside.  Loved it.

August: I spent this month praying for a harvest of righteousness and peace, a verse from Hebrews 12. (There are reasons why God intersects certain seasons of our lives with certain portions of His Word.)  "I'm still asking for my view of Jesus to get bigger and for the view of myself to get smaller,"  I jotted down.  I disappeared up to Lakeside again for a weekend, all by myself. I needed the mental break.  I also spent a weekend down in Louisville, attending the World Championship Horse Show.  It had been over 15 years since I had last gone.

September: Ahhh, Wyoming.  How I love you.  I spent 4 days in Jackson Hole, and I don't know I've ever been sadder to leave somewhere before.  And given the number of places I have been before, that's saying something.
    
October: I wrote some more about how much I love Wyoming.  And then I wrote some more about how much my job was killing me. (Don't worry, if you're tired of hearing about my job just in these few paragraphs, you can understand how worn out I was by my own thoughts over the past year.)  "The phrase I keep hearing over and over again in my head is, 'I just want out.' Jesus, it may not be pretty, and there is a whole host of things I am getting wrong, but I will keep putting one foot in front of the other.  I will keep coming before you with this, wrestling it out, still leaning in.  I'm not giving up."  Sheer grit and determination got me through this month.

November: "I just wish I understood better just what it is about my job that makes me want to come unhinged on a regular basis." 

December:  I resigned from my job.  I did a happy dance.  My brother texted me the morning after I gave my resignation to my bosses, asking, "Are the birds chirping and the unicorns still dancing?"  Heck yes they are, I said.  (But here's the crazy thing - by the grace and goodness of God - despite the fact that I resigned from my job, I still have a job! I know, right?! I realize that is not normal.  I was essentially holding down what amounted to two full-time positions within my organization; I merely resigned from one of the positions, and essentially reverted back to the job for which I was originally hired.)

I haven't decided what my prayer for 2016 will be.  Maybe it will be one just as scary as saying "Whatever gets me more of Jesus."  Because as hard as this past year has been, and as much as I certainly would not want to relive it, I do know this:

I got what I asked for.

I got more of Jesus.

And he is always worth whatever heartache we walk through.

When You Travel Alone, Have Short Arms, and No Selfie Stick

I am not in the habit of taking selfies.  They just feel weird to me.  Maybe one part a little too narcissistic.  And maybe one part just plain awkward.

When I went out to Wyoming, I took lots of pictures, of course.  The mountains, the sunsets, the wildlife, the geysers, the truck.  (And then I maybe took some more pictures of the truck.)

There were, however, a series of bad selfies I took that got scattered through.  For one, I have short arms, so it's kind of hard to get the camera very far away from my own face.  Two, I haven't had much practice, so this selfie thing is a whole new ball game for me at times.  Three, there was no one around to rescue me from my own bad selfie-taking skills.  Four, I had no selfie stick to help me out.

So, allow me to be so vulnerable as to share with you my series of bad selfies:

Let's start with perhaps the best one out of the bunch, the one from Old Faithful.  With the guy behind me also taking a selfie.  See?  We're already off to a bad start.  Fail.

And then there was the one with the backside of this buffalo in Yellowstone.  And I'm awkwardly holding my right shoulder for some reason.  And I'm not smiling.  And I'm standing in the shadows.  And the picture is tilted.  And there are a bunch of campers and buses in the background, cluttering the view.  Fail.  

And then there was the one where I tried to get a picture with Old Faithful over my shoulder. But too bad my head kept getting in the way.  Fail.  

Maybe the one with the truck is the only legitimate one that mildly passes as a decent selfie?  I feel like I have a cheesy grin on my face, though. Not a total fail.

And then there's the one with the boats?  Which makes a horrible and highly uninteresting and cluttered background?  I'm not sure what I thought my goal was with this photo. Fail.

And lastly, this one, next to another geyser not far from Old Faithful.  I'm looking off to the side, and I'm clearly very disgruntled about something, but I'm not sure what.  Maybe my inability to take a good selfie?  Fail.  

I showed my friend Jill my photos from Wyoming, joking with her about my bad selfies.  She was so kind as to buy me a selfie stick for my birthday here a few weeks ago, perhaps out of pity, but perhaps she was just trying to problem solve for me.  Too bad my phone is a dinosaur (a whopping 3.5 years old) and the selfie stick is not compatible with my phone.  Go figure.  Apparently the bad selfie saga is to continue for the foreseeable future, at least until I upgrade to a new phone (which will not be any time soon) or until I get longer arms.  

That Time I Got Called "Sir"

So there I was in the Jackson airport, minding my own business.  

I had arrived at the airport hours before my flight was supposed to leave, thanks in large part to the fact that the pickup truck I had rented (aka the other piece of my heart) was due back by 2:00 pm, but my flight wasn't until 5:30 pm.  So, I had a lot of free time on my hands.

I milled around the ticket counter area for awhile, sorting through receipts and photographs and mementos from the trip.  I decided to finally make my way through security, find a quiet corner in the terminal and stretch out for awhile before the flight home, knowing I was about to be folded up into a little cube once I hit that airplane seat.  

The Jackson airport is small enough that only a handful of flights go out each day.  And the gate area is maybe half the size of a football field.  People were bustling about when I walked through security, as there were a couple of flights getting ready to board.  Unlike other airports, Jackson actually has legitimate furniture in the form of comfy leather couches, chairs and overstuffed ottomans.  Most of them had been taken over by soon-to-be-departing passengers, so I decided to bide my time until these next couple of flights took off and then I'd see about staking my claim on a leather couch.  

The 3:30 flight boarded and departed, and I discovered once they cleared out, there were a grand total of two other people left in the terminal.  Even airport staff was vanishing.  My 5:30 flight was the last flight out for the day, and since I was so early, there was hardly a soul around.  They actually temporarily closed down the security checkpoint, as one staff member informed me, telling me that if I wanted to leave the terminal I wouldn't be able to get back in for awhile.  I moseyed on over to the appointed leather couch, stretched out with my feet propped up, pulled out my latest reading selection of Friday Night Lights by H.G. Bissinger (brilliant book, by the way.  And we won't even talk about my recent obsession with the TV series) and settled in for the next couple of hours.  

Let me pause here and describe to you my appearance at this point, as this will prove highly relevant.  On days I know I am traveling, I tend to go as comfy and practical as possible.  So that morning I had pulled out my favorite pair of holey jeans, a plaid button-up shirt, my black fleece and a ball cap.  I had zero makeup on, which I didn't even bother to pack and hadn't worn for the entire trip.  I hadn't even bothered to wear any nail polish either, which is rare for me to go long without nail polish.  I also had a football book in my hands.

Okay, so back to the story.  I'm curled up on the couch, reading my book, when out of the corner of my eye, I spot this airport/TSA staff member heading my way.  He's kind of a big guy, holding a sticker-covered Nalgene bottle in his hands.  I look up and make eye contact with him, when he says, "Excuse me, sir, is this your water bottle?"

*Long pause while my brain does double-time, trying to process whether he's talking to me or some imaginary male figure sitting next to me.*

There isn't another soul within 200 feet.  Process of elimination: he's clearly directing this question at me.

"Eh, no, that's not mine," I said. 

And I could tell as soon as I opened my mouth that he realized his error, as he fumbled for a second and clearly got nervous.  

I didn't say anything else, and I didn't bother to correct him.  And he didn't bother to say anything else either, as he just kept walking right on by, eager to escape the awkwardness of the moment.

I texted my mom shortly thereafter and said, "I just got called 'sir'..."  First time for everything I guess.  

I suppose I can't blame the poor guy because I did kind of look like a boy, sitting there reading a football book.  And I always look like I don't have much hair anyway when I've got a ball cap on, given that it's so short to begin with.  When it gets tucked underneath a hat, then it really disappears.  So, I really wasn't offended by his mistake, and I even had a good laugh about it with family when I got home. 

But seriously, sir.

I am not a "sir".

Note to future self: ditch the ball cap, put on my some makeup, and avoid reading football books when traveling.  Maybe then I'll avoid a repeat of this little episode.