Like That

I just knew I needed her this morning. The logging road can always be counted on to provide whatever is needed for the day and my heart.

Yesterday was just one of those days. A tough loss for my team. Knowing someone’s heart was hurting. Technical difficulties…All Day. Long. A knee replacement surgery looming. Concern for our country and the rocky-no-matter-what road ahead for all of us who love her. And spirits that felt like the smokey haze obscuring the mountain from view. Bed sounded good long before it was time to crawl in.

Despite all of that, one thing, well two, that I knew for sure. A new day would dawn, and a trip up the logging road would help.

A new day dawned, and before the sun crested the hills above the logging road we set out, side-by-side to make our way to the top, our steps falling together on the steep incline that will continue for almost two miles. It’s never easy, but today it’s a little harder than usual. Over the past four years of hiking this same path time and again, I’ve come to know that hard isn’t a bad thing, simply a thing. On or off the trail, hard is part of the bargain.

Today, like every day, the logging road is able to take whatever burdens we carry, always providing solid ground beneath our feet. She’s steady. Sure. Reliable. I want to be like that.

The trees on either side of the road bear witness as we pass by. Douglas and grand fir, ponderosa pine, and Oregon white oak. Rooted in the ground and stretching to the sky, they don’t question or try to fix. They simply stand strong, inviting us to come as we are. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just real. I want to be like that.

Sitting on the side of the hill, looking out over the woods, open grassy slopes, and surrounding ridges, the breeze moves around us, rustling the leaves and causing wheat colored grasses to sway ever so slightly. The air ia soft, warm, and gentle It feels like mercy, grace, kindness, and forgiveness. Freely given, asking nothing in return. I want to be like that.

Making our way down, my heart is lighter, my head more clear, and my spirit more at ease. The road hasn’t done anything to me, she’s simply been there for me, and that is what makes all the difference.

I want to be like that.

The Reprieve

The hike up the logging road is just that. An uphill climb the entire 1.7 miles to the top, with two exceptions. The reprieve and the wee-prieve.

The reprieve is a short span at the top of one of the steeper pitches that flattens out for about 200 feet, and the wee-prieve, the offspring of the reprieve, might be 50 feet if that. So out of the approximately 9000 feet of road, only 250 feet are flat. Everything else is up, up, up, and then up some more. So those few feet of flat ground matter. They are the only ones where one can catch her breath, feel her heart rate slow, and gather her energy to finish the climb.

Those brief respites are so small in comparison to the rest of the road, we could be on the other side of them without even noticing the relief and support they offer. It would be easy to miss them, so we make sure that we don’t. Every time we come to them we notice them, name them, thank them, and let them work their magic on us. Some days we need them more than others, but they are always a welcome interlude on the way to the top.

What is true on the logging is true in life. We are in need of the reprieves that show up in our daily lives. Those moments, no matter how brief, can make all the difference in helping us to keep on keeping on with the keeping on that is ours to do. A cancelled appointment? A reprieve giving you a slice of time you didn’t know you needed. A toddler immersed in his imagination as he pours water on the counter to see where it flows? A wee-prieve for you to notice the look of joy on his face that comes from trying stuff out. With a little imagination, even a traffic jam can be a reprieve. Seen one way, that long line of cars is just another pain in the ass inflicted on us. But seen through the lens of the reprieve? It can mean a little more time in the car to listen to that podcast or book, review your upcoming meeting, reflect on a conversation worth revisiting, or simply let your mind wander until traffic picks up again. That rare morning when your little one sleeps in? Some unexpected moments to do with as you wish, whether that be to work, have another cup of coffee, catch up on your own sleep, or putter in the garden. Someone needing time to process before being ready to engage in a respectful and meaningful conversation? Yep. A reprieve that might even save us from our lizard brain reactions. Even our breath can be the tiniest of reprieves. If we pay attention to it.

Reprieves are invitations to rest, if even for a moment, and yet they are so easily missed.

Let’s not miss them.

Let’s notice them, name them, thank them, and let them work their magic on us.

The Reprieve

The Wee-Prieve

Unnoticed Resources

One of my favorite exercises when working with teams involves a can of Tinkertoys. At the end of the activity, in which each team has been given a can of these wooden toys with which to complete an assigned task, we debrief the lessons learned. While there are many that come out of it, my favorite is the discovery of unnoticed resources that are close at hand but rarely used. Resources that are so close and so familiar that we lose sight of their value. This insight certainly applies to the workplace, but it applies everywhere else as well.

One such resource is right outside our door back door, and it is our gravel road. The obvious purpose of the road is access to and from our home. But that ordinary gravel road has so much more hidden value than merely a way to come and go.

On that gravel road, new friendships have been born and old ones renewed.On that gravel road, old wounds have been uncovered so that reconciliation could occur.

On that gravel road, many a writer’s block has been removed.

On that gravel road, thoughts are cleared, problems resolved, questions answered, and the frustration of a Seahawks loss fades away (almost).

On that gravel road, thresholds have been crossed and lives changed. (Hello BLUSH: Women & Wine-page 6)

On that gravel road, a dog takes her humans for a daily walk.

On that gravel road, the courage is found to ask for help.

On that gravel road, it becomes safe to have courageous conversations and to ponder scary questions.

On that gravel road, bodies are moved, hearts are strengthened, and lungs are filled with clear, mountain air.

And, on that gravel road, marriages are strengthened, children loved, babies held, and life is shared.

If an ordinary gravel road, right outside our door can provide so much value, how many other unnoticed resources are close at hand just waiting to be discovered?

Something Afoot Just Beyond Our Sight

This morning, Gracie-the-chocolate-labradoodle and I were out for our normal morning walk, but somehow it didn’t feel like a normal morning. Rather than wander about and explore as she usually does, she stayed close, stopping often to peer out into the woods as if sensing that something, or someone, was afoot, just beyond our sight.

Partway down the road I stopped and turned around, the sky above the hills behind our home ablaze with color. Gold, pink, orange, and crimson. Reaching for my phone to capture the image, probably for use in a blog, I was disappointed to realize that I had left it at home.

In that moment it was as if whatever it was, and it was something, that was afoot in the woods and just beyond our sight, invited us to stop observing the moment and actually be in the moment.

Time stopped. The mental chatter silenced, and the sounds of cars on the road faded away. It was just a girl and her dog on the road. Gracie quietly sat down and together we weren’t watching life, we were life. The calls of two ravens caused us both to turn around just in time to see them emerge from the pines, leisurely making their way to the grove of cottonwood trees just beyond the fence. Landing on the highest branch they talked to one another as ravens do, taking turns, not talking over one another as humans often do. Just beyond the cottonwoods the morning sun was hitting the flanks of Mt. Adams, the light beating back the darkness, as given time, the light will always do.

The ravens flew off, still deep in conversation. Gracie and I watched until they disappeared from sight beyond the pine trees. Turning to head back to the house, the sky that had just minutes before been bright with color was now just so many shades of gray.

The moment was over.

Walking back to the house I wondered how often whatever it was, and it was something, that was afoot in the woods and just beyond our sight, is beckoning us to stop observing the moment and actually be in the moment. To stop watching life and be life. My hunch is, whatever it is, and it is something, is there all the time.

(NO PHOTO FOR OBVIOUS REASONS)

Being Present

This morning three things occurred in quick succession:

I tripped over a rock that holds our screen door open because I wasn’t looking where I was going.

I ran into the door of the dog crate because I hadn’t closed it properly.

I was hit on the head when something fell off of a hook because I was moving too fast.

Life was trying to tell me something.

Be present. Instead of being where we are, we look ahead and miss what is right in front of us, or in this case, right under our feet.

Be present. Instead of tending well to what is called for now, we move ahead leaving a trail of unfinished business behind us.

Be present. Instead of running the race set before us like the long distance event that it is, we sprint ahead until life crashes down around us.

In all three instances in that short chain of events, the message was the same.

Be present.

Photo by Martin Damboldt from Pexels

Light For Dark Times

Years ago my dear friend Kristine and I were to lead a weekend retreat in the wine country of Northern California. The event fell through at the last minute, but the retreat we’d planned is still in my files. Today I pulled it up and revisited the message we had hoped to give all those years ago.

The words below, from Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes, were ones we were going to read aloud on the last day, but we never got the chance.

I invite you to read them aloud today to all who would listen.

---

My friends…do not lose heart. We were made for these times. I have heard from so many recently who are deeply and properly bewildered. They are concerned about the state of affairs in our world now. Ours is a time of almost daily astonishment and often righteous rage over the latest degradations of what matters most to civilized, visionary people. 

In any dark time, there is a tendency to veer toward fainting over how much is wrong or un-mended in the world. Do not focus on that. There is a tendency, too, to fall into being weakened by dwelling on what is outside your reach, by what cannot yet be. Do not focus there. That is spending the wind without raising the sails. We are needed, that is all we can know. And though we meet resistance, we more so will meet great souls who will hail us, love us and guide us, and we will know them when they appear. Didn't you say you were a believer? Didn't you say you pledged to listen to a voice greater? Didn't you ask for grace? Don't you remember that to be in grace means to submit to the voice greater?

Ours is not the task of fixing the entire world all at once, but of stretching out to mend the part of the world that is within our reach. Any small, calm thing that one soul can do to help another soul, to assist some portion of this poor suffering world, will help immensely. It is not given to us to know which acts or by whom, will cause the critical mass to tip toward an enduring good. What is needed for dramatic change is an accumulation of acts, adding, adding to, adding more, and continuing. We know that it does not take everyone on Earth to bring justice and peace, but only a small, determined group who will not give up during the first, second, or hundredth gale. 

One of the most calming and powerful actions you can do to intervene in a stormy world is to stand up and show your soul. Soul on deck shines like gold in dark times. The light of the soul throws sparks, can send up flares, builds signal fires, causes proper matters to catch fire. To display the lantern of soul in shadowy times like these—to be fierce and to show mercy toward others; both are acts of immense bravery and greatest necessity. Struggling souls catch light from other souls who are fully lit and willing to show it. If you would help to calm the tumult, this is one of the strongest things you can do.

Photo: Tom Pierson



Not My Shoes

When someone we know goes through something difficult, it can be tempting to assume that how they feel in the midst of it is the same as what we would feel were we in their shoes. But we’re not.

Because we think we know how they are feeling, we assume we know what they need to do. But we don’t.

Years ago when I made the decision to leave my marriage I met with one of the pastors of our church. It was hands-down the hardest decision I’d ever made for a whole host of reasons, not the least of which was the poor light in which the church cast divorce. That being said, I felt certain of my decision, and hopeful for a different future. But sittting in his office I braced myself for  his words, expecting to hear that while he might understand how I was feeling, he needed to help me see the error of my ways  and how I could remedy them. However, after a few quiet moments, he simply said, I know what I am supposed to say, but I haven’t walked in your shoes. How are you feeling today? How can I best help you?

I’ve never forgotten that experience. Rather than burdening me with his expectations, he lightened the load of my experience. When someone is in the midst of the inevitable pain that comes with life, they are most in need of our quiet presence and a few simple words.

 I know what I am supposed to say, but I haven’t walked in your shoes. How are you feeling today? How can I best help you?

With gratitude to DR for knowing that we wore different shoes.

Captivated

Several months ago I made the commitment to a daily writing practice, and there are times when sitting down and trying to put words together well is the last thing I want to do.

I feel captive to the process.

Thankfully, more days than not, it is also one of my saving graces.

Faithfulness to a practice can be its own reward, reminding us of our determination, persistence, passion, and discipline. There are also, I’ve discovered, unexpected blessings to be found in staying true to our chosen course. One of the most surprising for me has been an expanded awareness of the present moment. Every day, images of extraordinary beauty in the midst of the ordinary, and creative expression in the middle of everyday circumstances catch my eye.

Rather than feeling captive to the daily practice, I find myself captivated by daily life.

Morning walk. Radnor Lake, Nashville TN

A trail for slow wanderings. 

A miniature display of equine grandeur...in a nail salon. 

Stairway to heaven (Bell tower stairs, Viborg Cathedral)

Silent Witness

"Pooh!" he whispered. 

"Yes, Piglet?" 

"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw. "I just wanted to be sure of you."

~ Winnie the Pooh

Everything happens for a reason.

Absolutely.

Everything happens for a reason.

Whatever happens in our life is a result of something.

Everything happens for a reason.

Whatever happens isn’t being done to us to teach us a lesson.

Everything happens for a reason.

We learn through our response to whatever happens.

Everything happens for a reason.

A little collection of words so often and so lightly thrown out there when something painful, difficult, or unwanted occurs. Simple words that try and make sense of something that can’t yet be understood, and maybe never will be.

Everything happens for a reason.

And when it does, our silent witness can be more powerful than spoken words, and our companionship more comforting than cliches.

However cliche is may sound, actions usually do speak louder than words.