Being Bridges

“Do you think faith is a gift or a choice?” asked my friend.

What a great question. One that I didn’t have time to ponder, as the answer showed up immediately on the blackboard of my mind. “It’s both. And practice is the bridge that connects the two.”

Practice is the bridge that spans the mystery that is faith, and upon which we find traction for our convictions, callings, and inklings. The bridge of practice provides a way from here to there without having to know all of the answers. If that’s not faith, I don’t know what is.

Ever since that conversation I’ve been preoccupied with bridges. I see them—and the need for them— everywhere. Over the course of our lifetime we will, time and again, find ourselves on one side of an expanse that feels impossible to cross. We’ll need a bridge

Anyone can be a bridge.

A bridge across which prayers are answered.

A bridge across which someone who is lost can find their way back home.

A bridge that spans a fear too terrifying to cross alone.

A bridge that makes it possible for opposing views to find common ground.

A bridge across which forgiveness travels.

A bridge that makes it possible to leave an old story behind and begin to live into a new one.

A bridge that connects us to them.

Of all the reasons we roam the planet, being a bridge might hover near the top of that list. Why are we here if not to create connections, span gaps, and provide a way where none exists. Like faith, being a bridge is both a gift and a choice, and it is practice that connects the two.

There’s a reason that armies destroy enemy bridges. It is to sever connection.

Let’s not let that happen. Let’s be a bridge.

(Written with gratitude to Caley for asking the beautiful question, because questions can be bridges too.)

Bridge Repair

The Hood River Bridge spans the Columbia River, and serves as a connection between Washington and Oregon. There’s lots of controversy about the bridge including what it costs to cross from one side to the other, the price of its upcoming replacement, the undue financial burden it places on those whose labor keeps our Gorge communities running but can barely afford to live here, and on and on and on. One thing that is undeniable is that this bridge matters. It’s necessary. It connects us one to another, and makes life possible in countless ways.

Recently, the bridge underwent necessary repair work to address deck fractures due to heavy truck loads. This meant that there were intermittent single-lane closures, usually lasting about 15 minutes, which meant drivers needed to allow additional time to make it to that doctor’s appointment, job, lunch with a friend, or whatever errands were on the list for that day. While a bit of an inconvenience, repairing fractures on a bridge that crosses a big body of water seems worth the trouble.

I didn’t expect the process to make an emotional impact on me.

But it did.

Pickup trucks were parked every so often, and in between each truck were two welders wearing helmets, goggles, and protective gloves, bent over their section of the bridge requiring reinforcement. There was no music accompanying their efforts, but the welders moved with the elegance and precision of those who have spent countless hours mastering the art of repair. A porta potty sat on the back of a flatbed truck located in the middle of the bridge, and flaggers directed traffic. Drivers were cautioned to drive slowly so as to ensure the safety of the workers, and to refrain from looking at the brilliant welding arc light that flashes as the welding iron worked its magic.

As I observed the process I suddenly had this lump in my throat. What I was watching was what I could only call a stunningly choreographed dance of collective human endeavor, and like it or not, regardless of our opinion about the bridge and how it is or isn’t being managed, we were all a necessary part of that dance. Because the bridge matters to all of us. And the bridge matters because connection matters.

Bridges, real or metaphorical, are what connect us from here to there. From one person to another. From one perspective or belief to a differing one. From one side of the political aisle to the other. And like the Hood River Bridge, at one time or another repair is needed to provide safe passage to the other side, and we all have a part to play.

So when encountering bridge repair, be mindful to proceed slowly and with caution for the safety and wellbeing of all involved. And don’t look directly at the welding arc, because there is some blindingly brilliant magic at play in the work of repair..

Transition

Transition is different from change, and while any change can be challenging, it’s the transition that can do us in.

Change is moving from one home to another. Transition is the process of packing up one house and moving in to another.

Change is taking a new job. Transition is letting go of previous expectations, processes, and dynamics, and getting a grip on the new ones.

Change is retiring from a meaningful career. Transition is finding meaning in new places.

Change is getting your first bike. Transition is learning how to ride it.

Change is getting married. Transition is learning how to build a life together.

Change is losing a loved one. Transition is learning to live without them.

Change is having a baby. Transition is bringing a new little human home from the hospital.

Change is going on vacation. Transition is stepping back into everyday life.

Anyway you cut it, transitions of any kind, even small ones, can be challenging, and are best navigated with as much ease, space, and grace as we can infuse into the process. For for ourselves, and those around us.

Ease.

Enter in to times of transition with care. Know that you will regain your rhythm, or discover a new one.

Space.

Allow yourself margins. Build in time to acclimate to the situation.

Grace.

Take it easy on yourself and others. Period.

Change is one thing. Transition is the bridge from here to there.

Crossing The Bridge

In my work I help people find their way forward, and always toward a more authentic and wholehearted life. This never happens without encountering some difficult terrain along the way. In order to become more of who we are meant to be, there are choices to make, challenges to overcome, courageous conversations to have, and new skills to practice.

Sometimes getting from where we are now to where we want to go seems so far away, that getting there feels next to impossible. The decisions to be made are too daunting, the unknown too scary, the obstacles too big, the conversations too intimidating, and the new skills so far outside our comfort zone that we can’t imagine ever mastering them.

When encountering this space with someone, whether that be a client, a friend, a family member, or myself for that matter, I always try to explore the reality of the perception that the distance to be covered is simply too great. There are times when the bridge from here to there is so long that it appears to drop off of the horizon. However, there are other times when the distance is very short, but the bridge to get there is over a canyon that is so deep and dark, that we can’t see the bottom. We can only hear the raging river far below. In my experience, these canyons have been eroded over long periods of time by the turbulent waters of our old stories, obsolete beliefs, and tightly held fears. If we never cross the bridge, we’ll never find out what life could be like on the other side.

Long distances and deep canyons are both daunting. But if we want to move toward wholeness, and the people we are meant to be, there is only one way to do that. Whether a bridge too far or a canyon too deep, our only choice is to keep going.