What Got You Here

In the pre-dawn darkness of Wednesday morning we loaded up our trusty 4-wheel drive with a thermos of Sleepy Monk coffee, a package of Walkers Shortbread, folding chairs, fleece blankets, and Gracie-the chocolate labradoodle. We wanted one more trip up the logging road while the beautiful fall weather still held.

For the past four and a half years we’ve been hiking up this same road, pausing at the top for coffee and some quiet time to connect, reflect, navigate tough issues, laugh, cry, argue, and simply be together in the beauty of that space.

This time, however, we drove to the top, my only steps the slow and careful ones across the uneven road to our chairs. It will be a while before I’m able to hike that road again as I recover from my knee replacement surgery less than four weeks ago.

The recovery process has been kinda remarkable, in large part because of all of those previous trips up and down that logging road. While always grateful to have discovered what many would see simply as a dusty gravel road, there was a new understanding of all she has done for me, and for us. Hiking that same route over and over, side-by-side, regardless of the weather, has prepared me, and us for this time of recovery together. Because of all of those trips to the top and back, my body was strong at the time of surgery, paving the way for a good recovery. Because of all of those trips to the top and back, we know how to accomplish hard things together. Because of all of those trips to the top and back, the emotional weather conditions of each day don’t keep us from keeping on keeping on.

It isn’t that it’s all been easy. Nerves wear thin and blow things out of proportion. Our first fight post surgery was arguing about the best way to make oatmeal. Everything takes longer than expected, especially when one person is doing the work of two, in addition to taking on the role of in-home concierge nurse. Sleep can be illusive when you have to get up in the middle of the night to take some more pain meds, and have to choke down a few saltines and a couple of prunes so as not to take them on an empty stomach. It’s an all-consuming process in the beginning, and will continue to be a major focus if I want to get back up the logging road in the not-too-distant-as-in-several-months future.

What hit me as we sat with our coffee that morning is that it’s important to remember what got us to where we are. To acknowledge what, and who, have made today what it is, and to remember it in preparation for what life has in store for us down the road.

Like most coins, this one has two sides. The positive side of that coin is that our growth and successes are built upon the back of our efforts, and often the support and efforts of others. The flip side is that we sometimes find ourselves at a place we didn’t intend or realize isn’t in our best interest, or the best interest of those we love. This too is built upon the back of our less-than-healthy actions, and perhaps that of others as well.

Recognizing, and remembering, what got us here is the key. It is what will help us choose whether to stay the course, or shift in a new and better direction.

The logging road is part of what got me here, and she is waiting patiently for our return. I can’t wait.

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.

Happy Anniversary X 4

On April 11, 2020, we took our first hike up a nearby logging road. In the midst of the early days of the pandemic, we needed exercise that didn’t require a gym or Peloton, and, we needed fresh air. That 1.7 mile trek, with a 1000’ of elevation gain, checked all of the boxes.

At first, it was simply a way to stay healthy and strong, and we made a commitment to do it whether we felt like it or not.

At first, it was just a logging road, used by county utility workers, ranchers on the look out for free range cattle, hunters, and us.

At first, it was just something we did because we’d decided to do it.

Today, April 11, 2024, four years to the day since that first trip up, and with over 350 trips behind us, the logging road has shown herself to be holy ground, quietly supporting us as we make our way up and back, up and back, up and back. The trees—fir, pine, oak—the wildlife—deer, elk, turkeys, jays, squirrels, hares, coyotes, raptors, bears—all remind us that we are never alone, but surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses.

Four years later, we wouldn’t miss it. That road has kept her promise to help us stay healthy and strong.

Four years later, hers is a sacred path we are privileged to walk.

Four years later, we do it because we can’t imagine not.

April 11, 2020

April 10, 2024

When Why Gets In the Way of How

In a recent episode of the NEXT RIGHT THING podcast, Emily P. Freeman asked two simple yet powerful questions worth considering as we step over the threshold into a new year. What worked in 2023? and, What didn’t work? As I recall, in the podcast she speaks to the first question, and will be pondering the second in her end-of-the-month newsletter.

Both are great questions worthy of some serious consideration, and I plan on doing a deep dive into each of them. But the one that grabbed me first was actually what didn’t work in 2023. Easy answer: Not having a regular writing practice. I love writing. I’m better when I write. I’m more grounded when I write. I’m less reactive when I write. I’m happier when I write. In short, I’m a nicer human when I write.

These aren’t new insights, and I’ve known this about myself for a long time. So, why didn’t I establish a regular writing practice? Who knows? And furthermore, who cares?

Now, there are times when it is worth diving down the rabbit holes of our inner landscape. Truly. Self-inquiry matters, and I’m a big fan and typically a big practitioner. However, in this case, rather than dig in and figure it out, I’m just going to start writing again. Figuring out why, in this case, would simply be another distraction standing between me and my desk.

Sometimes trying to understand the why keeps us from getting to the how. And in this case, getting to the how is pretty simple. Start writing again.

Is there anything on your mind that doesn’t need an answer to why, but is waiting for you to jump into the how?

(With gratitude to Emily P. Freeman for her always good work!)

Kenosis

Kenosis.

Don’t you just love that word?

Not sure what it is?

Neither was I until I learned about it in a conversation with my spiritual director, and it’s stuck with me ever since.

Kenosis is the act of self-emptying. It’s the practice of using who we are and what we have to offer in order to love, help, and heal the world within our reach.

The best example of this practice is found in the life and times of Jesus the Carpenter, the one I love and attempt to follow. In his short time here on the planet, he did some really cool stuff. He turned water into wine, and healed the sick. He raised his friend from the dead and cast out demons. He gave TED level talks to the crowds that followed him, and then, as if that weren’t enough, he turned a tiny snack of a few fishes and a little bread into a banquet for the masses. And don’t even get me started on his voluntary death on the cross and the mystery that came after.

It’s exhausting just thinking about it all.

However.

All that doing was only half of the practice. The other half is what made all that pouring out of his life possible. Time and again, after giving of himself until he had nothing left to give, he drew away, often into the wilderness, for a time of rest and renewal. Yes, I’m sure he prayed and contemplated and reflected and meditated. But I’ll bet he did some other things too. Like napping.

With a little imagination I can see him eating all of the fish and all of the bread, because a guy’s gotta eat. He’d sip a cup of French Press coffee as the sun came up because, well, he just would. He’d wander along a deserted shore, take a little dip to cool off, and probably vent to his Dad about the sad state of the world to which he’d come.

Give it away.

Fill it back up.

That’s what we’re here to do.

If Jesus had to do it that way, I’m pretty sure that we do too.

Practicing Non-Interference

Lately I’ve been practicing non-interference. Hard work with a steep learning curve.

Non-interference is the act of not acting. Of not inserting myself into someone else’s process, problem, or plan. Of allowing others to steer their own ship, chart their own course, and connect their own dots. It is trusting a process put in motion by others, letting the puzzle pieces fall in place as they will, and bearing witness to the efforts, strengths and successes of others.

Non-interference is communication without words. Of keeping still and letting others find their way to their own solutions. Of zipping my lips and letting others do the talking. It is shutting the heck up already, and listening to and learning from the ideas and approaches of others.

Non-interference is respecting the agency of others. Of trusting that they will find a way, in their own way. And if they don’t, trusting them to learn from their experience. It is allowing them the same freedoms I want for myself.

Interference on the other hand is stepping in without being asked, chiming in rather than listening, and getting involved in it rather staying out of it.

Interference comes a little too easily to me. Maybe it does for you too. That means we get to be grateful for all the opportunities that come our way, every single day, to do it differently.

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PROJECT IN PROCESS.

NO HELP NEEDED.

No Strings Attached

The other morning I woke up decidedly on the wrong side of the bed, and it went downhill from there. My feelings became the filter through which I saw, heard, and interpreted everything and everyone, and it wasn’t pretty. I felt like a marionette. You know. One of those puppets with strings attached to different parts of the body, including, at least in my case, my mouth. Like The Lonely Goatherd in The Sound of Music, I was at the mercy of the circumstances and emotions pulling on my strings.

Control, it seemed, was out of my hands. Or was it?

What if instead of a marionette I could be more like a hand puppet? Like Daniel Tiger, X the Owl, or Lady Elaine Fairchilde in Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood, it could be my hand in charge. A hand puppet isn’t pulled about by external forces. Guidance comes from within.

As a 4 on the Enneagram, emotions are my thing. There isn’t an emotion I haven’t experienced, and the ones that a lot of people work hard to avoid come easily to me. Because big emotions don’t scare me, I can be the calm in the midst of your storm. A quiet, safe place to show up with your grief and sadness, anger and fear, I won’t try to talk you out of how you feel.

As it turns out, being a feeling kind of girl is my gift.

It’s also my curse

Because I tend to lead with my heart, I can easily turn over the controls to my feelings and react accordingly. With, as you might imagine, very mixed results. I’ve been practicing not letting my feelings run the show. Catching myself before losing myself to the emotions of the moment, and that practice is paying off. But this puppet metaphor feels next level. There are no strings attached to those emotions, other than the ones I attach myself.

Threads & Tethers

Everyone has their ways of processing the world around them and within them. One of mine is writing. The practice of putting words together on a page puts my life together a little better. It sharpens my attention, and makes more clear the lens through which I see the world.

Last spring I stopped writing on a daily basis, except for the occasional burst of creative energy or the expression of moral outrage. The absence of this practice has been noticeable. At least to me.

Writing acts as both a thread and a tether. It weaves together the callings of my heart with the steps of my feet, and keeps me in close connection to who and what matter most. Without this practice in place things begin to unravel, and there is a growing sense of being unhitched to that which keeps me grounded.

If ever we were in need of a thread and a tether it is now. Now is not the time to be at loose ends with ourselves.

Which means, there is only one choice to be made. At least for me.

Start writing again. And so I am.

What are your ways of processing the world?

What acts as both your thread and your tether?

Whatever it is, if you have set it down, now might be the time to pick it back up.

A Reprieve

re·​prieve : a temporary respite (as from pain or trouble)

From our car to the top of the logging road is 1.7 miles, gaining 1000’ of elevation. It is a hike straight uphill to the top with the exception of one very short reprieve, thanks to the one and only switchback near the summit.

The switchback is so short it would be easy to miss it. Easy to just keep putting one foot in front of the other, head down, eyes on the trail, focused only on the effort it takes to make the hike. But every time we get there, and the road levels out for no more than a couple of hundred feet, we take notice. Take notice of the easing of our breath, the strength in our legs, the ground beneath our feet, and the beauty of the views that stretch out before us.

After less than 30 seconds the trail heads uphill again, but that one switchback provides just enough of a reprieve to make that last push to the top seem doable.

Given the immense challenges stretched out before us at this time in history, and the daily grind of our days, it would be easy to miss the tiny reprieves that show up on our trail. Easy to just keep putting one foot in front of the other, heads down, eyes on the trail be it to the end of the day or the end of the pandemic, focused only on the effort it takes to keep going.

If ever we were in need of the tiniest of reprieves it is now.

Noticing that reprieve on the logging road has become a practice, and a reminder to be on the lookout for any temporary respites, no matter how brief, that appear on our path. Taking heed of them might just be what makes our next steps seem doable.

Sabbath

When we consecrate a time to listen to the still, small voices, we remember the root of inner wisdom that makes work fruitful. We remember from where we are most deeply nourished, and see more clearly the shape and texture of the people and things before us.” 

~ Wayne Muller, Sabbath: Finding Rest, Renewal, and Delight in our Busy Lives

For the last 575 days I have written something to share here with my readers. Most of those days the daily practice of writing has been life giving, and, on the ones when it wasn’t, it still fed me in meaningful and fruitful ways.

Today, I find myself in need of rest. A kind of sabbath of sorts from the sifting and sorting through the questions that intrigue me, the ideas that captivate me, and putting those thoughts into words that I hope will resonate with others. I will never stop sifting and sorting and working to put those thoughts into the world. That, it seems, is part of what I am here to do.

For now, however, I will share my thoughts here as I feel inspired, but I am also consecrating a time to listen, and to find nourishment that will bear fruit in my life, the world around me, and on the page.

Thank you for every step you’ve walked with me till now. I can’t wait to meet again further down the trail.

Photo: Tom Pierson