Choosing Hard

This past Monday morning, partway up the logging road we’ve been hiking a couple of times a week for the last fifteen months, it occurred to me that every trip up that road isn’t without effort. It is always some form of hard, which is probably because we attempt to push ourselves a little harder whenever the going gets a little easier.

In other words, it is hard by choice.

Over time, all of those trips up and down that road have made us stronger, readying us for more demanding hikes and greater physical challenges.

What is true on the trail is true in every area of our lives. Doing one hard thing equips us to do other hard things. And while life is full of opportunities to choose hard over easy, many of the difficulties we encounter come our way unbidden. They land on our doorstep whether we want them to or not.

Every time we choose to do something hard, we are training ourselves to be ready for the hard that chooses us.

pexels-leon-macapagal-3433104.jpg

A few more of my thoughts on hard:

Hard

Waiting Is Hard Work

It’s Just Hard

Hard

Climbing Mount St. Helens is a long slog. A slog worth making, but a slog nonetheless. The first third of the ascent is on forested trail, the second third involves scrambling up and over boulders, and the final third is on scree—a mass of small loose stones that cover the slope. I hate scree. Every step forward involves a slip backwards.

I’ve made the climb several times, and while it’s never been piece-of-cake easy, there was one climb that took the hardest cake. On that particular day, as I made my way up that scree slope, all I could think about was how hard it was, and the more I focused on how hard it was, the harder it got.

This is so hard.

This is so hard.

This is so hard.

It was like I was my own boot camp drill sergeant, determined to humiliate myself into giving up and going home.

Every this-is-so-hard thought was energy wasted. It was going to be hard no matter what. I still needed to keep climbing. Partway up the scree slope from hell I stopped and took stock of my situation. I could see the top, most of our climbing party already there. To make it there myself meant simply taking one step after another, pausing to rest when necessary, and then continuing on. Putting the energy I’d been expending on telling myself how hard it was towards taking another step instead, the going got a little less tough, until finally, I stood on the summit. From there I could look back on where I’d come from, take stock of where I was, and envision what might be possible in the future.

Having just marked a year of the pandemic, this has been an especially difficult week for many of us as we reflect individually and collectively on just what this year has meant, cost, and exposed. In many ways, making it through the year felt a lot like climbing on one long scree slope. Every step forward hard earned, only to be followed by a slip backwards. Simply put, it was a very hard year for everyone, and strikingly so for those hit hardest. Some of those hardest hit were the very people working to make it easier for the rest of us.

While there is hope ahead, and a light glimmering at the end of the pandemic tunnel, it is difficult not to think about, talk about, and rail at just how hard it has been, still is, and will probably be in the future.

Acknowledging the hard is different than dwelling on it.

Acknowledging the hard is necessary and important. It reminds us of the truth that life is rarely easy, and gives us a chance to remember that we are capable of doing hard things.

Dwelling on how hard things are is wasted energy, using up some of the strength and stamina necessary to actually reach the top of whatever mountain we are climbing. To make it there means simply taking one step after another, pausing to rest when necessary, and then continuing on. When we put the energy expended on telling ourselves how hard it is towards taking the next step instead, the going gets a little less tough. Once at the top we will be able to look back on where we’ve come from, take stock of where we are, and begin to envision what might be possible in the future.

Whether in our own homes or out in the world within our reach, there is so much in need of our attention. The work it will take to tend to those needs and to build the better world that we want to believe is possible will be hard. But then, we are capable of doing hard things. Let’s save our energy for actually doing them.


I offer this post with the acknowledgment of the immense and unearned privilege that has been mine, not just during this past year, but throughout my life. People say we shouldn’t compare our “hard” with that of others, and there is some truth in that. Hard is hard. However, it is also true that there are barriers, burdens, and battles that I have never had to face that others live with every single day—

IMG_1475.jpeg

From The Logging Road: Lessons #5

We had a wicked wind storm a week ago, bringing with it all of the usual things. Detours due to downed trees, power outages, and flags, furniture, and fallen branches strewn hither and yon.

This morning was our first foray up the logging road since the storm, and rounding an early bend in the road, a downed pine tree blocked our way.

We had four options. Turn back, climb over, crawl under, or go around. All were viable possibilities.

Turning back didn’t even enter our minds. Arriving at the top, and the hike to get there have become a sacred practice. An intentional habit that anchors our week, fortifies our bodies, and fills our souls. Climbing over was doable, but not necessary, as was crawling under. So around we went. After a short scramble we were quickly on our way again , footsteps falling together on the trail.

Obstacles are inevitable.

The trick is to know what to do with them when they fall across our path.

IMG_3490.jpg

From The Logging Road: Lesson #4

Ever since the pandemic hit, we have been hiking what we’ve come to affectionately call “our” logging road a couple of times a week. From our car to the summit is 1.7 miles straight up hill, with an elevation gain of just under 1000’.

This morning it was a beautiful winter day. Blue sky, white snow, and bright sun cresting the nearby hills. Typically we head up the road and don’t stop until we reach the summit. Stopping to rest feels like cheating. For the first mile we were able to walk in the large tire tracks, probably left by a local hunter. It was easy going with Yaktrax on our boots to keep us from slipping, our pace steady and strong.

Then the truck tracks ended.

It was no longer easy going. Doable, but harder, requiring more effort with every step. We shortened our stride, lifting our feet high to clear the few inches of snow on the road. Hearts pounding, breathing faster, stopping no longer felt like cheating.

And so we stopped.

Several times before reaching the summit.

While the logging road is a kick-ass workout, she is also wise teacher.

Changing conditions require adjustments.

Attachment-1.jpeg

Hope As A Practice

Every day we get to choose whether to give

the microphone to hope or fear.

The choice we make is the life we’ll lead.

Bob Goff

Someone recently shared this quote with me, and I couldn’t agree more. The words ring true in my head and my heart and in my experience.

However.

Especially now, there are days when I am in need of the tiniest of victories, and choosing to listen to the voice of hope in the morning is no guarantee that it will stay with me for the day. Fear can ambush me at any moment, and when it does, I have to choose to pry the microphone out of fear’s ferocious grip, and place it firmly back in the hands of hope. And then do it again. Hope is a practice.

Hope isn’t seeing the silver lining in a pit of despair. It is mining for the gold that is found buried deep in the heart of struggle.

Hope isn’t looking at the bright side of dark realities. It is choosing to be a light in dark times.

Hope isn’t passive. As I was reminded by someone recently, it requires something of us. It calls on us not to just choose it, but to work for it. Not to just wait for it, but to watch for it. To pursue it by pushing toward something better.

Like I said. Hope is a practice.

Photo by egil sjøholt from Pexels

Photo by egil sjøholt from Pexels











Practicing Love

In his latest book (The Great Spiritual Migration: How The World’s Largest Religion Is Seeking A Better Way To Be Christian), Brian McLaren suggests that we need to learn the practical skills necessary to love well, starting with those closest to us. When those skills are practiced at home they can then be put to use out in the world with others.

His is an extensive list, and to my mind, there isn’t one that isn’t worth the effort. And, because the list is so expansive it might feel a little daunting to you as it does to me, so rather than take it all on at once, pick a few that beckon to you. Or maybe better yet, ask those near and dear to you which ones they would love to see you practice, which btw is practicing skills 7, 17, and 18.

  1. Common Courtesies

  2. Gratitude

  3. Admitting Weaknesses & Failures

  4. Self-Reporting Emotions

  5. Expressing Hurt & Disappointment

  6. Confronting & Forgiving

  7. Asking For Help

  8. Differing Graciously

  9. Surfacing & Negotiating Competing Desires

  10. Taking The First Step To Resolve Conflict

  11. Upholding Wise Boundaries

  12. Saying Yes & No

  13. Winning & Losing Graciously

  14. Creating Win-Win Outcomes

  15. Speaking Truth In Love

  16. Speaking Truth To Power

  17. Asking Good Questions

  18. Requesting Feedback

  19. Expressing Affection

  20. Opening One’s Heart

  21. Giving Gifts

  22. Seeking Wise Counsel

What better gift to give to ourselves, and to those we love this holiday season, than to diligently, humbly, and intentionally practice the skills of love. Love is, after all, the gift that keeps on giving.

Photo by Ylanite Koppens from Pexels

What We Profess

My new passport came in the mail today. To tell you the truth, I’ve never really examined the pages of of my passport before. Driving home from the post office as I sat in the passenger seat, I thumbed through the pages. At the top of each empty page, awaiting the stamp of any countries visited in the future, are quotes that are meant, I suppose, to reflect the heart of the American people. To profess who we are to the world.

The cause of freedom is not the cause of a race or a sect, a party or a class - it is the cause of humankind, the very birthright of humanity. ~ Anna Julia Cooper

Whatever America hopes to bring to pass in the world must first come to pass in the heart of America. ~ Dwight E. Eisenhower

We have a great dream. It started way back in 1776, and God grant that America will be true to her dream. ~ Martin Luther King Jr.

We send thanks to all the Animal life in the world. They have many things to teach us as people. We are glad they are still here and hope it will always be so. ~ Excerpt from the Thanksgiving Address, Mohawk version

I wonder about those words in my passport. Are we who we profess to be? Do we practice who we profess to be? If we don’t practice who we claim to be, then like the unstamped pages of my new passport, our words are empty.

Photo by Daniel Bendig from Pexels

Photo by Daniel Bendig from Pexels

On Our Toes

Recently, in conversation with a young professional, we talked about important skills that might help further their professional growth and development. The one that came to mind was the ability to think well on the spot. This wise young person referred to it as thinking on your toes. Now maybe that is a familiar phrase to everyone but me, but I’d never heard it put that way before.

Thinking on our feet is one thing. But thinking on our toes? That takes things to a whole new level.

To think on our toes means that we are poised and ready.

To think on our toes means that we are agile and responsive.

To think on our toes means that we live with anticipation, eager to encounter what life brings our way.

To think on our toes means that we’ve put in the time it takes to be able to trust ourselves in the moment.

To think on our toes means that we won’t get caught flat footed when challenges hit us or opportunity knocks.

To think on our toes means that we see life as the dance that it is, and are always ready to learn new steps.

Photo by Yogendra Singh from Pexels

Photo by Yogendra Singh from Pexels



Eyes To See

To be a Christian is to see Christ in everyone and everything.

Richard Rohr 

Leaving the conference where for three days we considered what it really means to be God’s people in the world, and to live out our faith in real and meaningful ways, one of my commitments is to practice seeing Jesus everywhere. To see in all I encounter the image of the One I claim to follow.

Easier said than done, which is why it is a practice. 

Walking back to pick up our bags from the AirBnB with this commitment fresh on my mind, walking directly toward us was my first opportunity to practice. A man that I might typically describe as “sketchy” stepped in our path. Instantly I was on high alert, adrenaline shooting through my veins, and I was ready to bolt. He appeared to be in his late twenties, scruffy beard, clothes that hadn’t seen a washing machine in some time, toting a backpack, and my immediate impression was that he was a sophisticated pan-handler, or worse. My practice of avoiding such folks is obviously well-honed, and the possibility that he might reflect the image of the Carpenter who lived about 2000 years ago didn’t even cross my fearful, judgmental mind.

And then Jesus showed up.  

Out of the mouth of the man blocking our path, the man I typically see as “the other”, the one from whom I would normally avert my eyes, came these words...I’m sorry to interrupt your conversation folks, but I need to tell you all to have a blessed day. 

With a warm smile and a nod, he continued on his way. 

I’m not saying that we should abandon our common sense and pay attention to our surroundings.  

I’m not saying we shouldn’t take protective action should we need it. 

I guess what I’m saying is that maybe we need new glasses with which to see the image of the Holy everywhere we look.

At least I know I do.

IMG_1375.JPG

Naming Our S*#T

Yesterday I finally sat down to work on an upcoming event, fleshing out the intent, core message, and overall experience. It was a creative, productive few hours, and it felt good to have gained some traction on work that I am passionate about. There were several other things that needed my attention, so I left the document open on my desktop, intending to come back and look it over again before closing up my office for the day.

Maybe you have an inkling of what happened.

After taking a break to walk Gracie-the-chocolate-labradoodle, I came back to my computer intending to return to my work-in-progress, but it was nowhere to be found. I had neglected to name it as soon as I opened up a new document, which if I had done so would have triggered auto-save. After a couple of hours of researching and attempting different ways of recovering the document, and spending way too much energy on frustration and self-criticism, I called it a day. I’d just have to start over.

Lesson learned. Name your shit early.

This, of course, applies to far more than document creation and the protection of our work. In every aspect of our lives, the quicker we take ownership for what is ours, the sooner we name our shit, the less energy we will have to spend on recovery and starting over.

Screen Shot 2019-01-11 at 5.29.11 PM.png