Who Needs Pretty Shoes Anyway?

I love being married- well, that and wearing pretty shoes. It's a toss-up which I like more...

If you've been reading this blog, or sitting in my salon chair, or meeting me for coffee dates for any amount of time recently, you also know that one of my new favorite things is pursuing my life's purpose and intentionally, systematically, destroying the distractions and pursuits that have had chains on me that keep me from fulfilling that purpose. So, I've spent a considerable amount of time assessing those "loves", as well as others, to find exactly where they come from and what kind of hold they have over my life.

Those considerations over these last few weeks brought me to this weekend, in which I did a thing. The thoughts and intents of my heart, met with the talent and careful documentation of a friend, have now become something of a tangible "thing" I can share out loud here. Again, this blog will serve as a pile of stones in the wilderness to mark my growth and healing progress.

Hebrews 12:1-2 has become somewhat of a theme this year, and as scripture will do, various elements of the verses have engraved themselves on my heart throughout the recent month's and week's seasons:

"Therefore since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and sin which clings so closely, and so easily entangles and ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him, endured the cross despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God."

"Endurance" has it's own blog opportunity, as do "for the joy", "looking to Jesus", and "author and perfecter". However, as I've highlighted (and expanded) for you, this weekend I was ready to address "lay aside every weight" and to become snare-free in order to run the next leg of this race I've been invited to.

I usually have thousands of words that need to be sorted, organized and narrowed into something consumable... This time I was blessed to be on a camera date with my friend of 17 years + forever, owner of Brietta Photography, Britt Eben. She honored my process and held my heart by documenting this for me, and for you.

Britt is the sister that did not get our last name. She served as the Maid of Honor in my wedding five years ago and has been at nearly every important Sears Family event since they day we met. She has collected barrels of tears and spoken chapters of truth over my life for these thousands of days. Britt is very comfortable in the uncomfortable and knows how to be silent and when to speak. She has an infectious laugh and an incredible spirit of peace. This day was like that; we'll let the camera tell most of the story:

Often our photo adventures of the past have required us to go well beyond the manicured trail for the best angled shot. Early on, we discovered we were never wearing the correct shoes for the environment of these little photo shoots, so it became an intentional part of the adventure to wear #inappropriatefootwear for our #inappropriatefootwearseries. Admittedly, we are years behind on keeping up the hashtag, clearly that needs remedying as our talent (and shoe collection) has grown since the last post, but I digress...

Initially I saw Saturday as a fabulous opportunity to renew the Footwear Adventure, except that the shoes I chose have meaning and emotional ties that needed severing in order for me to "lay aside every entanglement"; Britt chose to simply follow my lead and leave her inappropriate shoes at home. 

As I stepped out on the water, I imagined the hours, days, months, years of stepping "out of the boat", into the storm, to meet my Savior in the dark that I had finally become accustomed to. It occurred to me that he had met me there, in the tears, in the anger, in the fear, in the jealousy, in the anguish--- 

Every. Single. Time. 

I am so loved! There is so much FREEDOM in making these decisions, one at a time, to test him and to find him faithful! 

Those amazing shoes may still be resting there, waiting to bless the next girl who has to have them, yet free of the hurtful words they've heard and the sadness they've carried.

 

Next, our adventure required a funeral of sorts. I was prepared for the "laying aside" portion, I was not prepared for the emotions that washed over me as I walked away...

I loved that dress. More than the dress, I love the memories brought about by seeing it again, by touching it. In these photos, the images you can't see in my mind are of two of my three daughters in the car on the way to the dress shop, the third on the phone from Minnesota- all there to help me choose the perfect lace.

My best friends knew the dress, and the reason for it, was a blessing and a provision. I remembered their affirmation and heard their chatter as they helped get me ready that day.

Then, there was the sound of my dad saying on my wedding day, his 65th birthday, "Little Girl, I'm proud of you"...

As I sat there I knew, this specific marriage itself was a prize, a gift, a calling-into by the Father- I still have no doubt, and in fact that becomes clearer the more days that pass. I was not expecting the moment of this photo shoot to be the moment he taught me something of himself...

He gives and takes away. Will I still choose to say "blessed be the name of the Lord"? And sitting there Saturday looking back at my dress and the memories of the day and the people that made it possible, I realized something pivotal to my healing process and to my understanding of Jesus's suffering and calling and to the character of God the Father:

He gives and it is a blessing. And when he takes away, it is a blessing, even when- no especially when- that gift given and the thing taken are the very same thing.

I am not flippant in those words, please understand, especially if you are in the midst of your own "taken away" loss. I may not ever fully understand the "why", but I see something more important than knowing "why" happening here. Let me try to explain with a different photo (this time from Brooke Moore Photography, August 11, 2013):

This is one of my favorite photos of that day. It's a favorite because I clearly remember my thoughts as I stood exactly there holding my daddy's hand. I looked down the aisle at the four people I would be making a vow to God about, I knew that what I was about to do was waaaaayyyyyy bigger than me. I whispered, "help me love them like you do, Jesus, I trust you." Then on September 11, 2018 as I held the marriage dissolution papers in my hands, for the first time I realized that Jesus had answered that prayer... 

The love of God is steadfast, faithful, compassionate, sacrificial and forever. The marriage kind of love he gave me, he has now mercifully taken away- blessed be the name, character, reputation, and complete authority of YHVH! 

In its place, I now feel a new kind of love. I think it's the kind the savior must have felt for me in my rejection of him while he suffered, even unto death. It is still compassionate and steadfast, merciful even, yet its resolve is different in me now. I'm certain I could never put words on a screen that would explain it rightly, and I know I will continue to advocate for truth and healing and mercy, yet the chains of the death of it have fallen off and I am free!

The next portion of our photo adventure took Britt and I above the city to the angel on The Rims overlooking Rocky Mountain College's campus. It was a place we meandered upon years earlier during a photo adventure and has become a favorite place for me to think or to pray. It was also one of the first date locations for my then-boyfriend, now ex-husband. We had agreed to meet for an early morning bible study, which didn't actually happen, so we simply had coffee instead that day. Later it was the location for a mom and three daughters date day and photo shoot at the suggestion of my oldest bonus daughter...

It seemed like a fitting place to document the portions of scripture that had been shouting in my head since walking away from the dress:

Phillipians 3:7-14  "But what things were gain to me I have counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Yet indeed I also count all things loss for the excellence of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes not from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith- that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death.... but I press on to make it my own because Christ Jesus has made me his own... one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead. I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.

I took a few photos that day too, mostly because I can't help myself. I want you to meet my friend Britt and I couldn't resist taking one last shot of my shoes too: 

As a side note: the wedding shoes are now a burden to be carried on the back of that iron angel until the next girl comes along to receive their blessing.... 

(Brooke Moore Photography)

Ahhhhhhh, I loved those shoes!

Surgery is a Family Affair, The Fourth

I'm sorry-not-sorry I'm taking forever to tell, what must seem like to you the reader, a simple camping story. Last night I found myself wishing it was more simple for me to tell and that I shouldn't have even started to attempt it. There are so many conversations and experiences from the weekend that really aren't fully mine to tell, so I'm finding myself wrestling with protecting others' privacy as well as sifting through my own emotions to decide what's real or necessary. I've spent the day sorting thoughts and throwing some out, only to pick them back out of the bin because of their vital role in my process. This blog is now, and always has been, my "pile of stones" to show what God did here on this day in my life. You may be entertained today and move on never remembering a detail, but I will come here over the years to remind myself of the faithfulness and steadfast, merciful, personal love of the Lord for me. So, let's forge on:

Sunday morning was gorgeous! I woke up feeling a little piece of healing that had occurred overnight. I told you about the anguish of feeling incapable of carrying the "load" of hosting and feeding a trillion people, but that all changed with a little visit from Mrs. Train who was taking a potato inventory. She was checking in with Mrs. Book, who together had put together the dinner menu for the 8 days. It had been decided that each family would be on their own for breakfast and lunch, but contribute together for dinners. While they had been discussing the night's meal, I felt compelled to drag out all of my ingredients. They had not asked me to bring anything to share at all, but I had anticipated sharing some of my breakfast/lunch ingredients along the way.

As I found red potatoes, garlic cloves, an onion, butternut squash, pecans, green apples, cinnamon, eggs and butter rolling around my cooler, I started to imagine putting my cast iron skillets to work for the whole crew. Mr. Train graciously created fire for me and provided an amazing, manly, knife and a cutting board from their camper. I shooed Mrs. Train away to relax with her babies and took over their space. I still didn't have a complete vision for what the finished products would be, but with a quick assessment of his own ingredients, Doc helped me set the menu.

He had some raw tortillas, some sliced peppercinis, a bowl of diced onions, a few more eggs he had rounded up, and a willingness to join me in the "kitchen".  As I diced and chopped I started thinking about the joy of service and the easy yoke/light burden of the Messiah. I have been marinating in the themes surrounding the word "overflow" for weeks and the healing thoughts of "service for the love" vs. "service for the expectation, or the contract, or the validation" kept me company. By the time The Family had eaten and Doc and I were washing the dishes, I could imagine a whole new world of THIS kind of service yoke.

The Blends would be leaving in the early afternoon of Sunday, so we wanted to spend our time with them wisely. I knew very little about their love story or family challenges, but having blended a family of my own, I could imagine some of the heartaches and challenges they must be facing. It's not an easy life and humility, grace and gentleness are essential. Additionally, I've learned recently, the hard way, that desire and human will or effort makes very little difference without supernatural healing and restoration, both for the kids and the adults involved in a broken life. I was picking up those character qualities and a faithful expectation in the Lord for their future in both Mrs. and Mr. Blend and I was looking forward to spending more time with their awesome family.

After deciding the best course of action for the day was to meet at the fish hatchery at the top of the mountain, where we would segregate the men and women, Doc and Junior Blend and I piled in to ride together. Sometimes a boy just needs to escape the sisters and I was looking forward to hearing more of his stories. Junior had been hovering around the men, especially after bedtime, to listen to the men talk about scripture and obedience to the Word of God. It was exceedingly heart-warming to watch Mr. Blend gently answer his bonus son's questions and to hear the genuine interest Doc, Mr. Book, and Mr. Train took in his 10 year old life. "Heart-warming" is too light a phrase... I'm not sure how to express the pleasure I experienced, while nursing the heartache this mom feels for her own sons... THIS is how is should be. Should have been. Will never be, for mine...

We rallied in the hatchery parking lot and spent a delightfully immature amount of time getting organized. I'm positive I have not laughed so much in my forties as I did getting ready for that adventure. The guys were dumping us ladies there and then taking the vehicles to the stocked ponds we had all been at the day before. The ladies, with babies in backpacks, Moses on a leash (who was illegally in attendance according to every sign we saw) and a gaggle of beautiful teens and pre-teens crossed the highway to scope out the fish...

The hike from the hatchery to the ponds, where the men would be, was somewhere between 1 1/2 and 2 miles and the weather could not have been more perfect. Initially we thought our trail was an actual dirt road, but in short order we were on a steep, narrow path that followed the most incredible series of pools and waterfalls with more pools and waterfalls guiding us down the mountain. The mommas with babies on their backs had an especially challenging hike because of the steep trail and awkwardly balanced packs. The younger girls raced up and down, back and forth investigating a pile of empty snail shells we found and the forks in the trail. We tried pretending we were the first people that had ever seen the view, until we found a metal park bench randomly placed in the overgrown trees.

Shortly after seeing the bench, we saw a man approaching us from below. Two of the wives, quickly assessed the potential threat, quietly announcing to each other the presence of their concealed forms of weaponry. I cannot tell you the respect I have for these gorgeous, articulate, feminine, intelligent, warrior women. We were surrounded by estrogen, a collection of wildflowers, pony-tails, babies and girl-talk, yet  I have never felt more like I was in the presence of warriors. As quickly as the man had appeared, he turned around and disappeared the way he had come. I had no doubt that if had he posed a real threat, these 10 girls and 1 little fluffy white boy dog would have been just fine. Now I know that there's something to this idea of Princess Warrior that I need to investigate more...

When we reached the men at the lakes the young girls were offered the fishing rods. The Blends would have to be leaving soon and the men were more than happy to give them some time practicing what they had been taught the day before.

Too soon, we hugged Mr and Mrs Blend and the five of their seven goodbye. The Train family decided to leave the lakes to start meal prep for dinner and Mrs. Book was itching to try her hand at casting. Baby Book agreed to take Moses and I for a walk to the top of the falls and Doc and Mr. Book turned their attention to Mrs. Book's personal fishing adventure.

Eventually it was time to leave the lakes and take a short hike to the cars. Moses was NOT having it. He's a perky little dog, generally, but this week was testing his limits. His paws were sore and he was tired of the sun. He chose to lay down at the end of his leash and no amount of coaxing was going to get him up. I carried him to Doc's car and the three of us enjoyed just sitting in the peace for a minute before finding our way back to camp.

Doc is a fascinating guy. With an incessantly analytical mind, he originally chose a career in mechanical engineering. After years in a problem solving environment through engineering design work, he went back to school to become a physician's assistant. He now works an orthopedic department of a hospital. Surgery, pain, and oozing wounds don't phase him. What I had come to respect most about him in those short four days is his gentle ability to be blunt and transparent at the same time. It's also not often I'm surrounded by humble men- a leading quality that every single one of the men at camp clearly possess; Doc is not an exception.

Having Doc around was encouraging. I was really thankful to not be the only single person in camp and both of us acknowledged the utmost respect we had for the other adults, who's Sukkot experience took a whole lot more physical effort than ours because of the needs of the kds. We had both tried to pitch in with an uncle/aunt role as often as possible and it was clear that Doc is already a well established necessity to all of the kids.

Knowing that Sunday was my last day and that I'd have to leave in the morning, I hung on to every opportunity to glean from, and participate in, conversations with these people. Mr. Train is incredibly wise and articulate, a very involved father- a provider and protector. Mrs. Train is gentle and attentive, the kind of person who offers what you need, before you know you need it. Mr. Book is adventurous, exceedingly intelligent and transparent with a high level of discernment. Mrs. Book is easy-going and an incredibly kind woman who laughs easily and gives generously. Doc is quiet and thoughtful, until he's speaks and then his words have strength of conviction and gentle authority.  I could not imagine driving away from this family and I resisted even thinking through a solid plan for the morning.

Whatever sketched plans I should have developed for the morning would not have worked out very well anyway. I was wholly unprepared for the chest cracking incision the Great Physician still had on the schedule me for a few hours after sunrise.

As I was packing to leave and saying my good-byes in the light rain, Mrs. Book asked for me to send copies of my Nikon pictures for a project she's working on. We discussed logistics of how and where to send more than 1,600 photos since they are in the process of a move.

Doc quickly problem-solved for us. He had his laptop and an external hard-drive. We could quickly transfer them from my memory card and I'd be on my way...

Except, "quickly" wouldn't be the reality. My files were large and his hard-drive, acknowledging the day of rest, was not interested in anything faster than a digital moseying.

After an hour or two the other families busied themselves with entertaining children at the lake or taking cranky toddlers for a drive in hopes that a nap would take over.

Doc and I lightly chatted and reminisced about the weekend, while discussing what we each had waiting for us at home and work. We had been generously offered a warm and dry spot with a power outlet in the Train's camper while we passed the time. We continued discussions from the fire chat the night before and sat in comfortable silences.

Then the Healer started to slice me open. I don't believe Doc could have known he was a scalpel in the hand of God when he started to speak, but without nervousness or hesitation or any apparent awareness of what he was doing, Doc ended a moment of silence with a paragraph of analytical statements, with engineer precision, about my character, my life situation, my injuries, both deep and surface, and my already healed places.

He did not assign me an emotion, nor did he assign a solution- although he offered a few to consider. He is trained to listen between the words, to hear his patient's actual needs, way beyond their perceived needs, and he had apparently been practicing the skill silently on me all weekend. He finished his paragraph with the chest cracking question:

"What do YOU need?"

I sat stunned, feeling the impact of the assessment and his choice of words, which were both incredibly comforting and painfully exposing. A bubble of tears raised into my throat; my voice wouldn't work, so I whispered: "I don't know."

He sat quietly, patiently waiting for me to process, to feel, to react, to retreat, to engage...

"I'm so fragile right now, I have no idea what I need," I told him.

He waited without a word.

I re-listened to his assessments in the echo of my mind for what felt like months of silence. The whole time feeling and replaying the back lash of direct attacks and hurled emotions, and my responses to them, during the events of the last year, then the last five, and the last 21, and the last 41... and realized something about myself:

"No, I'm not fragile..." I paused to fix my quivering voice. "I'm really, really raw."

I desperately forced the tear bubble to a lower position in my throat and looked awkwardly my shoes, then my hands, then back at him- hating that I don't even know what I need anymore.

It was then that he chose to speak, "there is nothing fragile about you, Collene."

I realized that he had sat silently, even in his disagreement, until I reached that conclusion about myself, for myself.

This was both a familiar and foreign feeling.... No human man had ever put aside his own agenda or perspective to ask me what I need, think, feel- and then let it just be, right or wrong. This felt simultaneously like protection and freedom.

It was a familiar feeling too, although it took me a week to figure out why:

I realized that THIS is how Jesus treats me! He has been waiting silently, giving me his assessments and waiting for me to SEE, for my whole life, and I've been too busy, or too insecure, or too striving- to sit quietly and allow myself to "get understanding"- which is yet another theme phrase the Spirit is constantly whispering over my heart recently.

Doc compassionately closed the incision with gentle encouragement that he would be praying about these things; I knew he meant it. By the time surgery was over my photos had finished downloading. With a quick hug and a "see you later," Moses and I left Colorado, only four hours behind my sketched out schedule.

With nine hours of driving ahead, I was doing my best to re-enter the mindset that made the audio courses I'm taking successfully sink in to my head and heart while on the road. I was also hoping for a reprieve from the emotional intensity of the week and to be able to set the whole package of feelings aside like my smoke-filled laundry, to sort later. I was incapable of being successful in either endeavor so I sat in silence.

Anytime surgery has been performed, infection can immediately set in and damage or kill a person. The drive home was riddled with attacks from the enemy through unexpected sources via text, phone call and thought patterns.

Six hours in, Doc called to check on me. I told him about the hits I had taken in the last hours and he immediately battled the infection, first through prayer, then through perspective.

I fell asleep in my own bed around 1 a.m. Tuesday morning. I would have work in a few hours, yet I still had the draining feeling of tears that weren't going to be swallowed anytime soon. As Tuesday became Wednesday, then Thursday, I was distressed to note that I could not stop oozing pain through my eyes. A co-worker assured me that she couldn't tell I wasn't "normal", but I knew and it was becoming exceedingly draining physically and emotionally, to conceal myself to remain professional.

Doc checked in with me at least once a day through the week, reminding me that tears are healing. I imagined a surgery patient with drain tubes, reflected on their purpose, and was comforted. If I'm going to really heal, this stuff has to come out... The Great Physician's assistant spent the week continually pointing me back to scripture, back to promise that comes from obedience, and to the source of comfort- my defender, protector, provider, healer. I am forever thankful...

The Sabbath brought joy this week, and by bedtime, an end to the oozing tears. Sunday was spent in praise, with the realization that I feel a massive amount of freedom... Is it possible that THIS is the beginning of the sunrise on my morning?!

Psalm 30:1-5

I will exalt you, Lord,

    for you lifted me out of the depths

    and did not let my enemies gloat over me.

 

Lord my God, I called to you for help,

    and you healed me.

 

You, Lord, brought me up from the realm of the dead;

    you spared me from going down to the pit.

Sing the praises of the Lord, you his faithful people;

    praise his holy name.

 

For his anger lasts only a moment,

    but his favor lasts a lifetime;

weeping may stay for the night,

    but rejoicing comes in the morning.

Lamentations 3:22-23

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
    his mercies never come to an end;
 they are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.

Surgery is a Family Affair, Part Three

Saturday morning, September 29th, 2018, I slept in later than any other 2018 morning had afforded me. It turns out the perfect mattress has very little to do with perfectly peaceful sleep. The now-flat air mattress and cold weather sleeping bag were far more perfect than anything I had waiting for me at home. All kinds of peace and rest were present for me in my little green tent at Rifle Gap State Park and I was cheerful to start the day.

My first thoughts turned to my daughter who had turned 16 in the middle of the night. Because I didn't have cell phone coverage, I'd have to wait to contact her through the mercy of a friend and another phone service provider. Mrs. Book initiated a FaceTime call that went unanswered so we rallied the entire Book family to shoot a Happy Birthday video and a guided tour of our camp.  It was already well into her work day and I knew we'd have to wait for evening to talk.

After shooting the video, my new family convened at the Train's front door to discuss the day's plans. In the middle of the night a new-to-me-family, the Blends, had arrived. There was a considerable amount of excitement as people exchanged hugs, introductions, and travel details. It was decided, that although some of the group had already been on the hike, it was worth everyone's time to return to Rifle Falls State Park to climb in caves and around the waterfalls.

The girls packed snacks, carseats and cameras while the guys got flashlights, knives, and fishing gear. We loaded people into cars for the short drive to the trailhead. Somewhere along those nine miles, the radiator hose in the Book's vehicle cracked and burst, spraying coolant everywhere, and rendering it temporarily useless. As the men discussed the best approach to solving the issue, the kids climbed trees and threw rocks in the stream. Kids are so great! What a blessing to be unencumbered by the cares of adulthood. They simply have faith that they are loved and cared for and joy, wonder and a sense of adventure paired with obedience are their primary concerns. And I marvel that these are the attributes of the childlike faith the Father has called us to, whether we are 10 or 100...

I digress. It was decided to let the engine cool, collect kids from trees, and rally the people for a short hike to base of the falls. Both Baby Book and Baby Train had fallen asleep, so the mommas elected to sit in the cars until they woke up.

There was a convergence of three separate falls at the base of the mountain and a collection of rainbows and streams to shoot with my Nikon. The Blend family had with them a collection of four beautiful daughters and an adorable, pre-teen son representing their family of nine. Mrs. Blend reported that the older girls have made it a game to avoid ever having their photo taken, so I made shooting their family my priority. Mommas absolutely need photos of their babies...

After passing the waterfalls we found our first cave to explore. Mr. Book had hidden a collection of silver coins (dimes) for the younger kids to seek as a tangible lesson to a biblical truth he had taught in the dark. As we exited the cave we found the fresh-eyed babies awake from their nap and we continued together up the mountain to the next caves.

At the top of the mountain there was a small lake stocked with trout that the group chose to take a detour to. The wound that had been opened up the day before on the Frying Pan was further medicated as I watched Doc and the dads teach the wives and children about casting, patience, reeling, netting and releasing live trout. It was cathartic to watch the families interact and to see the "man's" activity become something inclusive of everyone, regardless of skill and interest level.

Eventually, Mrs. Train, Mrs. Book and I wandered our way back towards the falls to take the loop back to the cars. These two ladies are a rich, deep source of strength of character, conviction and discernment. I cannot remember what it was like not knowing them and we all marveled at how the circumstances had knit us together only a month before on the other side of the United States.

By the time the men and kids caught up to us we were above the falls looking over the water and the valley. I wish I had the ability to capture the shadows and light and colors as there were in reality, but I took my time attempting it while the family waited patiently, all the while chattering and laughing and playing with kids.

Back at the parking lot we dished out fruit to the kids and made plans to cram together in the Blend's RV that was parked down the road, so that a couple of the dads could work together to solve the radiator hose issue with Mr. Book. Doc carried my heavy bag, while I grabbed a kid hand, and the whole group made its way to the far-away lot and piled into the camper. Mrs. Blend had gone back to the vehicle early and made a vat of macaroni and cheese to feed a kingdom (my kind of girl), and nachos for everyone. The work-together-to-serve-one-another mentality, mixed with the common-threads revealed in the sharing of our most recent personal spiritual growth testimonies, was starting to gently expose other injured places in my heart that I hadn't known were there. The nine miles back to camp were internally overwhelming as I assessed the injury and tried to determine its root.

Back at camp we discovered that the wind had demolished our little tarped together cove that the men had built around our tents for shade and protection. Tarps were torn and stakes were uprooted; my tent was holding on by one stake and the place looked as war-torn as I felt.

After re-staking my tent and making a sad attempt at the tarps, I left the moms discussing wife and mom stuff in the RV. I needed to get alone to think. I felt like I should cry, but I couldn't and I didn't know exactly why I wanted to anyway. I'm no longer a wife and the mom stuff wasn't applicable to my current mothering stage. In that moment, I lacked content to add that didn't simply feel like a massive highlighter to all of my life's failures. These ladies seem FAR ahead of me in nearly every way and I'm blessed to have been included at all, but I needed to assess wounds and ask the Great Physician for insight and to find a cell signal to call my daughter.

The trip into cell coverage added to the internal discomfort. There were texts from clients needing scheduling changes and from two separate people I've been assisting as a form of "ministry". Both are in unsafe situations, both had attempted to contact me at some point during the weekend. I was unable to reach either, which added to my heaviness. Additionally, one of my kids is going through some personal trials and needed to talk it out. I returned to camp feeling like I never should have come. What was I thinking? My real life isn't like this with all this support and family-feeling and love... Then enemy of my heart was hard at work to whisper lies and half-truths over my thoughts and I knew I needed to get back to The Family.

By the time I reintegrated with the group Doc, the Blends and most of the kids were playing football in the street and the moms were putting together "walking tacos" to feed The Family. I watched these ladies easily whip up dinner for everyone while I sat doing nothing on the outskirts of the camp site. I thought back to my first decade and a half of marriage and family-raising. I used to be that way then; I could host any number of people for a lavish, made-from-scratch dinner. I had the tactical ability and the gadgets and the time to make it all perfect.

Back then I also hosted bible studies, prayer meetings, progressive dinners... I worked in the church nursery, ran a day-care and an at-home hair side-business. I donated time to the pastor and his secretary for odd jobs like bulletin board building and for special events like marriage-matters dinners. I volunteered in my kids' classrooms, chaperoned field trips and sat on the Steering Committee that founded MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) in Alaska, while planning monthly MOPS events. I participated in fundraisers and trainings and sang on two worship teams. I visited hospice patients and and, and, and...

Now I sat here realizing that all of it had been of little to no value- not to my marriage, not to my children, or my personal understanding of scripture, or understanding what it looks like to walk out obedience to any of it. Furthermore, I was no longer capable of handling even a fraction of that kind of load...

Accepting this new level of grief, trying to fully assess all of the wounds from the shots I've taken from the enemy over the years, I realized something critical: I've never actually left the battle before, at least not long enough to assess whether or not I'm still battlefield ready.  Is it possible that years ago, rather than "standing firm," I should have checked in to the infirmary?

Because the weekend was't over, there is no way for me to fully assess, or address practically, any of the things that were being exposed. All I could do is bleed and embrace the next fire-chat conversation and keep moving forward according The Great Physician's surgical agenda...

Surgery is a Family Affair, Part Two

The pizza experience was amazing, and not just because of the homemade crust with local honey for a secret ingredient, or the spunky waitress who treated us like we were her only table, or because the bartender looked like speaker and author Derek Gilbert, which made our imaginations and stories incredibly entertaining... 

In my last post I told you about the knife-and-light-gifting Mr. Book and his baby girl and their imminent need to go into town, from our Sukkot camp, for a slice of, or perhaps three whole pizzas. While Mrs. Book tucked her kitties into their tent, we loaded into their car. On the way into town we passed another of the Sukkot campers from the group. Because I wasn't able to do all eight days of the Feast, and many of the other families had, they had chosen to each go their separate ways  that afternoon and reconvene around the fire after kids had been put to bed. The friend we passed quickly chose to join us for pizza and our little group found a back booth in town at the pizzeria. For clarity sake in this story, I'll call the new guy Doc.

What made the entire evening incredibly satisfying is simply the ease at which conversation flows with these friends. Often at home I find myself editing my thoughts to make them more surface-level for new friends. My 41 years of experience has taught me that I'm not everyone's cup of tea, having been called a "yapper" recently by an irritated loved one- who simply doesn't need or desire to know my thoughts, ideas or experiences. These friends were refreshingly interested in my life, and I in theirs. 

I left the pizza place that night with the distinct feeling of having known all five of them forever. These strangers were now classified as trusted, close, friends.

We arrived back at camp in time to see the Train family just before they started putting the kids to bed. Mr. Book and Doc immediately began to put my super-cheap tent together in the dark, by headlamp, and started pulling out all kinds of extra amenities like air mattresses and extra sleeping bags, just-in-case. They had anticipated that perhaps I may not have been completely prepared and had both brought extras just-in-case. Although I had packed surprisingly well for myself considering my new-girl status, their level of intentionality regarding my needs and comfort blew me away. I've never felt protection from a complete stranger before and quite honestly I'm still not sure what to do with that, but I knew that I liked it and I knew I was safe and  that "it", what ever it is, would be okay all weekend.

The group had pre-arranged for each of the men to prepare a talk, or study, one for each night, to give around the fire after the kids had been put down. On Thursday night by the time my camp was set up and kids were down it was late enough that it was decided to post-pone Doc's presentation for another time. We all reluctantly ended our subsequent gettint-to-know-you conversations around 1:00 am and headed to bed. 

I've never been more at peace sleeping on the ground in 35 degree weather, with my little dog nestled at my feet. 

The next morning people had decided to go in different directions. A new family would be arriving later in the evening and others had made plans with family in a town several miles away... It was decided that the Books, Doc and I would hunt down hot spring pools in a river Mrs. Book had heard about. Because of Baby Book's carseat and a collection of water jugs, fishing supplies, medical supplies, and extra camping gear, it was determined that we'd need to take two cars and that I'd help Doc navigate and lead our entourage.

If I had expected adventure the night before, I was not disappointed. We relatively easily found Penny Hot Springs and soaked for awhile in the river. Then Mrs. Book, ever the adventure researcher, realized we were in very close to Marble, which contains the marble quarry the monuments in Washington D.C. were mainly supplied from. We decided it was worth the detour. Also, on the agenda was a search for a natural spring with fresh drinking water to fill the jugs for our time in camp, which would be in the opposite direction. On our way to Marble, we were delighted to stumble upon row after row of coke ovens, right off the highway. The ovens were used in the area's coal mining hey-day to refine coal. After crawling around the ovens and shooting pictures of the ridiculous views of changing trees and a meandering sparkling river, we made our way to the dead end that is the quarry. By now the light had softened, making the shadows chilly and the sunspots downright golden. I could see myself living there with those views and a simple-life small town feel!

When we had our fill of views and our pockets were full of marble shards, we headed the opposite direction to Basalt. On the way there Doc realized that we'd be passing The Frying Pan, a famous-to-those-that-know-fishing-holes kind of place. 

The conversation all day had been easily flowing and occasionally dipping into deep wells of truth and experience by one or the other of us. Doc is easy to talk to, a good listener, and and intelligent counterpart on nearly every topic. He's also humble enough to post a disclaimer when he's not sure of his perspective or understanding. Quite frankly the entire day had been relaxing, joyful and perfect. Somehow driving at the Golden Hour next to The Frying Pan listening to an avid fisherman describe his excitement, created a strange anxiety in me. For miles I didn't give it air, but eventually in the safe environment Doc had created for our less than 24 hour friendship, I started to tell him of my 14 years of experience regarding "avid fishing" and "world famous rivers" and the heartache that comes with being a married-less-than-a-week bride who's honeymoon was forfeited early for a fishing trip with the guys... 

I was uncomfortable with the realization that somehow Doc had innocently opened up a festering heart-wound that had been hidden and piled upon for more than 21 years. I was also silently amazed that he seemed unfazed by my articulately exposed wound. He kindly offered to leave me with the Book family so that he could pursue an hour or less on the river before sunset. Initially, I agreed. I was suddenly exhausted and wanted to retreat. I was surprised by my deep desire to cry and sleep and leave. By the time our entourage found the fresh water spring and filled up our water jugs, it became clear that the Book family would not be my out. Mr. Book wanted to learn to cast and it was decided we would move on to the dam together. I'm not sure if the outside temperature had turned cold or if I was just exhausted beyond body temperature regulation, but was spent. 

Baby Book was my saving grace. She was happily collecting rocks and bringing them to me to define their color. It's hard not to smile at a toddler's wonder. Eventually Baby brought me a perfectly round red "David rock", perfect for a giant-killing slingshot. We had been looking for them all day. She shoved it into my vest pocket and told me it was for me. "Why can't I swallow these tears", I thought. Where were they even coming from? I remembered the details of the day and marveled at my mis-matched emotions. 

Before I knew it, the fishing expedition and casting lesson were over. In hindsight, it probably was less than 30 minutes, yet I had never been more relieved to be in Doc's car. I was clearly ridiculously shivering so Doc put his own jacket on me and turned up the heat. Our conversations on the way into Basalt for dinner stayed on safe and light topics and this newly exposed pain settled to a dull ache.

Dinner was FABULOUS! We chose a family-owned Italian restaurant and asked to be seated on the patio under the soft lights. Our little friend group had somehow turned into a family during our adventure and we chose to order a variety of appetizers and entrees to share between the five of us. Baby Book spent her time waiting for the meal singing praise songs and recording "happy birthday" love videos for my daughter to be sent in the morning. I'm not sure why, but that patio, those people, that singing baby, the waitstaff and even the herb garden behind me were used as a healing ointment and a source of hope for what would come in the following days.

Because of the assumption that we would only be gone for a few hours and that we may end up in a hot springs situation indoors, I had chosen to leave my dog in the tent where he would be shaded and have food and water. As the adventure progressed, I had become increasingly anxious about having left him. Because I was starting to worry, Doc offered to reach out to Mrs. Train to see if they would adopt-a-dog for the evening. The Train kids have no experience with dogs and were anxious about having him in their camp, but by the time the rest of us returned to camp, Moses had adopted all three kids as his. It was official, these virtual strangers became our family, all in one crazy, adventurous day.

Again, it was decided that the teaching lesson Doc had prepared for the fire-chat would have to be postponed until Saturday. There would be another family arriving to camp soon, yet I chose to take my newly-discovered wounds to bed early and left a perfectly good fire and conversation to meet with Jesus in my tent...

"Doc" at The Frying Pan Dam. 

 The "Book" Family at Penny Hot Springs.

The coke ovens. 

 Marble fall.

 "Baby Book" offering me treasure.

 Stupid beautiful.

Stupid perfect day.

Mr. "Book" has a hard time reading signs. 

We obviously had to follow him to make sure he was safe.

Leaving Marble.

Surgery is a Family Affair, Part One

The most terrifying, brutal, essential, unexpected and merciful heart surgery was initiated in me a week ago today, precisely twenty-one days after the legal death of my marriage.

Before I get into that, it's worth telling you the miraculously connected story of how I ended up in that particular surgery department, high in the medical corridors of the Rocky Mountains of Colorado. This will be Part One:

While I didn't know it at the time, ultimately the invitation would be extended, round-aboutly, by way of a Thomas The Train conversation I had initiated in a lunch line with a pre-schooler and his father four weeks prior in Ohio. The train conversation led to a very brief conversation with his impossibly beautiful baby sister, and of course her precious doting mother. The conversations were brief and not particularly important as subject matter is concerned.

As my own daughter and I were leaving Ohio two days later, we happened to eat lunch at the same tiny cafe as the Thomas The Train family- in a small town a full 45 minute drive from our departing airport. They were leaving as we were being seated. Mrs. Train and I exchanged phone numbers, which seems weird now because we had had very little to discuss of depth all weekend, but at the time it seemed perfectly necessary.

Again,  after rental car returns, shuttle rides, separate airline check-ins and security lines, we saw them as they were wrestling strollers and carseats and we were searching for our gate at the airport. The family made an impression on my daughter and I because of their obvious love for each other, but also because of their willing-to-cross-the-country in complete prayer and emotional support of certain friends of theirs...

It turns out the Train family are very close friends of another couple I've already told you briefly about because of the impact their testimony has had on my life in the last year. Prior to the Ohio conference, I had already sufficiently stalked their story online and had even spoken to them on several occasions via phone and text for mentorship regarding some of the circumstances of my own life. I chose to go to the conference, in part, because the husband was slated to speak (his first ever public speaking event, it turns out). The book about his life had just been released and I could not get enough of the hope of miraculous healing their message would be declaring.

So, when the Book family and the Train family returned to their respective homes and chatted later, there was some discussion about having met me and the possibility of inviting my daughter and I to participate in a family camping trip in Colorado. Do you see how AMAZING our God is at taking care of me through complete strangers as a direct result of my surrender to him? This is only one example of how that has happened miraculously over the last several months. Someday I'll share more. 

The camping trip was to be much more than that, actually. The dates were chosen and the activities were planned around a biblical feast called The Feast of Tabernacles (Booths), or Sukkot. I had heard of this for the first time ever, almost exactly a year prior in a sermon at a tiny little church by my house. Up to that point I had very little understanding of the seven feasts biblically established by God through Moses, regardless of 41 years in a protestant environment and regardless even of the several years I've meandered through the Exodus story's concepts here for you all. That's maddening, but that's not why I'm here and I have so much more I'd like to say about all of that another day. My own process with the concept of the biblical feasts and their relation (read lack of) to the cultural "Christian holidays" and whatnot will take some time for me to finish processing internally; besides that whole thing is going to take me on a detour I don't have time for this afternoon so, standby for that another day.

To make a very long story short, I almost had too much time to plan the trip and I considered quitting before I started several times. A month is a long time to get cold feet on a situation like planning a camping trip in a another state, with virtual strangers, when a girl hasn't even owned a tent in 15 years. On top of that, I have never camped alone, much less come to understand the first idea of what people do for Sukkot. I haven't been in the mood for intentionally adding more stress to my life and I could think of a dozen reasons a day, why I had no business going.

Then my daughter sustained an injury that took her out of school for a few days and placed her in a big, stupid walking boot again. Neither situation made camping and hiking or missing more school a good idea. To make it more obvious I should quit planning to go, her 16th birthday would be taking place over the weekend we were to be there. I couldn't imagine leaving her and giving up my custody week with her to go alone. My feet were ice cold, but the tent and other camping supplies had already started arriving and my daughter, almost daily, insisted "Mom, for my birthday all I want is for you to go to Colorado with your friends". She is such a treasure and I have a trillion reasons to thank God for her, but this selflessness is by far at the top of the list. She had very much bonded with the Book family and had even asked Mr. Book to baptize her in Lake Erie while we were in Ohio. While she was disappointed to not be able to go, she was relieved when I told her I would.

So, last Thursday morning, with excitement and trepidation, my little white dog, Moses, and I loaded the car and embarked on the nine hour and 12 minute drive to Rifle Gap State Park. There was sufficient time for me to get in several hours of an audio training course I'm taking and the miles whizzed by. The day was gorgeous and I took plenty of opportunities to pull over for photo ops of the scenery and wildlife. I arrived with plenty of daylight to set up camp, but Mr. Book and Baby Book weren't having it; Baby Book had been asking for pizza so I jumped in their car to wind back down the mountain for dinner, but not before being outfitted with a knife, flashlight and headlamp. I immediately knew an adventure of a lifetime had begun, yet had no idea surgery was right around the corner.