We attended a burial service this weekend for Karl’s Uncle Ted.  Family (most of whom I’d never met before since Ted, like me, married into this family) converged on the lone prairie from all over the country on Saturday. It was a day with tears, many chuckles, a few outright laughs, and a beautiful time to remember and be thankful for a life well lived.  Ted was married to my husband’s Aunt Gwen and was a most remarkable man. He was brilliant and outgoing and joyful to be around. He was an accomplished vocal musician (a fact I did not know until this weekend and now I’m looking forward to hearing him sing when we all get together again up there!), widely read, and able to discuss literally anything intelligently. He built boats, restored old vehicles, and never tired of being curious. Earlier in his life, he earned his Ph.D. and worked as a physicist to create laser guidance systems.  In the late seventies, tragedy struck his family. Gwen and Ted had two daughters. The younger, at age fifteen, passed away.  In the ensuing months, reeling in pain from their loss, the couple reevaluated their lives.  After prayer and leading, they gave up their lucrative and important jobs and became missionaries with Wycliffe Bible Translators. Their new life took them to Africa and around the world.

It wasn’t celebrating Ted’s accomplishments as a physicist or a missionary that made the day precious for me.  I did love the fact that so many family members came from so many places to be together and cherish their memories of the man. But that wasn’t it, either. What was most impressive and beautiful was the clear power of Ted and Gwen’s legacy of simply living what they believed. Maybe the most profound example of their influence can be illustrated by telling you one small event from the weekend. 

The youngest grandchild present over the weekend was nearly-three-year-old Owen. He’d been a trooper. He’d survived a ton of new faces, an airplane ride, a new bed to sleep in, a total change of routine.  He’d put up with the chilling, cold prairie wind as the older folks enjoyed being outside at the ranch.  He’d even done pretty well Saturday evening when we all lingered at the ranch after dark (with plummeting temperatures) in order to glimpse the milky way.

Dinner was late because of the sky watchers, but when the family convened back at the rental house and dinner was finally ready, someone called out, “Who is going to pray before we eat?”

An innocent and absolutely confident voice, Owen’s voice, answered. “Me!” Then, without hesitation or further prompting, Owen began to sing a rendition of grace set to the tune of “Frere Jacques”. Simple.  Thankful. Fearless. Perfect. I can imagine Gwen and Ted, newly reunited and possibly holding hands, pausing for a moment in their exploration and wonder of the heavenly home they’ve been given to listen. 

Happy 2020.5!

Our new year is starting off well.  Barrett should be confirmed today, the snow has quit falling (we got about 16 inches at our house.  It’s cold but pretty as far as snow goes.), reports are that the weather has helped the forest fires, the election is only a week away, and God reigns!  Oh, and we had a fun ‘New Year’s’ party to keep us smiling!  Just wanted to share some pictures of the good time we had. 

To add to the fun, we came up with captions for the food we served… trying to think of all the hard things of 2020 to make them funny.

Laugh, Eat, and count down the new year’s arrival!

1985 was a really difficult year for Karl and me.  We’d only been married for two years, so we weren’t as solid in our relationship as we’ve grown to be now, and life bombarded us with all kinds of ugliness.  By October of 1985, we’d had it, and we began to think we just weren’t going to survive until the year’s end.  So, we threw a party.  We hosted a New Year’s Eve celebration complete with hats and noisemakers and champagne.   We stayed up, accompanied by our dearest friends who didn’t think we were nuts and who understood the sentiment, and we ushered in a “new year”. From that evening on, even on checks and important documents, I wrote the date as 1985.5.  We jettisoned the bad and hard to willfully and intentionally began again.

Lately, I’ve had déjà vu. I’ve had about enough of the shenanigans that 2020 has been pulling, and I’m over it.  I’m tired of the news, the drama, the threats of sickness, the riots and violence, and the abundance of hatred and the fear.  I’m weary of feeling anxious, and I am at my maximum levels of tolerance due to our most recent plague: the smoke and the haze and the red sun caused by forest fires over a hundred miles away.  Enough is enough!

Now the question becomes, what to do about it?  Hey, want to come to my party?

I’m trying to find a balance between reading the news and isolating myself.  I’m doing this for self-preservation – watching what is happening in the country that I love dearly hurts.  It frightens me.  It makes me mad. It makes me want to DO something. Evil seems to be taking over. When someone walks up to two police officers and shoots them each in the head – that’s evil.  When others show up at the hospital to shout obscenities and wishes that those officers were dead – well, now that’s something beyond evil.  I don’t even have a word for it. 

So, then, the question is how do I keep going? What should I do?  For me, coping starts by reminding myself that the battle is already won.  We know that Jesus triumphed over evil when He rose from the grave. 

As far as what to do…I heard something in a sermon yesterday that has me thinking.  The pastor said “For believers in Jesus, this is as close to hell as we are going to get.  For people who reject God and refuse to acknowledge Jesus as Lord and Saviour, this is as close to heaven as they are going to get.”

I’d encourage you to read that last quote several times.  For believers, this life is hard, but because of the work of Jesus, we can know we are safe in His hands for eternity. But. For those hate-filled souls who don’t know Jesus – the power and adrenaline felt when a trigger is pulled, or the attention gained by spewing foulness at an emergency room door, or the act of looting and rioting for that matter, is going to be the best they ever see. 

When I truly absorb this idea, then I can’t help but feel love for those angry souls.  I feel like crying for them instead of retaliating. Instead of wanting to strap on my Glock and buy a ticket to LA, I hit my knees.

I’m a little late for my Labor Day blog this week, um, I was laboring to get everything in our yard taken care of before the SNOW arrived on Tuesday.  Yikes.  Anyway, we’ve been laboring since February on building a garage in our back yard, then contouring, landscaping, and having sod laid on the property.  It has been a lot of sweat and hard work, but we are pleased with the result and looking forward to having warm days (maybe not until next year!) to enjoy the fruits of our labor. When we moved in, the front yard looked pretty good, though the porch needed to be enlarged and one side of the yard needed work. The back yard was mostly a dirt lot with a couple of cement pads and lots of weeds.  Not anymore!  It is such a blessing to be married to a guy who knows how to do all that was necessary to ‘magically’ transform a barren wasteland into a beautiful and restful back yard and to have friends with backhoes and the selfless willingness to help (Thanks Cliff Smith!!)

Karl and I and four dear friends just spent the weekend in Steamboat Springs. One of the reasons we chose this weekend was because there was a Balloon Rodeo scheduled. While I’ve always wanted to go to a balloon festival, it hadn’t ever worked out before.  Until Saturday morning, I’d only seen a few individual hot air balloons, and I’d never seen a group of them together.  Saturday and Sunday morning then, were a gift.   

There’s something innocent and playful about hot air balloons.  Bright colors and whimsical decorations adorn them as they dance in the sky. We had a view of the launch site and could watch as each balloon slowly filled with air and began to take shape.  It seemed to take a long time to wait, then all of a sudden one then another jumped into the sky and were airborne. On both mornings, there was absolutely no wind, so the balloons stayed almost directly over their launch site.  Most would rise and fall and drift, then land where they took off from. A couple of balloons did manage to catch a breeze and disappear from our view.  Later in the day yesterday we were able to talk to one of the pilots.  He affirmed what we’d guessed: the balloonist has control only over altitude, not where the balloon goes.   

That got me thinking.  When someone climbs into the basket under a balloon and lifts off, I’m certain that part of the adventure is the unknown.  Where will we go today?  What awaits us?  Huh. The idea of having such little control intimidates me.  I like control. Yet, when I have control, the places I go are limited by my own imagination and courage.  Climbing into a basket and giving the unseen wind control opens up all new vistas.  An entire array of new and unconsidered possibilities becomes available.  Wow. Okay, God.  Today, instead of staying safely in my self-controlled vehicle, I’m going to climb into a basket and ascend into Your sky.  Take me where You will!

I love exploring.  It’s so fun to take a hike or drive down a road new to me.  I love topping the crest of a mountain and having a 360 degree view I’ve never seen before.  Witnessing a grand expanse, soaking in the range of colors and textures in the miles spread before me gives me chills clear to my soul.  It makes me feel small and I’m filled with gratitude that God has allowed me to experience another example of His power and grandeur. 

It’s not only the grand-scale beauty of creation that gets me, though.  Exploring also takes me up close and personal with the details as well.  Hummingbirds that would fit easily in the palm of my hand zoom by me, arguing with irritated squawks as they fight over the feeder I’ve hung in a tree nearby. Aspens, with their roundish leaves that quake in even the smallest breeze, seem to sparkle in the sun.  Even when I’m doubled over, trying to catch my breath mid-way up a steep hillside, my eyes are gifted with God’s glory.  A small rock with veins of pink through black iridescence. Even more of a prize: hugging the slope under pines and aspens that reach fifty feet or more into the sky, low growing plants with small, bright green leaves reveal a treat. Just the sight of the teeny-tiny red balls at the tops of each stem makes my mouth water as I pick a handful.  It’s always a joyful surprise when I taste these miniscule fruit: juicy-tart-apple-goodness from something the size of a BB.  A tiny promise, a small hint at heaven on earth.

No matter where you are today, whether it be exploring new vistas, relaxing on the couch, or grinding away at your job, here’s my challenge.  Stop and see God.  Stop and listen, really look.  He is here, all around us.  He loves us dearly.

PS.  Dave, what IS the name of those plants? I know you’ve told me before but I’ve forgotten! 

When I finished my first novel, Mountain Time.  I had my daughter and my husband read and edit it, but no one else, and certainly no one outside the family.  It was really scary to publish it, wondering if anyone would like my little story.  After it was in print, I made myself be brave and I sent a copy of it along with a letter of introduction to the Grand Encampment Museum.  It didn’t take long before I got a reply from one of the board members, John Farr.  He loved it!  In fact, he enjoyed my novel so much, he spear-headed my first book signing at the museum, insisted that the bookstore at the museum carry it, and eventually he nominated it for an award with the Wyoming State Historical Society where it won honorable mention.  (Later, he made sure Peaks and Valleys was nominated as well, and that one won Book of the Year.)

John’s encouragement and support were instrumental in my having the pluck and enthusiasm to keep writing. I feel certain that had he not bothered to read my book, or had been lukewarm in his reception of it, or hadn’t taken the time and initiative to find ways to support it and me, I very well may have given up the dream of being a writer altogether. Between miles and years and health issues and life in general, I don’t often talk to or correspond with John, so it was the highlight of my day on Saturday at the Grand Encampment Museum Living History Days celebration to see him again.  I was sitting at my table, talking with passersby and signing books when John approached.  We talked and chatted, and I happily showed him novel number four, Changing Skies. He ran his hand over the cover, then looked at me and quietly said, “I’m proud of you.”

It’s difficult to adequately describe the instant lump in my throat and exquisite richness those words placed inside my soul.  He probably has no idea how important and meaningful his support and his appreciation for my words and effort mean to me.  In my journey as a writer, I’ve come to understand just how powerful words are.  I hope John Farr understands that his love and support, and his simple words to me on Saturday have empowered me as a writer and literally changed my life.  Thanks, John. 

So far this summer, we’ve spent nearly four weeks in the camper, enjoying friends and embracing solitude.  On our latest trip (we got home last night), we rode about 130 miles all together on our four-wheelers. Please understand that most of the ‘roads’ we ride on are rock-strewn paths through the forest, not fit for even a four-wheel drive pickup.  Our rides give a new and deeper meaning to the idea of a road less travelled.  We like to putt along, stopping often to hike or just sit and absorb the stillness.  We are rewarded by a whole host of surprises and beauty.

*A deer resting in the shade of a stand of pines, so totally unimpressed with my presence that he allowed me to notice him, stop my bike, back up for a better view, call Karl on the walkie to summon him back to see my new friend, and for us to take lots of pictures.

*Crossing a small creek running across our path, then meeting up with that creek again a few minutes later as it tumbled over a cliff in a jubilant dance to a deep green meadow. 

*The gift of seeing a herd of about thirty elk, mamas and babies, as they crossed a meadow high up along the Continental Divide.

*The view from the top of peaks and ridges that allow us to see for miles and miles and somehow gain a tiny grasp of how majestic and grand our world is, then looking down at our feet to see butterflies sunning themselves.

I’m comforted by this mixture of reminders. We are tiny and insignificant compared to mountain vistas and infinite skies yet surrounded by a created world so suffused with intricate detail.  I’m comforted as well by understanding that our God sees the big picture yet doesn’t ignore one small detail. In the grand scheme of things, I am of little consequence to the world, but dearly loved and considered by my creator. 

Oh, one more thing about our trip.  We had a ‘beary’ good time in camp as well!