Snowshoeing in Colorado!

So many breathtaking views from our trek at Mueller Park, for more click here.

Leaves on the Path

Some like to run in the woods. I love the woods. But, I also have glass ankles, as they say. And so, after having turned my ankles over numerous times playing basketball, I prefer flat ground. The flat ground of concrete or asphalt, though I do suspect the beneficiary of such flat ground is the dull ache that persists just below my right knee. I catch myself sometimes playing over a slow ankle turn in my mind…slow motion pain. Imagined pain. But informed pain nonetheless. So, for the time-being at least, I stick to the streets even as I look somewhat jealously at some of my friends galloping off into nearby trails of green and brown blur.

Over the course of a year, the commitment to run on flat ground develops the hidden habit of foot-radar. Foot-radar is the sensory device your feet develop in concert with your brain to time your steps away of from undesired objects in way ahead. I first noticed my foot-radar when walking the streets of Grenoble, France and the almost innate ability that developed for the slightest adjustments in foot position on the sidewalk…especially when dog poop was imminently seeking out a way to get enmeshed in the patterns of my shoe under-soles. Since then, I’ve noticed a less smelly sophistication in the ability of my feet to avoid things like gravel and potholes and ice…in addition to animal dung. Foot-radar is a good thing, I think. Head to toe communication, each doing its part to avoid trouble…of one kind or another.

Trouble, real or perceived, is an interesting intruder into our psyche. Even the possibility of it seems insistent on our attention. When running on snow covered roads, my whole person seems to become riveted on what is happening at my feet. What is the surface like? Is it slick? Does it give? What is underneath the perceivable surface? This, of course, detracts from a ‘good run’, but it remains compelling. During a recent Autumn, a trail I regularly run becomes covered with oak leaves. The trail is asphalt, but it becomes so leave-covered that you wouldn’t even know that was a solid surface underneath the myriad of leaves. It is a particularly beautiful sight, even if not just for the juxtaposition of ideas it represents. It really looks like a trail…a regular earth-worn trail. But underneath is the same, trusty surface I’ve come to expect from the routine of many runs along its path.

I’m also going through a period of great unknown regarding the direction of my future. I lost my job due to a down-sizing last year and the path has been anything but expected ever since. I’m in the same places and with the same people, but everything looks different because the future is unknown. It was unknown anyway, but I didn’t know that before. Now that I do, things just look different and the radar I use to find my way is lost in some unfamiliar array.

So, the thought occurred to me during one oak-leaf-covered asphalt run that this particular path was not unlike the current leg of the journey of my life. Impossible to see whether or not things are really stable after all. All the things that I have relied for such information are now no longer yielding the data I had become so comfortable with. Is this path still firm? Especially when I can’t confirm that it is in the way that I used to? I couldn’t really know the answer to this question without running the path anyway, in spite of radar-like instincts that remind me that I need to be able to see what is there before trusting my aging body to potential ankle-turning unevenness. So I run on it anyway, feeling a new sense of something that can be trusted even when I can’t see it.

God is like this, it seems to me. At certain points along the journey, we live off the tangible feedback in our relationship with Him. We become so convinced of the trustworthiness of this data transfer that we actually find ourselves believing a very basic cause-and-effect relationship between all things…including God. This is dangerous proposition…especially since He doesn’t seem to like the ways we reduce Him to our paradigms of understanding Him.

He seems to move into areas of unpredictability in our relationship with Him. This is unsettling because, after all, the way we have built our way of knowing Him and life are now unfamiliar. But upon a close review of the people of faith – those of ancient past and those walking beside us in these days – we learn that this unpredictability is not so unfamiliar to His people. In fact, many would say ‘unfamiliar’ is a tame description of this experience with Him. Honestly, I would, too. It is not just unfamiliar, it is downright frightening. It is counter-intuitive. It is the essence of darkness. This is true because the things we are trying to protect are far more vulnerable than our ankles. And before it is over, we realize that we are entirely incapable of doing any self-preservation. Everything is at risk. We need help.

Has God ever covered your path with leaves? He has mine, using the circumstance of loss of regular employment to completely re-orient my radar of Him. And yet it is a grace of Himself that He is willing to risk our understanding of Him, in order to show us more of who He really is. Just like the strange beauty of an asphalt leaf-covered road speaks of an unseen solidness that we can learn to depend on, we learn that God is re-orienting our radar towards Him in a way that is deeper, richer, enlightening, laden with trust, and compelling for us to trust Him with more and more of ourselves – areas of deep vulnerability from which we have largely remained unaware. Such leaves help us find our true identity in Him, an identity that is not based on the cause-and-effect relationship we have experienced with Him in the past. A new kind of relating emerges, the kind that happens in the dark and that builds on things we can’t see…without putting our full weight on it.

By the way, oak leaves are still slippery...even when on asphalt.

Yes, we got SOME SNOW!!!

An Unexpected Christmas

Darlin’ (Christmas Is Coming)

So it’s been a long year
Every new day brings one more tear
Till there’s nothing left to cry
My, my how time flies
Like little children hiding their eyes
We’ll make it disappear
Let’s start a brand new year
Darlin’ Christmas is coming
Salvation army bells are ringing
Darlin’ Christmas is coming
Do you believe in angels singing
Darlin’ the snow is falling
Falling like forgiveness from the sky
If I could have anything
What would I want this new year to bring
Well, I’d want you here with me
Tear these thorns from my heart
Help the healing to start
Let’s set this old world free
Let’s start with you and me

-- OtR, Detweiler

Music is an oil that kneads my soul, pressing the truth in, letting it out. I marvel at the capture of its thought, and the rapture of discovering it. We looked and whispered at each other…listening to these words one late December rainy night. Lots of tears and lots of fears…in retrospect of 2007. Now Christmas. An end of something and a beginning of another. How can we welcome it? How can we not? The music is so painfully beautiful, so joyous. It reminds of how much I want…how much I want you. You being you, and the yous, and the You. Am I, too, playing such mournfully divine music with you, yous, and You? I often can’t hear mine, but I can hear yours.

Recently, God used Over the Rhine to cleanse me again…as they have done before. So deep the scrubbing that I ached the next day. A pain familiarly unfamiliar. A good pain. A longful one. No pretense, just yearning. For things I know about and things I don’t. But full of admiration for those who can capture it…and rapture it in me. This is the heart of Christmas, I suspect. Something in the night, darkness, where stars can shine. Your stars to me, mine to you, yous, and You. Hard to imagine, but I distrust you if I don’t believe it. Such a kindness brings healing, if not restoration…but to what, remains unclear. But to what, it matters less and less…with you, yous, and You nearby. To ornament my life with things my money can’t buy this Christmas. A tree of life…and light. Yes, even a Christmas tree.

You Give and you give and You give. And You take away, and you give. And you are given.

Not a riddle. You are mine, those given to me. Yous are you all, who continue to respond with such deep compassion to His hand on us…by offering simple kindness after simple kindness, after simple kindness. And You use it to heal me…and mine. And the circle of dance continues round and round, much better than the wheels on a school bus. A holy dance, what we barely know the tune to…but one that we recognize more and more.

Thank you for being our healing balm this Christmas…for things we do and do not know. Thank you for ringing as bells to us.

If I could have anything
What would I want this new year to bring
Well, I’d want you here with me...

He Knows...

...what He is doing! From the outside 'in'...

...and from

the inside 'out'!

Inevitably, it seems there’s always something that holds you back….

I could go faster…if I wasn’t feeling that slight tenseness in my hamstring. Or, that familiar pain starting again, just below my right knee. Are these socks damp? It feels like that dreaded blister is already lined up to attack my foot…and I just started! No air, no air, just can’t get enough air today…just can’t breathe. Oh no…not that cramp already! I should have stretched more…I can already feel that ‘pull’ of tightness in my lower back…. And on and on it goes…it seems there’s always something…I just can’t go as fast today as I would like.

…but then, I say that every day.

Not that I speak from experience or anything…I’m guessing these are just the typical ‘first 5 minutes’ complaints of any good run. So why do I do it? Why do I fool myself into thinking that this time will be different? The same reason you do. By the end of the run, I’m not thinking about any of these problems. Somehow I made it and I feel great. Great for doing it…and great, just feeling great. Plus, it is getting easier…isn’t it? The answer seems to come more by the insistence my internals present to me the next day…to get out there and do it again. After all, running seems to be making a difference, whether my time changes much or not. It has me in its grip…I should do it…I have to do it…It is making a difference in some way…It matters.

I’ve been running for two years now…and my time has dropped by over 20%. I’ve lost 30 lbs. And…I see muscle, even where I thought I would never see it again. And…I feel better. So the math works and my mind agrees that the statistics are meaningful. And, my body reminds me that the pain feels good - when it’s over…and that I don’t want to have to start over with that starting-running-again pain. I’ve noticed that my awareness of other areas of life is different, too.

One thing about running - you are forced to be aware of yourself, aware of where you are really at. The pain of a good run seems to force a certain kind of clarity. It arouses desperation. Your whole body is focused on it.

Pain shows you your limits. It creates opportunity to acknowledge and discover feelings about your existence. Pain clarifies things. It makes you ask questions. Like, how to live with what you want…especially when what you want seems to be beyond your reach. Pain is the wall you can’t get through on your own. It is pain that inevitably holds you back. And, it is pain that inevitably pushes you forward. But, by simply knowing it is there, by feeling it…you begin to see something beyond it. Pain reveals what you want. …by showing you what you can’t have.

What you want and what you can’t have. Side by side. You on one side, desire on the other. A wall in between. You can see over it. But, you can’t get through it. Sometimes what you see isn’t actually all that clear, but you know you still want something. You feel what is on the other side, you can almost taste the good that is over there. And then pain reminds you again of where you are at…especially relative to your need to stop it. Like tasting what you want, but not being allowed to stop and eat the meal.

You try to figure out if you’re half-way home yet. If you are, you use your ‘more than half way home’ knowledge to push on…you’ve made it this far, so it’s shorter the rest of way home than it is back to where you started. You push on, wanting both the relief of being done and the thing you saw over your wall…the thing that pain revealed you. Now you want two things - to be done and to have what you want. And, now that you’re more than half-way, the two things feel like they are pulling you in opposite directions. You have to finish, it hurts too much not to. You focus on finishing. But the memory of what you saw, what you want, lingers…. It is something specific…something in the here-and-now. And, it is something mysterious, hard to name, hard to specify…something almost built in…a longing for something the here-and-now can’t fill. Eden, perhaps…Eden, for sure.

…and this gets you out running again tomorrow.

What am I talking about? I’m talking about running and I’m talking about life. I think the two are connected in a fundamental way. They are connected through our humanity and they are connected to God. He has connected the two, fusing something in each of us in the here-and-now with something from Eden. The book of Ecclesiastes calls it the ‘eternity’ he has put in our hearts (Ecc. 3:11).

We discover that we are not God, after all. We discover instead that we need him. And, after years of running in this life, we learn that we need him for more than simply making our life work out for us. We learn that we don’t want him as much for our sake, as we do for his sake. But, it’s a long road home…to him. And, half the race, we don’t even realize what we’re really running towards. We don’t realize what we are running for. And, then at some point, often the result of a change in circumstances, we start to see more of the landscape…simply because of the mileage our own feet have now traveled over. And our hunger to finish grows, as does our hunger for him…and in time, the two become the same thing.

If only...

...I was 16, said he. said he!

Lighten the Burden and Wait Patiently

Sometimes life’s troubles may so overwhelm me that I cannot for a time sustain a belief in God’s loving concern for me and my fellow creatures.  In my humanity I may, like may of my biblical predecessors in the faith, despair or even rage against God.  At that point you must believe for me.  Do not insist that I still believe.  Do not whip the mule that has collapsed under the burden.  Do what you can to lighten the burden and wait patiently until I have regained my strength.  And someday I will do the same for you.

-- Daniel Taylor

Psalm 40

1 I waited patiently for the LORD;
he turned to me and heard my cry.

2 He lifted me out of the slimy pit,
out of the mud and mire;
he set my feet on a rock
and gave me a firm place to stand.

3 He put a new song in my mouth,
a hymn of praise to our God.
Many will see and fear
and put their trust in the LORD.

4 Blessed is the man
who makes the LORD his trust,
who does not look to the proud,
to those who turn aside to false gods. ^[a]

5 Many, O LORD my God,
are the wonders you have done.
The things you planned for us
no one can recount to you;
were I to speak and tell of them,
they would be too many to declare.

6 Sacrifice and offering you did not desire,
but my ears you have pierced ^[b] , ^[c] ;
burnt offerings and sin offerings
you did not require.

7 Then I said, "Here I am, I have come—
it is written about me in the scroll. ^[d]

8 I desire to do your will, O my God;
your law is within my heart."

9 I proclaim righteousness in the great assembly;
I do not seal my lips,
as you know, O LORD.

10 I do not hide your righteousness in my heart;
I speak of your faithfulness and salvation.
I do not conceal your love and your truth
from the great assembly.

11 Do not withhold your mercy from me, O LORD;
may your love and your truth always protect me.

12 For troubles without number surround me;
my sins have overtaken me, and I cannot see.
They are more than the hairs of my head,
and my heart fails within me.

13 Be pleased, O LORD, to save me;
O LORD, come quickly to help me.

14 May all who seek to take my life
be put to shame and confusion;
may all who desire my ruin
be turned back in disgrace.

15 May those who say to me, "Aha! Aha!"
be appalled at their own shame.

16 But may all who seek you
rejoice and be glad in you;
may those who love your salvation always say,
"The LORD be exalted!"

17 Yet I am poor and needy;
may the Lord think of me.
You are my help and my deliverer;
O my God, do not delay.

No, not something I've 'contracted'...

...well, I take that back. I have contracted to help a friend on a big painting project...with a powerful sprayer. I hope I got more on his ceiling...than I did on myself.

Hey, how about this 'Flash' viewer?

Crazy Horse - the next Rushmore

In good company...the Presidents, that is!

See! ...it's really us!

White-water Rafting on the Yellowstone River

Bottom to Top - We Made It!

4H 2007 - Total Dog Award

Kenz & Murphy - 4H Dog Training

Spring 2007

Trillium changing colors...

Trillium

Whew! ...takes your breath away!

...neither can I!

...neither can they....

He just can't stop Himself...

Spring in Indiana 2007

Kenzie & the Snow