WELCOME

I live in avalanche country. It's true! It's the land of oh, so many mountains, creating the perfect environment for these massive snow-slides to occur every Spring. Often, around that time of year, the local news or traffic reports will inform the public of some road or mountain pass that's been closed due to avalanche for a period of time so snow removal and clearing can happen. Take a hike around many trails in this place and you'll find signs warning of avalanche danger or even telling of a specific incident many years before where one occurred. There are occasionally stories of someone who gets trapped in one and isn't recovered in time to save their life. That's the sad part of it. You can even see in various places that you drive or walk where the stumps of trees serve as reminders of a past slide that took out huge swaths of nature in its devastating path.  

 A year ago June, I was invited to attend my very first military ball - the Marine Ball, to be exact. It wasn't going to be held until late Fall, but a longtime friend wanted to take me and give me the chance to experience something I'd wanted to do since I was a teenager. You see, my grandfather was a Marine and I've spent the last twenty years of my life working closely with the military community, especially the Marines, offering mental health support to many active personnel and veterans. I have pictures of my grandpa Irving attending the Marine Ball in Hawaii during WWII. My late friend Alex always planned to take me at some point as a thank you for my support of his career and our friendship. But then... Alex died suddenly and the dream got put on hold yet again.  

When was the last time you truly stopped to behold?  

 I can't recall ever having seen so many babies. They've been everywhere this summer! Baby robins, baby nuthatches, baby chickadees, baby magpies, baby moose, baby bears, baby geese. It's like the whole area has been teeming with the sounds and movement of new life, and it's been nothing short of amazing and adorable. I've loved every minute of it! Sitting down at my kitchen table and eating dinner while watching the mother nuthatch feed her three little fluff-balls is something I'll never forget. 

They don't tell you that waking up can be so hard. They always say that to awaken to the life you were meant for is to find something awe-inspiringly wonderful but they don't let you know that it will come with such pain. They don't give you a warning ahead of time - you just find that, one day, there you are. And you surprised: surprised by the prospect of a new beginning yet grieved at what you'll have to leave behind. You are hopeful: looking ahead and opening your heart to the reality that there is another way but also dying at the same time to a version of yourself and your life that you know you'll never see again. It is equally the most agonizing yet amazing journey you can ever embark on. And somehow, holding both feelings at once is the heaviest...  

A friend and I are sitting in a local cafe, discussing deep issues over sandwiches and soup. She is heavily pregnant and we are enjoying some last moments together before baby comes shortly. And we get on the subject of extended family complexities and what to do about them. Who hasn't had a conversation at some point with a trusted companion about all things relatives and how to navigate?

I want a word that means

It's a blustery Sunday afternoon, and I'm out to lunch with some out-of-town visitors. We've been sharing each other's mutual desire to meet the needs of the vulnerable and marginalized, asking ourselves how you balance truth and love in a world of outrage... how you learn to lean-in instead of running away from the difficult conversations, covering the unlovable with a compassion that comes from the heart of God. Each of us agrees that it's becoming increasingly harder to go beyond the surface level issues and get to the root of someone's pain. So many of us are carrying around stories we can hardly hold ourselves, let alone trust someone else to gently share, and the constant barrage of opinion and critique is more likely to keep us all imprisoned in our suffering than to set us free to be healed. 

 For the longest time, I've struggled to understand what Jesus meant when He said that faith meant becoming "like a little child." No, I wasn't quite as dense as Nicodemus when he asked the Christ if being "born again" indicated an adult had to go back to their mother's womb. But it has taken me years to fully grasp what the Lord was after when He issued that statement so long ago. As a child, these biblical stories of Jesus using little children as an example of life in His heavenly kingdom meant that kids like me where accepted and loved by Jesus. There was a simplicity to how I saw it. I was not filled with complex theological, social, and intellectual ideas about what this looked like; I just saw it as an indication that children were special to Jesus. And, at a basic level, that is true: He does love children or He wouldn't have said they were the picture of the relationship He desires to have with us.      

Ask any world-class chef and they will tell you that the greatest dishes aren't the ones that were whipped up in the shortest time or zapped in a microwave or tossed onto the oven rack to be ready to eat in 10 minutes. Rather, the dishes that are the most memorable, traditional, fulfilling are the ones that took intentionality to make... the ones where the chef had to take their time and do all the intricate steps so that the result was absolute perfection when it reached the plate. These are the ones who craft culinary creations that become Michelin-star rated and keep the customers coming again and again for an eating experience of a lifetime.   

 I'm beginning to realize that I'm an old soul at heart. I've always struggled to fit into the constant motion and progression of the Western way, always preferring a slower and more deliberate, reflective path. I grew up in a community where the pace is just more laid back and I thought, for a long time, that other places were that way too... until I had to live other places for periods of time (or temporarily visit) and soon caught on that most people are living life at a speed that is not conducive to the kind I chose a long time ago for myself.  

It was six years ago this week that I received the most devastating news... an unexpected obituary that I was not prepared to see, a goodbye I was definitely not expecting to have to say. In actuality, I'd been more prepared for an earlier farewell, thanks to the deployment of the US Marine Corps. My dear friend and chosen big brother, Alex, had been sent multiple times overseas and, with each one, prayers were said for his safe return. Somehow, his passing would've almost made more sense had I found out that he died in the line of duty. But a heart attack in his own apartment back in the states, out of the military and going to law school? Nobody saw that coming. Not even his family.