Resolutions

So for New Year's Eve, a group of us signed up to run the "Resolution 5k" at State College. I think the point of that run was to demonstrate what a low fitness level I have so that if I resolved to make aerobic fitness a goal, I would know how far I have to go. In anticipation of the event, I began to run again (maybe four times). Bundling up and confronting the 30 degree weather first thing in the morning was a challenge. As my oxygen starved lungs heaved for air, my legs responded to the stress by sending jelly messages to my brain--watch says I have been pounding pavement for. . .5 minutes??? I remember when running used to be fun.

So race day comes and I'm pumped and a little nervous. Dad and Matt and I hang together the first two miles, then Dad shooed us off for the last mile. My shoelaces were loose, but flapping shoe aside, I felt great running downhill to the finish. I was motivated. We all agreed to meet back next year and run faster. Let the training begin!

Thankfully Mom was able to fix the treadmill, so instead of confronting the cold, I put on shorts and selected "5k Sport" on the machine. Wow, it was really hard. I checked my heart rate after the first mile: 180. That's faster than my maximum heart rate, but who decides these things anyway. Second mile, HR 168, I can do this. Finish: 200 beats per minute. I guess I really am tired. I do a five minute cool down, and my pulse recovers to 108. Now I have a goal--decrease my heart rate to something within that 75-85% of maximum range.

To celebrate, Dad and I went to a specialty running store to find new shoes. During the process I discovered that I am unable to stride correctly because of a ten-month old ankle injury. The shoe specialist was horrified and ordered me to stop running and even walking. See a specialist immediately for follow-up care. I was pretty upset, but taking a deep breath I realized at least I can cross off one new year's resolution, less than a week into the new year. And that may be even better than a magical pair of running shoes.

Today

Before going for a walk around ten, I shovelled the fresh snow, sliding the metal shovel back and forth across the sidewalk. I had my hat and gloves on, my down jacket and wool shirt, wool socks, leggings and pants on. I didn't really have a plan for the walk, but found myself once again on the local Rails-to-Trails.
The last time I was on this path, I had Nathan in the chariot-stroller, and it was like walking through a green tunnel, with the sky barely peeking through. Now, the gray sky was visible, the bare brances of oak, maple and elm scratching across my view. The river slid smoothly, silently by, unobscured by sumac, raspberries or other brush. The only other footprints on the trail were of a man and his little dog.
A boy scout had undertaken to label some of the trees, and as I stopped to gaze at the bare slippery elm (which actually looks scratchy and not slippery, and is one of the ingredients in my throat coat Yogi tea), I was struck by an impression that it is known by SomeOne. I really wouldn't have picked that tree out from any other for particular attention. I didn't know anything about its barks, roots, leaves. It was a stranger to me. But there is SomeOne who really cares for that tree. I smiled, thinking that in getting to know another's friends, you get to know that other person, and getting to know this tree might reveal something about One who cherishes it.
As I stood before it, not knowing what elm buds, or leaves look like, and not knowing what kind of fruit or nut or seed thing it might have, I was struck by the glory of seasons. How wonderful that trees change and reveal different aspects of their lives year after year. This year, I will watch the elm, with expectation that it will reveal some of its life to me. I look forward to getting to know my new friend. I wonder what I will learn about the elm and if it will learn anything about me.

Today I met an elm tree in the snow.

"You can learn ecstasy from a tree." ~~Yogi Tea

Geez

Beware of Caution

There are those who want something more than security or pleasure; those who can't help but taunt security and pleasure. For them, "low-risk" is counter-intuitive, and comfort is not enough. Life does not come equipped with standard dual air bags and anti-lock brakes.
These are the rough-edged gurus/disciples/saints of recklessness. The ones who sense the constraints of rationality and know the value of foolishness. They know the best adventures are never easy, so they put physical discipline and bodily deprivation at the service of bare adventure.
There may be some bravado in their posture, but maybe they also know a tender dimension of adventure. Perhaps the restless risk-takers find in the wilderness a home for their brokenness; something of raw beauty to touch that which needs to be touched within.
And so they head out into the wilds casting themselves--body, mind and spirit--upon the ultimate insecurity and wonder of the elements.

~~From Geez, Spring 2006.

Edward Abbey Says

Years ago, my friend had a quote on the bottom of his e-mail that I've been looking for ever since. Edward Abbey (from Home, PA, graduate of IUP) was an environmental activist, and I think that his words speak to all of us who long to change the world, and who struggle against the momentum of corporate culture. To Life!!

One final paragraph of advice: Do not burn yourself out. Be as I am--a reluctant enthusiast. . .a part time crusader, a half-hearted fanatic. Save the other half of yourselves and your lives for pleasure and adventure. It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it is still there. So get out there and mess around with your friends, ramble out yonder and explore the forests, encounter the grizz, climb the mountains. Run the rivers, breathe deep of that yet sweet and lucid air, sit quietly for a while and contemplate the precious stillness, that lovely, mysterious and awesome space. Enjoy yourselves, keep your brain in your head and your head firmly attached to your body, the body active and alive, and I promise you this much: I promise you this one sweet victory over our enemies, over those deskbound people with their hearts in a safe deposit box and their eyes hypnotized by desk calculators. I promise you this: you will outlive the bastards.


P.S. I don't think of people who work office jobs as enemies. I guess I do think of bondage to a desk and the associate income as onerous.

The Badlands

At first, the land seems absolutely empty: stark, wild and stern. The colors are bleached by the sun, and the light sears my eyes so that even if there were colors, I wouldn't be able to see them. The wind whips at my cheeks, drawing tears from my eyes. As I squint, I watch clouds and light dance on the horizon, threatening and caressing the earth. Dry earth waits mutely below for the kiss of rain, cracks gaping like eager mouths.

Over and over Ranier Maria Rilke's words swirl over me and soak into me:
Summer was like your house: you knew
where each thing stood.
Now you must go out into your heart
as onto a vast plain. Now
the immense loneliness begins.

The days go numb, the wind
sucks the world from your senses like withered
leaves.

Through the empty branches the sky remains.
It is what you have.

On the Road Again!

On Tuesday, Mom flew into Seattle, and we began our eastward trip after sharing sushi with my friend, Matt. Our first big stop was Devil's Tower in Wyoming. We had thought to stop at some of the Historic Sites in Montana, but every time we saw a sign we missed the exit, or the site had vanished. Undaunted, we made the turn-off for our country's first national monument. The legend is that people fleeing from a bear, stood on a rock. Because of their prayers, the rock rose over four-hundred feet, lifting them away from the claws of their predator. The bear tried and tried to reach them, but only succeeded in gouging long scars down the rock's face.
Mom and I hiked along a wind-swept ridge line and down into a stand of pine trees. At first, she innocently gathered some for souvenirs, but then, this woman who is supposed to nurture and care for me began pelting me with these prickly missiles! A brief battle ensued, but due to our poor aim and multiple layers of clothing, we both emerged unscathed, if breathless.
We hopped into faithful Outback Jack (with whom I have logged over 12,000 miles since setting out in July) and journeyed on to Mt. Rushmore. The presidents were large, but the park was closed, so we decided to seek lodging, forgoing a trip to the Crazy Horse Memorial and The Needles. It's kind of like a promise to save some things for later.

It’s been a long, stormy week. Last Friday we had a power out. We worked by candle light and headlamps. Our dinner was cooked on a camp stove—there is so much you can do with one of those little things, although baking fresh bread is not one of those things. For us, Saturday was relatively uneventful. Sunday, two other girls and I headed into Vancouver to hear J.I. Packer speak. We tried to catch the 2:30 ferry back to Bowen Island, but there were “technical difficulties.” The employee told us that we could park the car over-night and take the water taxi back to the island—we would just have to wait because moving everyone would be “kind of like Tetris.” We waited in the queue for about half an hour before we were able to squiggle the car back out and park it in the garage. We met two other L’Abri unfortunates stranded on the Vancouver side with us. We followed them to the water-taxi line and waited. . .for almost three hours in the rain. Arriving in Snug Cove, we called for a ride (car’s back in Vancouver) and drip-dried in the local market till it arrived.
Monday I headed back to pick up the car with Mark, the other driver: another day of the run-around, almost too painful to recount. Apparently, even though the signs say take exit four to go back to the ferry, you can’t actually take exit four, and all the ferry workers know this, although they continue to encourage lost souls to trust the signs to bring them safely back. In any event, we arrived safely home.
Wednesday we had another power out that lasted past supper-time. We worked on the house using just the ambient light to fill in the insulation and vapor-barriers. Power-tools were of course out of the question. Again, we had to haul water to flush toilets and kept the wood stove burning for heat. The ferries were down, and as the water was too rough for any vessel, even the water taxis were docked. I felt imprisoned by the water barrier.
Yesterday we had another brief flicker of the lights, but fortunately the electricity held. Vancouver is much worse off than we. Apparently the water is shut off city-wide as the sewer line is leeching into the main line. Power is out in patches and the public transportation is way behind. I guess it could always be worse.

New Steps!

So Yesterday we had a house tennis tournament. Surprisingly, everyone was gung-ho; only one of us had played much before. I was pumped! Then I realized I don't even know if I play left-handed or right-handed. I decided I would just play the same as my partner--who turned out to be a southpaw swinging righty. We got to the courts and strung webbing between the poles to simulate a net. Raquets were handed out, and our star tennis player gave us a quick lesson in basic rules (which we bent at times). Without further ado, we took to the courts. We probably should have stretched, but no one sustained any major injuries. Doug and I advanced to the semi-finals, which will take place at some later date. Wish me well!

The Daily Grind

After breakfast, morning work varies daily. I am developing skills at ditch-digging, sewing and fine tuning my cleaning methods. Yesterday I burrowed into the huge brush pile and built small ready-to-light fires. My new calling may be to pyrotechnic engineering. After this labor, we are rewarded with a hearty lunch. Lunch time is our intentional discussion times. Topics range from economics, to trust, to immigration, to vocation. I think this is the time that feels most like family time. Following lunch, we have "study time." I am reading The Idiot. Then the bell rings for dinner.

Handmaiden

Here at L'Abri Canada, we eat most of our meals family style--eight to ten family members around a heavy-laden table. Lunch time is especially dedicated to discussion of questions regarding life and faith. A few days ago we were talking about what the essential qualities of a Christian are, and what distinguishes a Christian from the next person. We didn't satisfactorily answer the question; however, it inadvertantly touched on another question of mine. So I believe that the work of Jesus Christ enables (maybe even effectuates) a human being to live in right relationship to God, to self, to other humans and the world. My question is something like: what the hell is right relationship with God? In a way that has not happened for a long time, I was struck by the truth that standing in right relation to God begins with submitting to God as, well, God, and not competing for that position myself. In some ways this is a no brainer if one is spending any time reading the Bible, but the full weight of that statement, especially in contrast to some of my attitudes recently, sunk deeply into my heart.

Wrestling

What do I do with seemingly oppositional longings? I long for stability and sustainability as well as adventure and variety. Maybe those don't sound like desires that would cause tension, but when I live them out, it feels like the commitment required for one contradicts the flexibility needed for the other. It's like the eternity of longing confronts the reality of finititude and the I'm still spinning from the collateral damage. Ok, so I'm using hyperbole to paint a picture. There's a gritting discomfort with this though. Then again, there are moments of such deep, exploding pleasure that fill me with hope even though they end. And so I can't make them last for ever? That would be too overwhelming. So enough brooding and back to living. Ciao!

I really am at L'Abri

I know the last two posts were about California, but they were catching up from earlier this month. Today we had a day off from our work-study (heavily laced with mucha comida) routine. The four other girls and I went into town for hot chocolate at the Artisan Square Chocolatier's. Que rico! Then Maggie, Laura and I pulled up our hoods and stepped off to the "garden." It was actually a gravel trail, lined with cedars and pines and covered with giant maple (? I don't know, but we're in Canada) leaves. The leaves were so big!! I scuffed my feet to kick them up, but the rain weighted them and they stuck in slippery clumps. When we got to the salmon ladder, there were slippery glacier-scarred rocks, and little elven pools with maple-leaf boats. Through the mist we could see Horseshoe Bay and some unknown mountain. As water dripped off my nose, Maggie sang about "Paddlin' Madeline" and Laura snapped her fingers in time.

Once Again

I got to see my friends from school in LA at the beginning of this month. Wow! There was such a sense of homecoming. In Jerrica and Tarrah's bedroom, as I laid on the floor, it was almost like being transported back to the HOG--the bunk beds were even the same. Julie's home with themes of red (my favorite!) felt like a sanctuary, and I finally got to see her classroom! The only difference as I shared a bottle of wine with John was that I wasn't breaking contract, but the kinship was unchanged. Josh's Element still had its new car smell, and planning logistics for three-person multi-pitch climbs was still as complicated as I remembered. I couldn't see everyone and kicked myself for not having forethought to get south sooner. But even so, I could hardly take in the weight of all these friendships and found it incredibly hard to fly out (well, it was 4am when I left Whittier).

Here are some pics of those people--Sorry Tarrah, I forgot to get the camera out in the middle of my excitement to see everyone.

Growing Up a Little

Before coming up to Canada, I made a quick trip down to SoCal and Yosemite. As much as I love climbing, whenever I lead trad, I "sketch out." That is, my mouth gets dry and sticky (is that possible?). My heart races. My palms sweat. My stomach tightens. My legs sometimes shake like Elvis'. It's not really fun for me, and truth be told, I'm not very good at it. However, in order for me to climb however and wherever I want, I have to do this. I close my eyes, try to breathe deeply, check over my gear one last time and move above the protection I've placed. Sometimes I slip and flail desperately for a hold. Sometimes I end up without the particular piece I want. Sometimes I make clumsy anchors. But little by little I'm getting better. While I'm not making any brilliant strides, I think that I'm learning and practicing safe, responsible climbing. After I set an anchor or rappel off, I'm usually glad I led the route. Overcoming fear, I feel like a biggie girl.