The Magic of Children

I just returned from participating in the 48th annual Warrensburg Children's Literature Festival, and I want to say that it was an honor and a pleasure to get to stand before a classroom of youngsters and  take them on a journey with me.

...Imagine you're a cowboy.

 It's December, and you and your buddy are riding on the Colorado mesa searching for stray cattle.

And then it starts to snow...







I loved watching them dive deep into the scene. Loved introducing them to one of my most favorite places on the planet, Mesa Verde National Park in Colorado, and incidentally, the setting for my latest book for middle graders, The Flight of the Cliff Bird.

Their eyes were alight with the magic of imagination, wide with wonder, and for those few brief moments, we became cliff dwellers together.




The classroom fades, and it is just us and the scent of sagebrush and the comfort of sun-warmed sandstone at our backs. The cliff dwellings begin to glow with the light of cooking fires and a cool wind sweeps up from the canyon floor.

Don't let anyone tell you that this generation of children is somehow lesser. Somehow lacking. Yes, they're dealing with elements that we of earlier generations did not--electronic games, images, accessibility beyond belief.

But consider this: they are dealing with the challenges they have been handed. Denial is not a good option. Even if they were to live the electronics-free lifestyle of earlier days, when they emerge into the real world at age 18, they would be handicapped to deal with the freedom and opportunities of a world that is constantly progressing. Better, then, to help them learn to steward those freedoms.


They are not a lesser generation. I saw in these children the same intelligent wonder, the same innate questioning, the same ability to explore the unknown and unseen as that of children from earlier decades. I'm excited for them and for the world which they will in their turn curate for a generation not yet born.

Their eyes were full of wonder and hope, and although I was taking them on a journey back in time, they left me with renewed expectation for the future.

Journey with Honor Continues

Honor has arrived in Caifornia, and our journey together has begun a new chapter. He is getting acclimated to sunshine in February and two new pasture mates. As always happens when a new horse is introduced, there is a certain amount of chasing about and establishing who's who, but on the whole, he seems to be settling in just fine.

Horses are great that way. They don't hold on to what was, moping in a corner, refusing to eat or drink or mingle because they have been transplanted. They step into the now. I like that, and I am struck with how valuable that ability is, because we get stuck so easily--stuck in the past or stuck on our past, and that past interprets our present and dictates our future.

Of course, it's not as simple as just deciding to move on. Then again, maybe it is. If we turn our eyes to what we have today, they turn away from yesterday, and really, that's pretty simple.

We may wish to change some of our choices and past experiences, but if you find out how to do that, please give me shares in your company! Or maybe our past was more pleasant than our present. But how sad if we live our days looking back to what was, rather than living the day we are in and looking forward to what is to come.

And for the wounds garnered along the way, regrets, and pains of life, the best thing to do is to take them to the Great Healer and then move on. Like Honor. He does not look to the past.  His eyes are bright and his ears are perked forward, taking in this new place he's landed in.

Hosting Royalty

This past week, I got to be part of an amazing event: More than 120 tables filled the huge civic auditorium, each holding 8 people and decorated with  unique holiday-themed settings. A chef-crafted meal, a team of servers in black and white, greeters, transportation crew, table bussers, kitchen staff, and more all collaborated for the effort, assisted by artists, singers, Christmas elves, and picture ops with Santa. Why? For the express purpose of honoring greatness.

The guests were not monarchs from other nations, nor lords and ladies with famous names. Media does not value or know these individuals. Many did not even value themselves. Somewhere along life's journey they had lost some if not all vision for pursuing dreams, and it was our job and our joy to speak to the treasure within them, to awaken them to hope again by reminding them of what they may have forgotten about who they are. We wanted to do this not through words, but by treating them with dignity, honor, and grace, and giving them a day to remember.

Some walked through the doors pushing all their worldly goods in little rolling basket-carts. Another left his dog tied to the bushes outside, guarding bike and backpack while big feathery snowflakes drifted down. But in spite of these and other such situations, many wished me "Merry Christmas" as they passed by, and their smiles were heartfelt. I was so impressed. One couple at my table cheerily announced they lived in a tent.  "What do you do when it snows like this?" I asked, to which they replied as if they had the best set-up ever: "We have a heater!"

 From the raucous little boys in the table behind mine to the baby dressed in Christmas best for her picture with Santa, it was the children that impressed me the most, though. I marveled at the way they immersed themselves in the wonder of the moment, and had not yet forgotten their greatness. One little boy stood up to show me how tall he was and let me feel his muscles. "I'm Daddy's strong boy," he said with a toothless grin. His sister confided that she is her daddy's brave girl, and undertook to teach me her family members' names. One child wanted to be a singer, another a writer, and as they confided this, the light of a thousand possible horizons shone in their eyes.

Our teams set about to give, but in the end, it was we who received, for we came away knowing we had gazed on something of wonder and magic. But after all, isn't that how it works when royalty comes to call?

Fresh Trails

Sacramento River Trail

I love new trails! The operative word here is new. The first time I see someplace, the first time I walk or ride a trail, the first time I come around a bend and the road opens up before me is akin to magic. After that, I may become fond of the place. I may revisit the trail. But I will always want to experience it just a bit differently each time.

For me, it's about fresh horizons--seeing something I have never seen before. I've often wondered what it must have been like for mountain men like Jim Bridger and Kit Carson, or even Lewis and Clark, to go where no other save First Nations had ever gone--coming over a peak to see a mountain valley spreading out below them and to know that with their own eyes, they are gazing into timelessness. Had I gone west with the wagon trains, I would have been a scout, because they went ahead, scoped out the land, and came back to give a report.

This is not to say I thrive on danger or living on the edge of safety. I don't. Nor is this urge based on competition--I don't have to be the only one who sees it. I just want to explore, to drink in all the newness on my own, not second-hand. I want to take the journey myself, in my own way, at my own pace.

As a child, I yearned to explore the unexplored--a desert island no one knew about; a mountain valley undiscovered from the dawn of time; a cave; a ghost town; an undersea world, and I lamented that even then, there were no unknown places in my country.

I lamented because I did not know that there were whole realms that no one had broken into yet. But as I have lived my life, I have come to the great and freeing truth that all that is known is but a tiny fraction of the world in which we live. There are realms of relationship with God, with people, with myself, with all of creation, that I could explore for the rest of my life and never travel the same trail twice. Wow!

So while I may have missed my chance to be a mountain woman or a wagon train scout,  I can't tell you how exciting it is to know that I need never be confined to the known. I can go as deep, as far, as high as I am able--forge through mountains, cross rivers, swim oceans--and return to tell other journeyers that just around the corner are treasures for the seeking, horizons to be gazed on, and worlds to be explored.

River Birch Bend

Setting forth

Over five years ago, my youngest daughter and I saddled up Journey and Ginger (our Welsh pony who was only 30-years-old at the time and still able to be ridden) and wove our way through field and stream, deep into the Corps land that lies behind our house in west-central Missouri. By some miracle, we actually found an enchanted place we christened "River Birch Bend". Next time, we agreed, we must pack a lunch, come sit upon the creek bank, and soak in the solitude and beauty.

But somehow we never quite did that, and then Ginny got too old to ride, (and no person with half a wit would ever venture into the Missouri woods in summer on foot unless they had a love affair with chiggers or had marinated themselves in bug spray). Therefore it was only this summer that we set out on horseback  to re-discover River Birch Bend.




Was it three fields over and then across the creek and down, or was it two fields, then forge into the woods? No, and no. But after three attempts, dense and poison ivy laced undergrowth and a few impressive wounds, we found it once again.This time, we  marked it so that whether we struck the trail head at top or bottom, we would not end up beating our way cross-country and wishing ourselves back home.



Why am I relating this? Because four weeks ago, I took my last ride on Journey for what may be a very long time. Down through the creek bottoms, dappled by dancing shadows of leaves and streaks of sunlight, this special horse and I wended our way to to River Birch Bend. It seemed fitting that I would say goodbye to Missouri this way before she went to start the next chapter in her life journey and I in mine...

Wow. I started this blog entry just as we left for our new home in northern California, whereafter, it languished unfinished while whatever brilliant or un-brilliant thing I was going to say disappeared beneath a slew of unpacking, article deadlines, and getting acquainted with a whole new chapter.

So, I think, rather than trying to figure out whatever it was I was going to say, I will just share this video of our last ride, (can't figure out why I can't change it from sideways to right-side-up, but oh well...)

and say that I'm loving this new adventure, challenges and all, while Journey has settled into her new home with the beauty and grace with which she always approaches life.






Abigail on Journey--2012

Journey Forth

I rode Honor this week. I try to ride him often, but this time we trotted down country roads and through timber and creek, and it was lovely.

After weeks of drilling him on groundwork, and riding in the corral, we had long ago graduated to riding in the "big" field to the east. But you can only go around a field so many times before new horizons beckon. Was he ready? Was I? I wasn't sure, but the field was shrinking with every ride, and so I donned my helmet and my blaze-orange jacket (in case some avid hunter might think we were edible), and Honor and I ventured forth, along with my twelve-year-old daughter on Journey.

Honor, Journey, and Abigail

It was one of those times that help you remember why you're doing what you're doing. The horses were willing, the weather was decent, and the company? Delightful. It also brought on another spate of musing, this time about how often I practice and prepare, but when it comes to actually doing the thing I'm aiming for, I procrastinate.

I doubt I am the only one.

So why would we limit ourselves like that? My theory is that, more often than not, we're afraid to fail. Therefore, we over-prepare and sometimes just never quite step forward, because we're so attached to safety.

 I know there are individuals for whom the adrenaline rush that accompanies a good scare is worth the trauma. Not me. I love feeling safe. But the question I have to face, not just in horse riding, but also concerning endeavors in my areas of passion and in relationships with people, is whether a life without risk is worth the price. Is a stale existance, defined by the effort to avoid fear, really how I want to live my life?

Further up and further in!

Fear shrinks our world. It causes us to go around and around the same territory. Yes, we may be really good at what we do in that small area. Yet if we are ever going to experience the greater horizons, the long country roads, and the effervescent joy of taking new ground, we're going to have to move out of the realm of preparation and take a step forward into uncharted and longed-for ground.

Concerning Titles

I've been pondering the title I've given this blog: Journey with Honor. The simple weight of that phrase never fails to sitr my heart with desire that I would not merely live--survive, as it were--but live with intent to honor and value those whose lives touch mine in this earthly journey. That said, I am hindered by the fact that I often do not know how to actually walk it out. I suspect it is much more simple than I make it and more profound than I know.

But the title is about more than just living intentionally. You see, we have a horse named Journey.

JOURNEY GIRL

Journey is a Morgan/Cob cross, and what can I say? She is the ideal horse is many ways. She's safe, wonderful to ride (especially in the woods), and has a classic beauty I love. Calm, alert, willing, and with her Morgan breeding, she loves to trot--once you have convinced her that you really and truly want her to move.

The rest of the time, she seems perfectly content to eat and doze her life away.

HONOR

                                                      And then we have Honor.

He's a gorgeous red dun Quarterhorse/Arab cross (a "Quarab"). If looks the horse doth make, then I probably wouldn't be writing about him in this blog. Suffice it to say, true to his Arab lineage, he is smart, quick on his feet, and ready to be the one in charge if he's not convinced someone else is.

To tell the truth, I wasn't at all sure I was up to Honor. Maybe I'd just stick with Journey.

She is safe. Known. I can arrive at my destination unscathed, unchallenged, and not having to deal with unpleasant episodes where I must insist on respect. This prospect had--and still has--appeal. In fact, I had pretty much decided to sell Honor--the onery thing--but even as I made up flyers and posted ads, I couldn't help but notice the parable playing out right in my own field.

Living? We all do that. To live in such a way as to show honor to others and ourselves--that is a whole different animal, as they say. How do I want to finish this race, this earthly journey of mine? Safe, or satisfied? Do I want to merely journey, content to avoid pain, or do I want to focus on honoring others, respecting their worth, intentionally enjoying who they are rather than trying to re-make them into someone more like me? Honor can be scary. It's not always given in return, for one thing, and there's the chance of failure. And yet--as others much wiser than I have said, better to try and to fail, than never to try at all.

LEARNING TO BE PATIENT WHILE TIED

This is what I thought about today as I worked with Honor. I can always sell him. But if I will work with him, invest some time and build a relationship with him, this horse can go places Journey will never take me. That, in a nutshell, is what my journey with Honor is all about. I expect a few scares, bumps, and hot, dusty, miserable days along the way. But the glimmers of far greater glory and far greater pleasure are calling me from the safety of the familiar and into the realm of promise.






However, I definitely plan on wearing my riding helmet!