Treasure and Diversity

In Zion National Park

Sometimes you find treasure in unexpected places. It could be an item in an antique store. Perhaps it's an old letter tucked away in the pages of a book. Or maybe, when you least expect it, the end of a winding and isolated road ushers you in to splendor. Such is the road into Zion National Park, Utah. You round a bend and plunge into grandeur on a scale so huge that it shrinks you to the size of an ant.


We just completed a 5700-mile road trip and found treasure on every side. Every so often we'd stop at some amazing place: Mesa Verde, CO, with its ancient cliff dwellings, the aforementioned Zion--tunnel, river, rock formations--and Yosemite, where El Capitan and Bridal Veil Falls dominate among granite outcroppings of gargantuan proportions.

It strikes me that people are much like Zion national Park. From a distance, they may appear commonplace, their personality unknown, their character obscure. But take the time, make the journey of discovery, and before our eyes the treasure that they are comes to light. 

Missouri Summer

And the diversity! Missouri was lush and green as we drove off one early morning. Full-fledged summer was upon the land, and all the trees waved their brightest leaves over long-grass fields that dipped and rolled like an inland ocean. By nightfall, we had reached deep into the Colorado mountains. Here the air was crisp and dry, and apsen and pine hugged the slopes.





Cliff Palace-Mesa Verde, CO

The next day, we found Mesa Verde baking in the sun, cactus flowers like orange and red splashes against the red soil, cliff dwellings perching in shaded alcoves waited for the relief of sunset, as they have for more than 800 years.






Giant Coastal Redwoods, Northern CA

What a contrast to the mist-shrouded giants in the Humbolt Redwoods . Centuries of stillness seem embodied there, fern and frond and fallen trunks two and three hundred feet in length slowed the march of time as we wandered for an afternoon. Ocean waves wet and wild, Arizona desert with its arid beauty, the very grand Grand Canyon--each so different yet so completely right.


I'm pondering this same diversity in people. Each one so different, yet there is not one "right" way. Never, no matter how hard we try, could we create a redwood forest in painted desert, nor wind surf on the high mesas of the ancient cliffdwellers. But we can enjoy the unique aspects of each.


Why then, is it so difficult at times, to let people--as diverse as Missouri is from Arizona--be themselves, and enjoy how they are different? Hmmm. I want to remember this the next time I'm tempted to expect others to think and respond exactly the way I would. 
Treasure and diversity. Even, perhaps, treasure in diversity!



Diversity--Grand Canyon, AZ

On Being Powerful



We have just ended soccer season in our community. For most of us, it was comprised of weeks of watching from the sidelines in all weather, which this year was predominately rain. Or should I say mud! In sun, wind, heat, cold, kids of all ages battle it out on the soccer fields while parents, grandparents, and coaches holler from the sidelines. Most of this is positive and even enjoyable, but I've got to say--when grown men or women begin screaming at the players or the referrees, projecting intimidation and out-of-control emotion, I am both offended and amazed. Seriously? Since when does bad-mouthing your fellow human beings and brow-beating your players make you powerful or turn your team into a winning machine?

And soccer is not the only arena we see this in, though perhaps it is one of the more public. It seems that the universally accepted definition of a powerful person is that the more willing and able we are to overpower other people by our words and actions, the more powerful we are. I'm guessing the assumption is that it's sort of like a stronger nation having the ability to conquer and then control another.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! Soccer teams, nuclear weapons and bullying aside, since when did being willing and able to push others around become synonymous with power?! That is like saying, "I have the ability to control you (usually by inflicting emotional, mental, or physical pain), therefore, I am powerful." How does controlling others make me powerful? What if I don't want to overpower someone? Am I therefore rendered powerless? Can there only be one powerful person in the equation? The deeper we dig, the more problems there are with the common assumptions about power.

I came across this description:

 A powerful person is one who is able to control him or herself. No matter what the provocation. No matter what the circumstances.

I didn't come up with this defnition. In fact, I am challenged by it. I find myself far harder to control than I like to admit. Maybe I don't rant at soccer games or stomp off the field, but can I tell myself what to do and do it?  Can I tell myself to keep my mouth shut when what I really want to do is have the last word? Can I tell myself to forgive an offense and actually let it go, rather than rehearsing it multiple times in a day? Can I choose to do a kindness for someone, when what I really feel like doing is telling them off?

Although I've had decades to practice, doing something with "me" is often still a challenge. I'm thinking this is because I've focused way too often on the wrong end of matters. "What am I going to do with me" is not a question I usually ask myself. Yet I'm realizing that this is where being powerful starts. It's not about how well we can manipulate people or circumstances to make our world all peaceful or exciting or full of purpose. It's about managing our own will, thoughts, and emotions in the face of provocations, obstacles, and opposing soccer teams.

Now that's powerful!

Happy Birthday, Best Guy

I want to dedicate this blog entry to my amazingly patient and wonderful husband. I know there are a lot of nice guys in the world, but they don't bring me a cup of newly-brewed coffee and a freshly picked flower every morning.

They  may be smart, committed, and persevering, but they haven't guided our kids through the intricacies of algebra year after year, or endeavored to give them what only a father can, even if it is uncharted territory a lot of the time.

All those amazing guys out there may be brilliant at communication, but only one has spent 30 years trying to figure out how to live in harmony with me--and I've got to say--considering I don't understand myself more than half the time, that's a pretty big undertaking.

One of his more "serious" moments

He's encouraged my endeavors, been a keen and helpful editorial eye for many a writing project, and partnered with my desire to acquire horses, cows, and a house in the country, though he grew up with none of them and therefore could easily envision life without these often labor-intensive acquisitions.

There are way too many everyday kindnesses to even list the index here, sacrifices that might not appear meaningful if you didn't know the context, and I'm not sure if I could capture the sincerety, the humor, and the countless qualities that make up part of who he is. So I won't really try. I'll just say, "Happy Birthday ," and dedicate this song to the best guy in the world...

The World in His Hands

Bucky

We have a new calf around our place. He's a week old Jersey baby, bought as a replacement for seven-month-old Sooner, who is way overdue for weaning. (We milk the lazy way--let the calf do it until we actually need milk, then shut him up overnight, milk what we want that next morning, and hand his mother back to him until our milk jug runs low again).

Baby Bucky has no worries. Well, perhaps he did when the farmer separated him from his birth mama and when we loaded him up for the trip to our place. But the moment his new mama, Rosie, set eyes on him, his world became stable once more. So there he is on the spring pasture, bouncing around, stopping by the milk bar ever so often, happy as a--well, as a calf released from the stall, as the saying goes. If something scares him, he high-tails it for the security of her shadow. That's a good picture for me. Rosie is there, so he has no needs that won't be met and no fears she cannot calm, just by her presence in his world. He trusts and lives, and life is beautiful.

That provokes me in a good way. I'm not a worrier, as a general rule. In fact, sometimes I border on denial. Yes, and I'd rather do that than steep myself in the bad things that are happening or could happen, and "what if's" of the scarier sort. Mostly, I don't waste much time or angst on the state of the Union or the world in general, because I have confidence that the One who created it all is not perplexed or stressed over the situation. He has the perfect solution to what ails our planet, and He's going to turn the whole mess into a glorious triumph.

But in spite of this overall perspective, I tend to forget His amazing-ness when I think about people I love and how desperately I want them to make choices that will enrich rather than endanger their health and happiness. Concerns--worries--loom over me like a midwest thunderstorm, complete with rumblings of thunder and jolts of lightning.

But here's what I'm pondering this week: Why carry around a load of nagging what-ifs, when the One who hung the stars and can create something out of nothing is still alive? If God's not worried, I guess there's really no reason for me to be, either. Novel thought.

What if I were to be more like little Bucky out there? To come running to His calming presence with my anxious thoughts and find out His perspective.  If He's not concerned (and is God ever worried that He's not big  enough and wise enough and kind enough to handle the situation?), then I can leave my fears with Him, just as Bucky does with Rosie.

I don't think God minds being compared to Rosie. She does such a brilliant job. The biggest contrast would be between  Bucky and me--one of us carries way too much care and forgets where calmness can be found. But I'm not going to start worrying about that! The next time a thunderstorm threatens, I'll be looking for blue sky and green pastures in the shadow of the One who is sufficient for all things.

Inner Peace

Well. I see it has been almost two weeks since I last posted. A very full two weeks, I might add, stuffed with the everyday things of life and spiced with a few out-of-the-ordinary, such as a broken arm (my husband's), baby grandaughter, soccer practice (my kids'), a sick horse (Honor has a cold & a strange swelling of the face),  a story revision for Cricket magazine, the upcoming Warrensburg Children's Literature Festival (at which I will signing books, chatting with fellow authors, and talking for two days to groups of students about my book Poor Is Just a Starting Place), and the sudden springing of multitudinous weeds in my flower beds.



 I am endeavoring, in the midst of all this flood of life, to walk in peace. True, at times I feel like Master Shifu in Kung Fu Panda, where he repeats "inner peace, inner peace", yet keeps getting distracted and has to start over. But still--I'm loving my life, and though there may be struggles and distractions, they are not "bad", for not only do they help make me thankful for all the goodness around me, they also help fit me for the journey ahead.

Perhaps next week I will re-discover my blogging groove. Meanwhile, here's wishing everyone a brilliant week, full of the peace that does not come from having all things in control on the outside, but from walking with the King of Peace in the midst of all things.

Drawn by Pleasure

The weather in Missouri has been kind. No, more than kind. For February, it has been positively benevolent. And every day I tell myself that I need to get out there and work with Honor, or at least trim his hooves and Journey's. But at day's end, I find I have never quite made the trek from house to barn. Being a responsible person at heart, each time this happens, I feel just a little more pressure and a bit more worry, not to mention increased guilt over my procrastination.

As usually happens in such cases, the balance of concern finally outweighed other activities, and this week I headed out into a brilliant 60-degree February afternoon to get the chore done. Taking Journey first, who stands like a statue while I trim and rasp, I began the long-deferred job. Birds filled the air with song, the sun warmed my back, and the quiet calm with which she handed me each foot in turn soon elevated the experience into the realm of pleasure. I had been missing out on this?! Occupied with the kitchen remodel and subsequent housecleaning coupled with the tyranny of life in general, I'd lost touch with how much I love being out there with these big animals.

That's why I have horses in the first place. It's not like I need more work to do or more responsibilities. Horses bring me pleasure. They really do. But all too often something else creeps in--the "oughts and shoulds" of life, and soon, I'm avoiding, dreading, and finally doing under duress what came into being as a result of a dream. I suspect that I am not the only one who can become driven by duty rather than drawn by pleasure.

C.S. Lewis talks about this phenomenon in his book An Experiment in Criticism.Though he is referring specifically to why and how people read, I find that the principle applies to many other aspects of life. We begin something for the pleasure it gives us, and we love it. But somehow along the way, a sense of duty creeps in. We forget the joy we once felt and know only the obligation we now labor under.

Journey

This can happen in relationships, too. God, friends, family, spouse--if we allow it, familiarity and the "every-day-ness" of life can drain these vital connections to the point where they slide into obligation. What began as pure pleasure erodes into a nagging guilt, prodding us to do what once we longed after, and somewhere along the way, we become human doings instead of human beings.

So I'm pondering that this morning, (which promises to be another gorgeous day), and thinking that I will turn down the voice of duty and focus on the joys set before me--God, people, writing, horses, house, and the great outdoors. In short, the job I have given myself today is to look beyond duty and re-discover pleasure.

Dreaming and Doing

Toots Negotiates the Mess

In an earlier entry, I referenced the hopeful chaos of our kitchen remodel. Well, the kitchen is almost finished, but the chaos does not seem to be diminishing. I've almost taken to watching around the corner to see if some of the mess is erupting from the crack where the baseboards meet the floor (something I've long suspected).

I'd like to blame it on such happenings, but the real problem is that I find myself strangely loathe to face facts: #1--Rooms do not clean themselves. #2--Most kids, mine included, do not clean rooms without parental insistence. #3--Whereas the chaos may exist for a reason, it is time to reclaim not only the dining room, but all the other rooms that have suffered from neglect in the past six weeks. Much as I'd like the situation to remedy itself, if I want to live in an orderly, peaceful environment, I am going to have to make an effort.

As I begin sorting and vacuuming, I'm also revisiting what I want my everyday life to look like and what steps I need to take to help that picture happen. Truthfully, I am a bit appalled by some the discrepancies between my dreams and my realities. However, while dusting a bookshelf this morning, I came across a beautiful edition of poetry by Lord Byron.

Most of my adult life, I've aspired to read poetry. It seems like such a gracious, thoughtful thing to do. Indeed, I feel an afinity to the statement by Lady Catherine DeBourgh of Pride and Predjudice fame: "If I had ever learnt [piano (or in my case, poetry)], I should have been a great proficient."  :-) But in the same manner that my housework has never accomplished itself, poetry has not managed to impress itself upon me and transform me into said proficient while it sits unread upon my shelf.

Poetry Nook

People have said that we either happen to life, or life will happen to us. Of course, we all want to be those of the first variety, but I find that in most cases it is not so much a matter of either/or, but both: sometimes I happen, and other times it seems all I can do to keep from drowning as life happens to me.

Ah, well. Whatever may have transpired in all my yesterdays, today I happened to my life. I chose. I took steps toward what I want my life to include. I won't list all of these here, but besides connecting with daughters and reclaiming my living room, I sat in a favorite chair and pondered "A Fragment" from Lord Byron's poetry, while snow feathers sifted down from a February sky. Tomorrow I may visit Byron again, or one of his fellows. And I may play my harp, sip a fragrant cup of tea, and do a little more vacuuming.

For like it or not, while the "what" we do is important, the doing of it is the essense. Every day presents new opportunities for intentional choices. Perhaps yesterday was not so brilliant in that realm, but that's okay. We have today, and, Lord willing, a long line of tomorrows in which to happen to our lives. Strung together one after the other, these moments of intentionality begin to create a reality much more in keeping with the dreams we each carry in our hearts.