Maybe this is my heart, and maybe it is yours
As we prepare to leave for our coastal adventure this weekend, I find myself soaking up this place as much as possible.
Driving through Yellowstone, I find myself crying. It hurts to leave it.
Somehow, though, this is right and is the next step in our journey. If all goes to plan, we’ll be back very soon.
The rightness of it makes it okay. I will miss the winter. I will miss the rivers and the trees.
But we will discover new rivers, new trees, a new winter.
I’m truly amazed at how it has all worked out. I never would have dreamed we would do something like this, but it is working perfectly for us.
As the season has rapidly changed here, I am grounded. Something about autumn brings me back.
I know it will be all right in the end.
I know who I’ve given my heart to, so there is nothing else to fear.
Goodbye, beautiful home. Thank you for making me new.
The only thing that ever has
“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.”
– Margaret Mead
We’ve done Yoga for Congo Women for years now. Every time, it is life-changing for me.
Sharing it with our little hometown was very special. There is something so special about the spirit of these small events. People come to give all of themselves. They pour their hearts out into the room and leave me in tears.
This was also the first event ever that my entire family attended. Even Charlie.
Looking up and seeing my daughters, even the tiny ones, doing the yoga and listening so carefully, was so powerful for me.
I used to worry about small events and wish they were bigger. I don’t now.
Passion and fire and change are not limited to crowds. In fact, sometimes they are greater in small concentration.
Blessed am I.
It’s for the kids
Life as a parent is about love and kindness. It’s about seeing dreams and making them reality.
From a few conversations I’ve had recently, I’ve realized that not everyone got from this post that we are actually living in a camper this summer. We are perma-camping. It is seriously the most fun we have ever had. Life’s better at camp.
In fact, it is been so much fun that it has allowed us to realize many dreams. (One has been hiking up and down and all over Yellowstone this summer. That freedom has been incredible.) We’ve actually decided to stay in our camper for a while in part because of the ability it has given us as parents to give our children dreams that they may not have been able to realize yet.
Here is the most recent:
His name is Charlie. He is as sweet as can be and the girls are in absolute heaven. I think that they asked for him at least three times a day for the last five or six years. It was time. (And people can roll their eyes at us all they like for having a puppy in an RV, but it has been incredibly easy to housebreak a puppy in such a little space! He’s happy and at home, and so are we.)
The next thing involves our plans for the winter. Since it gets far too cold here to overwinter in an RV, we are going to spend one winter along the coast before hopefully building our forever home next summer.
I can’t help but smile at the dreams it will fulfill for this girl:
This girl who has never seen the ocean, but dreams of it day and night. This girl who pretends to surf on boulders. This girl who wants nothing more than to own a surf shop when she grows up. Finally, she will have at least a little taste of some of her dreams.
It’s a little chapter of adventure in our lives, so stay posted. :)
“We can do hard things,” or Why we summit
“I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.” – Phil. 4:13
The sweetest 4-year-old in the world. Also the toughest.
Though we’ve had many smaller summits this summer, we’ve attempted three major summits and accomplished two. Our second was just yesterday.
Three miles up, three miles down. 1500 feet of elevation change each way. That is a hefty challenge for any child. Purple Mountain is lower in elevation than Mount Washburn, but just as challenging a climb. (Actually, slightly more so, as it has a slightly greater elevation change.)
The muscle kissing cracks me up, especially because it comes from my most reserved girl.
There is always a moment, maybe many, that comes along the way. A moment when it seems we cannot possibly make it and we actually pray together that we will. (This usually happens going both up and down.)
As we hike, we talk. We talk about life and its challenges, sometimes seemingly insurmountable.
We talk about working together, about positive attitudes, about safety, about relying on God, and about perseverance.
I spoke to a ranger yesterday. She remarked that she had seen us so many times in Yellowstone, she wondered how we were able to come so often when all other children were in school. I briefly explained the kind of schooling that our children are able to have. She paused for a minute, and then said, “Wow, can you imagine the kind of education that they are getting for life?”
There is no feeling in the world like finally reaching the summit of a mountain. The girls collapsed on the rock that is the summit, and rested.
We stared up at the sky. (Quite a feeling when you are literally lying on the top of a mountain peak.)
After a few minutes, the relief and the jubilation set in.
We walked to the other side and took in the view. It’s hard to describe what it is like to look down on so many places that you have been.
We can do hard things.
“What is required of us might seem overwhelming to many of us. It may look too hard to do—at least consistently. But we can do hard things. And when we do, we find that they become delightful to us, and what once was hard becomes easier in the doing. Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ want us to succeed. They will help us every inch of the way. Through the Spirit, They will lead us along. They will strengthen us. Jesus Christ will be our advocate with the Father.” – Cheryl C. Lant
After our descent. Exhausted, relieved, and thrilled, all at once.
(I have to share a few pictures taken by our four-year-old. She took the camera after I put it down and absorbed the experience in her own way. I love seeing an experience through a child’s eyes.)
Always interesting to see myself through their eyes.
I wonder what she was thinking. :)
Blurry, but perfect.
Her best friend. Her baby.
The top of a mountain beneath her feet. What an amazing four-year-old.
Perspective
The other day, the girls and I hiked up the mountain near Old Faithful to catch a glimpse of the eruption from above. As we were waiting for Old Faithful, in the distance, we saw the Castle Geyser erupt.
The Castle Geyser is, though somewhat predictable, temperamental and only erupts every 9-13 hours or so, unless it has a minor eruption at any time during the waiting period, at which point it becomes unpredictable again. Needless to say, being so finicky, people don’t flock to it like they do to the more predictable Old Faithful. Those that do are devoted, though, and are happy to wait for hours, just in case. We’ve done the same for the Great Fountain Geyser, so I can understand the pull.
From our vantage point, we could see the magnificent geyser, as well as the group of devoted faithfuls who had waited. (Look closely in the photo and you’ll see them, too.)
A few minutes later, our faithful friend erupted in all its glory.
Seeing it from above was incredible, and I was glad that we had made the climb. In the picture, you can see the crowd that had gathered there, as well.
I couldn’t help but think, as I was up there, about perspective. The crowd at Old Faithful would not have been able to see anything more than steam from the Castle Geyser, and may have been unaware of the magnificent, half-hour eruption. The crowd at Castle would have been waiting for so long that Old Faithful’s magnificent show would have held little interest for them, as well.
Little do both crowds know that the waterworks, the seismic forces, all of it, are so interconnected between the geysers of Yellowstone, and the big picture is a miracle.
How often are we so focused on one trial, one facet of our lives, one problem, one blessing? We lack the perspective to see the incredible network of things that all work together to make our lives what they are. We may be so worried about a trial that we are undergoing that we miss all of the other blessings and miracles at work in our lives.
Only with a grander view can we gain the perspective we need to see more.
Soaking up summer
There is a chill returning to the air. The grasses are changing and when the breeze blows over the mountains, I can smell autumn coming.
Soon. Very soon.
Fall is a time of change, and it will bring more changes to us again this year. (More on that later.)
But before it does, we are soaking up the last bits of summer. Summer is short here, so we have to love it while it stays.
The girls can’t get enough of swimming in lakes and rivers. Even fully clothed.
Watching them love being alive makes my heart live.
It wakes me up inside and makes me choose life and joy, everyday.
Our lives are moving forward and blending like the seasons.
Summer gives way to fall and winter.
Warmth gives way to cold.
But somehow, all is right and as it should be. It makes us what we are.
“Let children walk with nature, let them see the beautiful blendings and communions of death and life, their joyous inseparable unity, as taught in woods and meadows, plains and mountains and streams of our blessed star, and they will learn that death is stingless indeed, and as beautiful as life, and that the grave has no victory, for it never fights.”
– John Muir
Miles to go
The rain to the wind said,
You push and I’ll pelt.’
They so smote the garden bed
That the flowers actually knelt,
And lay lodged–though not dead.
I know how the flowers felt.
-Robert Frost
Each time I return to the Tetons I am overwhelmed by holiness. Even in the summer crowds, I am amazed by the personal, sacred nature of the experience.
There is an awe and a reverence there that I have never felt anywhere else.
It is also a place of deep teaching for me. I have learned things in those mountains that I know were reserved for me to feel just in that sacred place.
The Tetons hold something so dear for me that in recent months they have provided the quiet place of healing that I have so needed.
A place with enough awe and quiet that I could finally hear.
“Perhaps your own reiterated cries deafen you to the voice you hoped to hear.”
– C.S. Lewis
“You never know how much you really believe anything until its truth or falsehood becomes a matter of life and death to you. It is easy to say you believe a rope to be strong and sound as long as you are merely using it to cord a box. But suppose you had to hang by that rope over a precipice. Wouldn’t you then first discover how much you really trusted it?…Only a real risk tests the reality of a belief.”
– C.S. Lewis
Yellowstone and these woods near me are home now. They are me and I am them. Even so, I found myself the other day in the shadow of the Tetons, praying silently that I might stay, that I might keep the healing salve and comfort of their rest always.
The answer was quick. I could visit, but I could not stay. I have things to do and more to become.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
-Robert Frost
Swimming hole
This summer, the girls have discovered the joy of swimming in a more natural setting. These were taken a few days ago at the Firehole Falls swimming hole in Yellowstone.
The Firehole River is surrounded by geothermal features, including Old Faithful, which dump very hot water into it. We’ve stood behind Old Faithful many times, watching its runoff into the Firehole River. As a result of these numerous and very hot features running to meet the frigid mountain runoff, the river is a very comfortable temperature.
“The Fire hole is a companionable river. Notwithstanding its forbidding name, it… always does its best to put [a man] at his ease. Like some hospitable manorial lord, it comes straight down the highway for a league to greet the stranger and to offer him the freedom of its estate. … It may be a quiet charm that lulls to rest, or a bold current that challenges his endurance and caution.”
-Klahowya, Early Yellowstone visitor, 1910
Time to become
If there is anything that Yellowstone has taught us, it is patience. Quiet, pleasant patience.
That things take time, and sometimes the time is long and that rushing does no good.
Last week, it rained and rained. And rained. It was wonderful. I am grateful for ponchos and sweatshirts. The chilly weather gave us a deeper glimpse at the steam and water of Yellowstone. It is interesting to go there, day after day, week after week, and watch the tourists.
It is so good to see so many people coming out to find rest here. People are all so different, though. So many Americans are in such a rush. They literally run from one thing to the next, whereas most Asians saunter slowly, taking pictures of every small thing, including my kids. :)
My kids have been blessed with a life where they don’t understand rushing. They can hurry if needed, but rushing is different. They have learned that it takes time to develop thoughts and realizations. I love though, that they have time to develop them, rather than being told what to think.
Twinborn
As we return again and again to Yellowstone this summer, I am really in awe that it was just a little over a year ago that I first stepped lightly into its borders.
Even then, I wrote: “I don’t know all that our future holds, but something inside of me tells me that we are at another turning point in our lives.”
How right I was. How little I knew.
Mystic Falls, YNP, with my cell phone camera (too rainy to take my real camera). If a place looks this amazing with a cell phone picture, try to imagine how it looks in person!
Something about this place has expected more of me. I have expected more. I have known I was ready. So I asked to be more.
The answer to my prayer has humbled me to the depths of my soul. I am sorry I talk about it so much here but never actually tell it. It’s just too much, too sacred, too mine. I have never felt a greater gift, a deeper loss, a more acute suffering, a greater opportunity.
A year ago, I wrote this: “Joy and pain are twinborn. Pain gives way to joy, because so often, we have to give up something in order to receive.”
Was I writing to my future self? I don’t know if I’ve ever written anything more true. I have ached at my grief, until I have finally come to a point where I have decided to choose life. I have realized that in this suffering, my prayer was answered. My prayer was answered. Finally, I see that.
I have changed completely. My heart is new. My prayer was answered. And that is a tremendous gift.
Learning from failure
View of the Tetons from Sawtell Peak Trail.
We were all a little summit hungry after Mt. Washburn.
Wildflowers in bloom on Sawtell.
So, we attempted another summit. Longer hike, less elevation gain. It seemed like a good balance.
However, we arrived during what I can only describe as a massive swarm of bees and horseflies. Huge ones. Probably due to the abundant blooms on the mountain.
They surrounded us, and one of the girls got bitten pretty good. Everyone was doing fine until they saw the thin stream of blood flowing from the wound. Then the two oldest girls panicked.
The younger girls were able to remain calm in spite of the hoards flying around their heads, but the two oldest just couldn’t do it and they lost all sense. We tried to hike for a while, but we didn’t get more than 2/3 of a mile up the mountain before it just wasn’t possible to continue. We turned back.
When we were back in the safety of home, we talked for a long time about faith and fear, about keeping our heads and trusting mom. We learned a lot about horseflies and their bites, too. :)
In the past month, the girls seem to be getting repeated chances to learn about keeping their heads in a dangerous situation. Descending a mountain at sunset. Attempting a hike amid swarms of dangerous insects. Descending another mountain during a sudden and unexpected hail storm.
After the most recent experience (hail storm), my third daughter, who had been the most shaken, asked me why things like that kept happening. Why God would allow us to be caught in a dangerous storm that could have hurt us. I believe He is offering my daughters opportunities to learn something important, because though the challenge has been different each time, the lesson has been the same. I could be frightened that my girls would have a real need in the future to keep their heads and not panic, to listen and be calm, or I could be grateful that they are being given chances to practice and learn.
No experience is wasted. The summit isn’t always the most important outcome. The failure can be just as crucial.
The language of water
Gibbon Falls
“As long as I live, I’ll hear waterfalls and birds and winds sing. I’ll interpret the rocks, learn the language of flood, storm, and the avalanche. I’ll acquaint myself with the glaciers and wild gardens, and get as near the heart of the world as I can.”
-John Muir
Terrace Spring
White Dome Geyser
Great Fountain Geyser
(No picture could do it justice.)
Bathing in the mist of the geyser.
Box Canyon Fall
Life cycles
Last week we had a nice little hike up to Harlequin Lake. Very short and easy…just what we needed after our summit last week.
(How is it possible to get a picture where 5 out of 6 have their eyes closed?? And that it is the best picture I got?) :)
At the beginning of summer, we hiked up to Lost Lake to catch a glimpse of the beautiful lily pads during their first week in bloom.
During this hike, we got to see the lily pads during their last days in bloom.
Most were already gone, but a few strong flowers remained.
Life all around us hummed on in its constant progression.
I think it’s wonderful to live here, where we can see the days and the seasons change moment by moment around us. It gives us perspective and hope for renewal.
(Me lately. Rarely do I wear makeup anymore. When I’m in the mountains, I’m home and more comfortable in my own skin. It’s a good feeling.)
All around us were the new young trees springing forth from the ashes of the Yellowstone fires years ago. Here and there, tall, stark pines remain to tell us the story: there can be no rebirth without burning and destruction of what once was.
Oxygen choices
On Monday, the girls had their first real “summit.”
Mt. Washburn, YNP. 10,243 feet. Three miles up, three miles down. 1400 foot elevation change over three miles. Not a 14er or a Half Dome, but still pretty challenging for six young kids.
Even our 2-year-old made it over a mile up the steep climb before I started to pack her on my back.
This sweet little 4-year-old had to have been one of the younger hikers ever to summit completely unassisted. (So proud of her!)
The experience was completely spiritual for all of us.
When we were 2/3 of the way up, it started to really tax us. It was a constant steep incline, and we were weary from the climb and wet from rain. Little spats of bickering started to break out here and there, and the girls started to talk about how hard the hike was. Our breathing was labored and we were becoming exhausted.
Then, my 8-year-old near-quoted a line from one of our favorite movies: “Guys, we can’t do this right now. We’ve got to make oxygen choices.”
We all laughed. She was right. We may not have been hiking the Himalayas, but we did have oxygen choices to make. We needed every spare breath we had, and we couldn’t waste them on petty things. We couldn’t haul around rocks and we couldn’t argue. It quickly became apparent to their little minds and bodies that the only way we were making it to the peak was working hard and working together.
The higher we climbed, the more we could see. The beauty was overwhelming, almost impossible to take in. Mountains all around, and we were higher than any of them.
The summit loomed ahead of us, always just out of our reach. There were times when each of us felt like we would never make it. The child on my back had never been heavier.
Somehow, though, we each wanted it. We needed it. We kept going.
The summit, when we finally made it, was victorious. My girls threw their bags on the ground and danced.
They each added their name carefully and with pride to the register of those who made it.
We stayed at the peak for an hour at least. It was too sweet to leave it in a hurry. From where we stood, we could see Yellowstone Lake. We could see the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone. We could see everything.
It was incredible to look down from so high on all of those places, those dozens and hundreds of places where I have lost and found myself in Yellowstone. Down in the trees and canyons, by lakes and rivers. I could see myself and all of the places I’ve been and all the prayers and sorrows and joys and thoughts.
Perspective is an amazing thing.
I had no idea how much I needed a summit, a place to work so very hard to get to, a place to want to be badly enough to make it through hurt and tiredness, a place to gain such immense perspective.
I did need it, though.
Going down was hard. We were tired and the trail was steep. Rocks constantly slipped beneath our sore feet. But our new-found perspective was with us as we went down, and I hope we’ll carry it with us wherever we go.
The sun set right before we made the trailhead. Perfect, perfect day.
The camera fairy
Well, I didn’t lose a tooth, but I did lose a camera. The camera fairy brought me a new one!
I am starting to think that the camera fairy may be my husband…bless him. :)
Just in time to catch this beautiful place in summer bloom.
Time without a camera was good for me. Sad, because we visited so many wild and beautiful places. But it made me live in the moment so much better. I think I’ll be more aware of that now.
Blessed am I, and I know it.
Home
It’s happened twice now. Today, when it happened again, I knew what it was. Putting it into words is difficult.
I walked lightly through the woods, and my feet were welcomed. I felt like the ground and the trees and the water were glad. They know me now…I’m a visitor no more. I’ve given them my heart and I’m home.
Stand tall and stand together
A few weeks ago, we hiked up into a wild and lonely part of Yellowstone. It was a day that is the absolute definition of perfection. It rained and rained, giant sheets of rain, washing us free.
We scrambled in the rain up a steep hillside to catch a glimpse of a beautiful waterfall. We carefully helped each other down and played in the rushing stream.
Then we changed course and hiked the steep switchbacks up to a lost little lake, in a valley just wide enough to hold the lake. It was ringed with lily pads which had just bloomed that week. They were a rare treat to see, and worth the effort.
(dang cell phone pics that couldn’t capture the amazing flowers!!)
Taking in our victory was short-lived, however. All around the ground, everywhere by the water, was grizzly scat. Everywhere. I was prepared with bear spray, but no one wise wants to invite an encounter. I wasn’t surprised. Grizzlies are often in these areas right now, emerging with cubs and enjoying the abundance of food.
So, we very briefly took in the wonder of the place, but knew that it didn’t belong to us right then. As we prepared to retreat, there were some nerves from my girls. We are surrounded by higher hills and some steep slopes, all densely wooded. A bear could easily descend on us without much warning, and as the lake took up the whole valley, there were very little options about where to go.
We sang loudly as we calmly walked back out. But most of all, I told my girls to “stand tall and stand together.” The bigger (and calmer) we looked, the less likely we were to invite an encounter. We retreated calmly back out of the valley and had no trouble. We enjoyed a rainy hike back down the mountain, and two little fawns walked down with us. I think they liked the girls’ singing, which had become soft and sweet by that time.
“Stand tall and stand together…” It was just a phrase that came out of my mouth at the time, but all the way down the mountain, I thought of it over and over. If my girls can do that, I think that they will be able to have the strength to face whatever comes for them.
You’ll make it.
We’ve had the most incredible, incredible June. So many hikes, so many wild places. Sadly, all with nothing better than a cell-phone camera. That’s not been such a bad thing…but more on that another time.
We hike because we find ourselves. We learn what we are capable of. We discover secrets we were seeking.
A few weeks ago, Matt had to go to Jackson for work, so we jumped at the chance to go along and be in the Tetons again. The girls and I hiked around Jenny lake again, one of the most beautiful places in the world. It was a very hot day and we ran out of water, something that has never happened to us before. Our mid-way goal was to hike up to Hidden Falls.
It was long and hard and hot for the girls. But when we finally made it up to the falls, and the wind picked up and the mist from the falls fell over us, I had this rush of gratitude…just complete thrill that we had made it. And in my mind, I heard the words, “You’re going to make it, too, Ann.”
Sometimes, lately, I’ve struggled to feel that I will ever come back out of where I have been. I think I will now, but I will be different. Stronger, better, different.
12 Years
Last weekend was our anniversary. Twelve years together.
Matt has always been a remarkable husband: kind, gentle, patient, peaceful. I’ve never known anyone who makes me so whole.
This past year of our marriage has shown me a new depth to him. He has always lived for my happiness, but this year, he has given everything for it.
The crowning event of the weekend was that we watched Old Faithful erupt just before midnight early on our anniversary.
As a family, we laid on the boardwalk under the stars, almost completely alone. We watched the stars come out one by one. We named them and we told old legends and stories. We named the constellations and huddled together as the night became more chill.
As our guesstimated time drew nearer, we waited breathlessly for the eruption. It took longer than we thought, and there were times when it seemed like it would never happen. Dark clouds moved in and blotted out some of the stars. But we knew that if we waited, we would see the sight of our lives.
Loving someone is like that sometimes. Sometimes it takes time and breathless waiting to see the one you Love emerge into the glorious person that you know they are. Matt has done that for me this year. He has waited, quietly, patiently, knowing I needed him, knowing that I was coming. He has had faith that I would come back down from the mountain, purer than before.
When it finally happened… there are no words. No picture could ever do it justice. It was truly one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. The tower of water and steam pushed through the darkness, seemingly cutting through the clouds and revealing the stars once more. It was glorious, lit up by the stars. I am still in awe of the memory, days later.
I hope that this year, I can be the spouse he has been. I hope I can be a patient listener, a quiet waiter. I hope I can be a seer of good things to come and a giver of dreams.
Rain on the roof
It’s quiet in the camper right now. Rain is falling on the roof and all around us. I’ve listened to its quiet (and sometimes not so quiet) sound all day. The kids are breathing softly in their bunks.
Life has consisted of lots of marshmallows, campfire songs, and fresh air.
My children and my husband have been infinitely patient with me and my journey lately. Somehow, the Lord brought me to this place to rebuild me from the inside out and to truly, truly test me.
How merciful to be tested in a place where He is so easy to be found.
Pools of light and color
We live in such a magical world, where the pools grow from deep within the earth and go so deep you cannot see the bottom. Where color lights even the steam that rises from the very hot water.
We hike day after day through these mountains, discovering new wonders and new miracles. Sometimes the thunder rumbles around us (don’t worry, mom…the lightning is far, far away). ;)
Blessed am I.
Broken camera
Well, my friends, my camera is broken. And I dropped my nice phone in the toilet.
However, though we’ll have to content ourselves with pictures from a lousy cell phone for a little while, I have to say…we are having the happiest of summers. Life’s better at camp.
The girls and I had a grueling little climb up a very steep mountainside to catch a glimpse of the Grand Prismatic Spring from above. Amazing what a little perspective does, even if it’s sometimes difficult to obtain.
I still can’t get over the sudden burst of life here after such a long, long winter.
