Sandstone

I blinked the sun out of my eyes and dug my fingers in more tightly as I scrambled over the warm red rock. It was a lovely hot evening, and my friends and I were in Arches National Park, exploring and climbing everything we could reach.
I was racing a tall friend of mine to the top of one of the massive ridged monoliths deep within the park’s interior. Our goal was a small arch near the top, probably forty or fifty feet above the sandy ground and relatively easy looking, at least enough that we didn’t take too much care in scrambling towards our goal.
He had ranged to the left of me, and in his lanky tallness was succeeding better than I at finding holds, which meant that I was lagging several feet behind. I took a chance on a promising shortcut and reached high overhead, pulling myself up and reaching for another handhold.
I lost all sight of our contest when I realized that there was nothing there. No handholds, no rock solid enough to smear. A quick glance down showed me that, not only was there no sure way for me to back down, but I had edged around a slight overhang and there was nothing underneath to come between me and a very sharp and nasty fall.
I remember looking up at the arch, only a few feet and a million miles above my hands, and thinking—this is a stupid way to die. Of all the ways I would have picked—falling to my death in a national park, mere inches from safety—surely there are more intelligent ways to go.
And then the sandstone beneath my hands began to crumble, and all my sarcastic thoughts turned into sheer panic, the kind you can only feel when you are absolutely certain you are about to die. I don’t know how it was possible to cling any closer to that rock, but I did it. And my feet still kept sliding.
An important rule for free climbing in an isolated place like Arches is, never fall quietly. And, like any rational person, in the critical moment I forgot all about yelling and concentrated on my slowly slipping fingers, afraid to make a sound.
Next thing I knew, a blond curly head came into view as my friend looked down to check on my progress and gloat over his victory. I looked up at him, too afraid to even move enough to ask for help.
Luckily, the man is blessed with rapid intuition as well as strength. The next second he had one hand around my wrist and the other anchoring us both . His calm “I’ve got you” and the total confidence behind it instantly took away my fear, and a precarious moment later he had hauled me up beside him.
We shook off the adrenaline, laughed about it, and watched a sunset that was worth risking a life to see.
Life is made up of goals. Some are easy, and some are just deceptively so. And I know what it’s like to get to the point where you panic and think, I can’t do this. I’m going to fall, and it’s going to hurt. A lot. But I also know what a relief it is to realize that you aren’t going to fall after all, because something bigger than you has a hold on you and isn’t worried in the least. And it places the unattainable within reach.
Ps. 40:2 “He lifted me…he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.”

Snow Ranger

He quickly on his way doth go
His resting place no man may know
And as his breath emerges, so!
Before him wanders ice and snow
The Winter Ranger sings.
No mortal knows how old he be
But still his steps sound steadily
And through the fields of snow walks he
The wintertide he brings.

For ages his winter songs he's sung
And through the woods his words have rung
Bringing snow from where the stars are hung
And yet, his smiling eyes are young,
Their depths reflect the dark.
His hair is outflung silv'ry white
Keen eyes reflect the skies own light
Their blue still bold and quick and bright
For nothing yet escapes his sight
The Winterbringer--hark!

He pauses here to muse a space
Upon a tree of extraord'nry grace
Then leaves it rimmed in frosty lace
The Warden of the Snow.
He turns to go--but then is still
He stops in silence on a hill
And to his icy heart, a thrill
As sunrise lights his work and will
With a brilliant gleaming glow.

Just another one

Today I stared into the eyes of a tiny boy with brown skin and big brown eyes. He stared back without a blink. No smile. Just a question. And I couldn't answer it. I couldn't explain to this tiny scrap of humanity why life had hurt him so bad. Why his uncle/father/relative sold him to modern-day slavers who abused his body and stole his soul before he even knew he had one to take. And the horrific injustice of it burned from behind my eyes down to my fingertips in a wave of white-hot rage. I would have given anything to have prevented what happened to him, and I couldn't. And it broke my heart.

I don't understand the love of God. I am only now coming to grips with how he can stand to allow the pain and terror his innocents suffer. To realize his heart breaks too. That his grief is so much more vast than my own. That tiny boy, He holds close to his heart. But I do not think I will ever be able understand how he can look into the eyes of the man who raped that boy, did unspeakable things, and in His love simply see another hurting child, hiding under the bed in terror of what he has become.

To see like God. To look "evil" in the eye and see the lost child behind the warped excuse for humanity. I don't know how to do this. But I begin to understand that to see like God is another step towards being able to love like God.

I want to see like God. I know it's painful in the extreme, and honestly, I'm not sure what I would find to do with my fury.

But I want this.

Ending

I'm restless.

My feet just won't quit roaming from room to room. From the radiant heat of the fireplace, to the warm kitchen, to the cold porch overlooking the wind-whipped valley. Last sunset. Last full night's sleep in my untouched room, just the same as I left it two years ago when I went to college. Last time to watch the stars come out from the hammock under the oak.

We change in order to survive here. Every turn of the sun is made up of lasts--last goodbye, last kiss, last chance to ramble around in the dusk on the ridge we live on. Standing here watching the last rays of sunshine paint the mountains with colors they can't claim during the day, the future isn't always clear to me, and it hurts.

I'm tired of endings--so tired. But I'm slowly beginning to understand that endings just make the beginnings more precious--and there are so many beginnings that I'm finding. New friends, new experiences, new pictures to put up on my wall. Instead of hurting over the goodbyes, learning to embrace the unfamiliar.

I'm trying. And I believe in the "hope and a future" that I was promised.

And the sunset tonight is the most beautiful one I have ever seen.

Requiem for Thanks

Cousins shouting
Dog got mauled
Mom plays rock band
Gram's appalled
Turkey won't cook
Turn oven higher
Computer crashed
Stove's on fire
Aunt sings loud
Discordant chant
Dog attacks cat
Who pees on aunt
Firecrackers lit
Smell like smoke
Tell the police
Just a joke
Shopping crowds
Avoid the mall
Curry was
A sorry call
Leaving now
The house is sold
Got to pack
Goodbye gets old


...
(more coming!)

Cling Tight

She looked down at him and thought
I can feel the storm inside you
And it feels like home
So much joy and fury wrapped in one infinite
Compact point of space
Elemental power held in two small hands
That hold my heart just as tightly
I never thought
I could love somebody as fiercely as I love you.

Addicted to Fall

It's addictive, this season. Cascades of leaves in a sharp pointy rain smelling suspiciously of memories, and cold nights where the sky dips down to kiss the earth with the barest tease of ice. The heavy sun and the slice of silver moon both get into your blood, one chillingly, achingly cold and the other heating every single nerve, both singing different songs in your veins.
There are no other night like these, are there? Nights when the dying full moon casts itself on the undersides of the wispy clouds, throwing shadows through the darkness above. Nights when it is so still that the stars don’t even twinkle, but steadily exist, sharper in their shining than cold white steel. The silence so absolute that a heartbeat echoes.
These are the best of nights, yes?

Halves

You whistle when they tell you that you’re not allowed to talk
And dance from place to place because if you can run, don’t walk
Stop your tracks and speech if, say, the sunbeams catch your eye
Other just can’t credit it—and you can’t explain why
Running just to run—there’s nothing quite like it, I swear
Leaping from a cliff to feel the wind whip in your hair
Sitting wrapped in stillness to bid goodbye to a full day
Or gritting your teeth to stick it out when you want to run away
Knowing when to speak and when the time for words is past
Too stubborn to give up a friendship if you can make it last
Dancing and spinning outward if you trust the hand you hold
And playing on the playground though they say that you’re too old
Serenading the crickets and the moon with your guitar
I’ve seen the many halves of you and, I like the ones you are.