I close the taxi door, thanking my driver, and glance around Dattatraya Square. The morning sun shines over everything, painting this bustling corner of the historic district of Bhaktapur in marvelous color and light. Inhaling deeply once, then again, I start upward through a slanted cobblestone alleyway. If my map is accurate, my destination is just ahead and to the left, a mere five-minute walk.
I round three quiet corners: left, then a quick right, then left again, approaching a small family temple in a peaceful courtyard, and gazing at what I believe to be my terminus. A neat, charming guesthouse – recommended to me by a recent acquaintance and friend in Kathmandu when I mentioned a longing to experience some quiet rest in the valley before embarking on a trek in the mountains – stands four stories high in front of me.
A radiant voice calls out to me from above, ‘Namaste!’, and I look up. Overhead, standing on the balcony of the highest floor, is a kind-faced woman maybe two decades my senior in a bright yellow kurta. She instantly reminds me of sunshine. My Nepali is limited, as is her English, but through gestures and giggles, we agree to meet at the front door so she can show me to my accommodation. She inquires about my friend, sharing some fond memories of him, and escorts me up two flights of stairs interrupted by tile floor landings, ending at a cozy room on the third floor.
I learn quickly that this woman is the keeper of the house, along with her husband. Twice, with great openness and generosity, she asks me whether I have eaten breakfast and if she can serve me some food and drink. This sounds wonderful, and my hungry stomach churns at the thought of food, or perhaps coffee after the early morning. Still, not wanting to inconvenience her, I reply truthfully that I had in fact enjoyed a small breakfast at my lodging in Patan before gaining a taxi here, and I thank her but decline the offer.
I settle into my room, a serene and architecturally stunning space. Terracotta- and cream-colored walls circumnavigate dark wood floors which mimic the rustic elegance of the dark beams overhead lining the ceiling. The bed quilt is patterned in a beautiful cerulean blue. French doors along with large windows on two walls let the light pour in, filtered through wispy, angelic white curtains. A balcony outside looks over the serene courtyard I was standing in just minutes before.
After a few moments’ rest, I climb to the upper level of the home, where the kitchen and dining area are situated (this high-kitchen feature, I later learn, is the layout of a typical Newari home). My host once again asks if she can bring me some sustenance, and once again I hesitate. I stammer, ‘Would it maybe be possible to make a cup of coffee?’ to which she replies, ‘Coffee, only? What about breakfast?” I hesitate again and manage to mumble something like ‘Well, maybe, sure, if it isn’t too much trouble.’
With a genuine, playful twinkle in her eyes, a sweetness in her voice, and an auntie-like care, she pretend-socks me in the arm with all gentleness and asks quizzically, ‘Are you fighting me?’ She then smiles widely and bobbles her head side-to-side in the way I am coming to learn is so characteristic of greetings and pleasantries in Nepal.
A brief pause ensues, and suddenly we are both overcome with laughter. I give in and accept her offer, and she sets a table outside on the back balcony, overlooking the district itself, buildings extending to the foothills of the mountains to the south. A cool breeze creates music from the small, bell-shaped chimes that hang over the balcony. And a beautiful breakfast feast is laid out before me – toast with an array of cheeses and hand-made jams, a soft-boiled egg, yogurt, vegetables, cured meats, guava juice, and coffee.
And in this place so far from home, and from this woman who may never know the impact that she had on my heart that morning (despite my bumbling, tearful efforts to profusely thank her before I left the district the following day), I felt for the umpteenth time the love and presence of God that has met me in countless ways – through countless faces and moments – these past two years as I have traveled, and throughout my life. And I wonder:
How often do we approach God with a posture of timidity rather than confidence? Of not wanting to ask to much or to inconvenience Him with our thoughts? How often do we limit our prayers to only what we think He can or will do? When verses like Ephesians 3:12 and Hebrews 4:16 tell us that we can approach Him boldly; and James 1:7 and Matthew 7:11 remind us that God delights in giving good gifts. I imagine Him taking in our hesitation and timidity with a playful ‘My child, are you fighting me?’. Because, what can He not do? Nothing is too big for Him. No ask is too great. And sometimes, He has a metaphorical feast in mind when the most we have in mind is a cup of coffee that we’re reluctant to ask for because ‘maybe it’s too small or inconvenient’, or ‘maybe He won’t answer the way I want Him to’, or ‘maybe He won’t answer at all’.
May we learn to approach God as a trusting son or daughter approaches a trusted father for wisdom, guidance, blessing. Not from a heart of demanding gifts, but of asking for big shifts – toward peace, toward grace, toward hope, toward faith, toward provision, toward healing. And not just for ourselves, but for our neighbors, our loved ones, and the world.
“Okay Ti, let me get a pen and write this down. Tiana’s Christmas Adventure!” My mom, more than 6700 miles away, sought around her for something to write with, and in her usual gracious, supportive fashion sat ready with a notebook to take in the planning and processing that I was sharing.
I had just finished my final night shift on call at the hospital after what had been a particularly challenging 10 days on service over the Thanksgiving holiday. To decompress after an intense early-morning admission, I set up shop at one of my favorite island cafe spaces with a peaceful, healing view of the water. I love my job, and I love working with the incredible children and families on this enchanting island; and at the same time, any work that involves long hours, intense decision making, and difficult logistics – layered together with the impact of being miles and oceans away from loved ones – also calls for intentional moments of pause, rest, self-compassion, and recharging. Blessedly, Saipan is a beautiful place to snuggle into such moments.
Over the past week, I had made the difficult decision not to go home for the upcoming Christmas and New Year celebrations, and I was now discussing with my mom how to make life-giving use of the holiday on this side of the Pacific, which would allow for fewer time zone crossings and less jet lag. For reasons I can only attribute to a vague sense of ‘right-ness’, I had landed on the basic infrastructure of a two-week pilgrimage first through Bali, then Singapore, then somewhere else that I had not yet decided on – planning to just see where the time would lead in those final few days. Together with my mom, we agree that something about this dream makes intuitive sense, even though neither of us can rationally articulate why. I book my flights to Bali, then Singapore, then back to Saipan. The dates are set. I leave the cafe trusting that the lodging in each locale will fall into place in the coming days, and I feel a state of steady calm warm my soul as I make my way home for some deep and needed sleep.
——
That was four weeks ago, and now here I sit after my first full day in Bali. The itinerary for the next four days here is bent on rest, focus, and delight, and this first day leaves me feeling off to a blessed start.
After a hair-thin connection in Manila and a Home Alone-like dash to the gate, I boarded my flight to Bali-Denpasar International Airport late last night and arrived in Bali around 0200 this morning – tired from around 24 hours of travel, but content and at ease. The queue for immigration clearance was lengthy, taking over an hour, but I didn’t mind; I was grateful just to sit and exist, anonymous in this crowd of fellow travelers with similar glaze over their eyes from the early morning hour. I wove lazily through the line, then once it was my turn to approach was quickly cleared by an immigration officer who, when I shared about my home state, was excited to talk about the Minnesota Timberwolves. After a few moment’s connection with him, followed by a brief currency exchange, I proceeded through the duty-free area of the airport to find the man who would help me to the evening’s lodging.
Komang was a kind and jubilant man – taxi driver and tour guide by profession – who allowed me to sit in the front seat so I could admire the views along both sides of the road as we navigated the narrow, dark, relatively empty streets. Conversation was easy, and I learned the very basics of the Balinese language (greetings/welcome = om swastiastu; thank you = suksma), the proximity between Balinese culture and Hindu customs and traditions which I had formerly only associated with India, and the general geography of Bali. I plan to spend my time in Ubud, one cultural heart of this storied island, mostly surrounded with verdure and rice fields – a welcome, tranquil atmosphere.
After a measure of around 50 minutes we arrive at Kutus Kutus Mas Villa in Ubud, and with drowsy admiration and appreciation, I take in the dense palms and tropical flowers illuminated by golden lanterns in the night. I check in, practicing the limited Balinese that Komang had taught me moments earlier, and weave through an open-air courtyard with beautiful landscaping and a sparkling blue pool, eventually arriving at the ornate wood-carved doors to my home for the week – a truly stunning Balinese villa. I marvel another moment, I tuck my belongings away in the armoire, and then I tuck myself into the fresh white linens laid over a mattress that perfectly absorbs my exhausted body.
I fall asleep within minutes, and awaken spontaneously just a few hours later, mystifyingly refreshed. Birdsongs carry through the closed wooden window shutters, and as I prop those shutters open, I am met with bright, warm sunshine and a courtyard view that my eyes cannot believe. The pool’s shimmer is even more luminous in the daylight. The villas surrounding the courtyard are a soothing orange creamsicle color; my small front patio is adorned with simple, sturdy, classic wicker furniture, with a background of concrete walls and window shutter relief carvings depicting Hindu deities and bold florals. The moment contained a delicious symphony of sounds and colors and sensations that would continue to develop throughout the day.
I then began to gradually ready for my first yoga class. Ubud is a sort of worldwide hub for yoga practitioners, which I have never thought myself to be, but which felt like a healthy way to invest my time, body, heart and mind as I reflect on this year’s end and next year’s start. I opted for a private retreat, entailing a 90-minute yoga practice each morning, breakfast at the eatery adjacent to the yoga center each day, and 90 minutes of didactics or additional yogic work in the afternoon, all under the tutelage of a mentor named Dijan.
The retreat center, called ‘Samyama’ – ‘sam’ meaning ‘integration’, ‘yama’ meaning ‘discipline’ – lies five minutes walking from my villa along a quiet, brick road lined with quaint resorts, rice fields, and small family-run convenience shops. Intermittent motor scooters ease along the way, leaving the trace smell of fuel each time they pass. I feel like I am floating as I step along the side of the road, absorbing the warmth of the day into my skin, breathing in the tropical air, eyes keen to retain every detail before me – the vibrant red hibiscus, the swaying palm leaves, the tiny canine that shyly approaches and begins to trace my steps. I am nothing short of wholeheartedly grateful.
After a short jaunt along the main road, I turn left where signs indicate the retreat center will be. The path leads through a narrow alleyway decorated with birds of paradise, the entry into a spa exuding an incredible perfume (which I will later come to identify as plumeria or frangipani), and ending with a staircase which descends into the gardened courtyard of Samyama Yoga Center. The steps curving down contain stones of two different shades, neatly arranged one after the other with the words ‘love’ and ‘compassion’. The bright yellow edifice is hugged on all sides by luscious foliage that gently dances in the breeze. To the right, a stairway leads upward to Samyama Eatery, an airy, open oasis for eating, mingling, resting. And my word, the songs arising from the trees and the birds. Remember the symphony that started this morning? It is in the process of a glorious crescendo.
I am running a little later than expected, but feel unrushed, and soon learn that my mentor as well as my co-retreater are delayed a few minutes as well. One of the eatery staff members shows me the path to the yoga hall in the lower level of the building, where I wait for class to begin. I whisper my thanks, so as not to disturb the attendants of a separate silent retreat taking place in the upper recesses of the center. Dijan and my co-retreater, Aishwarya, arrive shortly after me, and we all meet with hugs and happy greetings, as if long-time friends. I immediately feel welcomed and at home.
We prepare the room with our mats, bolsters, yoga blocks, and bottles of water and proceed through a gentle but stimulating practice, with emphasis today on coordinating our breathing with our movements and attention to the energy and sensation that evolve and travel throughout our physical bodies as we clear and focus our minds. For me, this movement and breathing creates space for prayer and inner stillness. A practical introduction, if you will, to the integration and discipline of mind, body and soul that we will continue to build on in the coming days.
The work is refreshing, and as we end in a guided, relaxing shavasana (or corpse pose), we slowly walk together to the eatery for breakfast. We spend the next hour further acquainting with each other. Dijan shares about her passion for yoga and her years of training and experience in its various disciplines and practices; Aishwarya and I share a little about our stories, our often intense work environments (we work in different industries, but interestingly face some of the same threats for burnout – prolonged hours, sometimes isolating contexts, and great physical and emotional demands). I note inwardly how thankful I am to be among such kindred spirits – vibrant and light but no-nonsense hearts; full of curiosity and passion; bent on vulnerability, authenticity, and deep connection.
After breakfast, I have an hour’s rest until my first one-on-one session with Dijan. I climb the winding staircase to the upper level of the retreat building, which is divided in two between a meditation hall (currently in use for the silent retreat) and a separate laid-back, cushioned space with macrame chair swings suspended from the ceiling and bookcases filled with age-old insights. I nestle into one of the hanging chairs and rock back and forth a short while, journal a few moments, and drift into a soft sleep while the symphony around me continues in pianissimo fashion.
My early afternoon meeting with Dijan is an in-depth ‘get to know you’. She takes a detailed, compassionate history of what brings me to Bali, and allows me to share my story and my intention for being here. I am not here to be a tourist in the classic sense. I have no aspirations to see all that there is to see in Bali while I am here; I will not even try. Instead, my intent is to discover deeper layers of myself, to spend dedicated time with God in prayer, to clear and focus my mind as the new year approaches, to rest and care well for my body, and to open my heart in greater and greater measure to love and joy and possibility, to the point of overflowing. Dijan is attentive, asks thoughtful and clarifying questions, and I can see her beginning to formulate a plan around how to customize my curriculum this week. Once again, I pause for a moment of gratitude.
After our visit, I walk blissfully back to my villa and prepare for a Balinese cooking class I had registered for – the one activity besides my retreat that I signed up for in planning my stay in Ubud. Cooking classes with locals have become an important part of my international travels. I learn so much about daily life and culture and food in these contexts, ways of living that are different (but in some ways also so similar) from what I know, ways of thinking and seeing the world that I have not thought of before. I treasure these conversations, the insights they provide to fill in the gaps of my (unintentional) cultural ignorance, and the moments of connection and friendship that they create.
I am picked up from the villa via motor scooter by Kopang, who to both of our surprise, I had encountered briefly earlier in the day. Kopang happens to be the lead chef at Samyama Eatery, where I ate breakfast! And she happens to organize the cooking class I registered for through AirBnB in addition. She and I are fast friends, and as we ride through the streets of Ubud to her local shop, we discuss upcoming Balinese holiday celebrations, the yoga retreat, and life in general. I learn that in Balinese, ‘Ubud’ means ‘healing’, and I am struck by the notion, as that is just about the most perfect word to describe my journey these past five years, and my time so far in this ethereal place. We arrive at the shop she partners in with her sister Ayu, who will walk me through the class while Kopang returns to the eatery.
The storefront, ‘Tangan Lokal’, is a neat, beautiful space filled with jarred containers of flowers, greens, and other spices. I am met with a refreshing welcome drink, a blend of mint, lime, honey, water and ice. Over the course of two hours, Ayu teaches me to make four Balinese dishes – an iced hibiscus tea with lime and honey (which involves a form of magic – or really, chemistry between the lime and the tea – that causes an almost alchemic purple-to-pink color change in the beverage), an appetizer called bakwan jagung (Indonesian corn fritters) with a classic spicy sauce called sambal, an Indonesian curry for the main dish, and a green roll with a fried coconut filling for dessert, called dadar gulung. The produce we use is sensationally colorful and astoundingly fresh. The conversation is light and informative, almost familial, as if I’m among a long-lost relative. And the meal – well, let me just say that if taste could be musical, this meal would add something maestoso to the day’s orchestral performance.
After enjoying the meal, I walk the busy streets of central Ubud and do some gift shopping for family. Cars are stalled in bumper-to-bumper holiday traffic, as motor scooters whiz bravely by and pedestrians are out about their evening activities, choosing between myriad beautiful restaurants and cafés. My path lines a park space where a cohort of school-aged kids play futbol as the sun sets. A group of men are molding tall stalks of bamboo into curved hooks, called penjor, in preparation for the upcoming Galungan festival in early January. After meandering a while, I return to the shop for my scooter taxi home, where I take a brief but satisfying dip in the cool pool and get ready to meet Aishwarya for an evening adventure. We stop by Yoga Barn, one of the more well-known yoga centers in Ubud, for a brief look-around, then make our way back to central Ubud and find a local bar and restaurant called ‘Oops’ where we settle in as a gentle rain begins. A live guitarist and vocalist decorates the air with soothing music, and Aishwarya and I share more about our respective journeys over French fries and drinks. What a treasure this was! She and I are alike in so many ways, in spite of growing up on opposite sides of the planet, in different faith traditions, with a passion for different industries. I am struck by the feeling of having gained a soul sister today, and am reminded of the Maya Angelou quote: We are more alike, my friend, than we are unalike.
After finding a few additional gifts for family, we retreat back to our respective resorts. For the umpteenth time, I thank God for bringing me here, for the day, for each moment, for revealing Himself and His love through the smiles and hearts and sights and sounds that I had the humbling privilege of encountering over the past 18 hours. And now I realize, it has only been 18 hours! My gosh, if such beauty can transpire in so short a time, I am overwhelmed to think about where this “Christmas Adventure”, as my mom aptly named it, will lead from here.
What sweet joy in familiar roads That lead to paths unknown; In gathering with kindred friends To share how we have grown; In marveling at diamond waves Off water’s surface shone; In breathing in day’s end, Sun stately on its clouded throne.
What great delight awaits When shadowed forest fills with light. What intrigue is discovered Under clear and starry night. Felicity in symphony of Birds, wings taking flight. And breathlessness beholding Autumn’s start and summer’s plight.
What hope ignites when warmth of day Steeps deeply into heart. When wildflowers bloom from rain In wondrous work of art. What promise reigns in sunrise Heralding a brand new morn; When daybreak’s laughing colors Trounce the fog, The skies adorned.
What humble lessons flow In dancing with the season’s change. Like ocean’s tide or river’s bend, Our hearts do rearrange. The treasure of the present Ridding soul of fear or sorrow. The magic of today Eclipsing yesterday and morrow.
I love how the concept of home evolves and expands over time. How we can find a sense of true home - A space where we are safe and known - In so many ways As we journey through life.
How it includes meaningful places, yes, But not only your hometown, Also the distant paths where your feet have treaded, And where your heart has found rest Among new communities, Among unique colors and textures, Among customs not previously known to you, But integrated now into who you are Because of how much they have So graciously Taught you.
And does it not also include people? The family, the village that raised you and lifts you up, The kindred friends who run top-speed into authentic, Whole-hearted living with you, Accepting you as you are, And encouraging you on the journey Of becoming who you were made to be. Their faces are home; Their smiles are home; Their voices are home; Their hugs are home. Their presence is - Home.
And is home not an atmosphere, The feeling Of perching with a book On the bench By the riverside where you’ve spent hours of your life, Breeze tickling your skin and toying with your hair, As you reflect on the joys and sorrows Now woven into your story? Of driving down highways so familiar That you can discern your speed without A glance at the meter; But also of marveling at the new horizons That have so shaped your heart In so short of a time? Of the cozy warmth of a coffeehouse Just down the way from your childhood street, Just as well as that which you come upon As you wander the alleys of a far off place That you never imagined visiting before? Of the rhythm and harmony Of ocean waves as they roll along an uncharted shore; The sunrise over the stillness Of your favorite lake; Or the rustling trees that line the Mountainous ridge that Challenges your mind, Heightens your senses, Burns - With both gentleness and power - Its grand beauty into your memory.
I find myself humbled, breathless, exceedingly grateful lately, For the moments and faces and places That feel like home. And for the ways we can carry home with us - Or encounter it along the way - Wherever in the world we go.
In this sense, I almost failed my open water scuba certification. This two-day course involved a particularly unfamiliar skill that brought me so much fear, I nearly quit after day one. A lot went well that first day, but this one thing was prohibitively difficult for me – The procedure was to flood and then remove your mask while submerged, breathing only through the mouthpiece connected to your air tank, and then replacing the mask. For some reason, my instinct on flooding and removing the mask was to immediately inhale through my exposed nose – obviously the opposite of what you want to do underwater! So multiple times, I surfaced early during the lesson, sputtering and discouraged and afraid, sinuses stinging with salt water. I left that day not sure I wanted to come back.
But if there’s anything I’ve learned the last few years, it’s that the fears we don’t face become our limits. And while some limits and boundaries are healthy, others keep us from living abundantly and experiencing things that would otherwise build and grow and open new worlds to us.
So in the days following lesson one, I took my mask and snorkel to the local reefs and swam about, intentionally flooding my mask, regulating my breathing, calming my mind, and ultimately clearing the mask like I was taught. I did this over and over again, and slowly was able to swim longer and longer stretches without surfacing. By the time my second scuba diving lesson came about, I felt a lot more comfortable, and was ready to face my fear at depth.
Obyan Beach is where I practiced skills the day after my first scuba lesson. This beautiful, shallow cove – shown in the first six photos here – serves as a fusion of two significant eras in Saipan’s history, as it is home to a pre-contact latte ruins as well as an old, fortified World War II bunker.Pau Pau Beach – seen in the remaining photos above – is the park where I practiced the day before my second lesson.It is a long, peaceful white sand beach and offshore reef lined with jungle and cliffs, perfect for a serene day of snorkeling or gathering with friends.
Lo and behold, and thanks to an awesome instructor, lesson two felt like a breeze. I earned my first ever scuba certification! And we got to see a couple of graceful sea turtles and hundreds of technicolor fish in their element along the way. After months of exploring altitudes above sea level, I am excited to start endeavoring into this whole new world below!
All that to say: if you have a healthy goal on your heart, and fear is trying to paralyze and intimidate you from going after it, think about grabbing your equivalent of a mask and snorkel, starting in the shallows, and slowly – breath by breath – giving it a try. Do it afraid. And unless there’s a darn good reason to wait, do it now. You might end the day befriending turtles 🙂
I’m sitting on secluded Tank Beach, nestled under a rocky overhang that shields me from the hot sun. This bay offers wide-angle views of the flora and fauna along the northern and eastern regions of Saipan – where the more rugged and sparsely-populated terrain is found. It has been a blessed Resurrection Sunday, starting with an early morning rainfall which gave way to a glorious daybreak during the sunrise service at church. Worship was followed by a hearty brunch with new friends – who sweetly treated me like family – and by celebrating a couple as they chose to be baptized in the calm lagoon this precious Easter day.
I rest in reflection now after the exciting morning, and redirect my attention to the masterpiece unfolding before me in this moment. Crashing waves display both thunderous strength and also a smooth, swaying rhythm as they approach the shore. Massive storm clouds roll lazily north along the curving heights of Mount Tapochau. Palm fronds rustle softly, tickled by the breeze. Tiny hermit crabs cautiously approach my beach towel and explore my toes, crawling onto my feet with their softly clicking limbs, hauling homes made of shells that seem far too large for their bodies. Seabirds hop energetically along the tide pools lining the water, tweeting away as they search for lunch. I can’t help but marvel at how all of these aspects of creation seem to direct my soul’s gaze heavenward, toward the One who I believe put it all into motion. A great natural symphony is taking place, and after some time sitting in awe, I eventually join along in voice and in some simple ukulele strums with a song that lives close to my heart every Easter:
Amazing grace! How sweet the sound That saved a wretch like me! I once was lost, but now am found; Was blind, but now I see.
Through many dangers, toils, and snares, I have already come; ’Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far, And grace will lead me home.
The Lord has promised good to me, His Word my hope secures; He will my Shield and Portion be, As long as life endures.
I am so thankful today – every day, really – for who Jesus is and what He has done. He has changed my life in ways that bring more joy than I ever knew was possible, and I will never be the same since meeting Him.
Wishing all who read this a sweet, safe, peaceful, joyful, and blessed Easter. And please, friends, let’s not forget to pray for and support our brothers and sisters in hurting parts of the world today who are enduring hardships we cannot fathom, and are doing so with immeasurable strength and hope.
Missing you all deeply, and sending love and enormous hugs from Saipan. 🤍
May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face; the rains fall soft upon your fields, and until we meet again, May God hold you in the palm of His hand.
I am seated right now in a cozy corner of my favorite Hamline-Midway coffee shop. The bright spring sunshine filters in through a full wall of windows. A pair of friends are situated at the table beside me enthralled in conversation about European furniture. Ben Howard is softly serenading the shop with his thoughtful melody ‘Old Pine’. A refreshing mint chocolate chip cupcake with green and gold sprinkles (it is St. Patrick’s Day, after all) tickles my tastebuds. A bold, rich coffee brew is warm on my tongue. And soft, grateful tears are cool on my cheeks as I take a moment to pause, reflect, and process the past few days, weeks, months.
I have abided in this room countless times since I moved to the neighborhood in 2018. A brief drive or a slightly lengthier walk from my home, I often came here to think, journal, visit with friends, or read – Today, my aim is no different. But, in many ways, it feels very different. Because this time, I have no concept of when I will have the opportunity to come back.
2022 to date has been an extended farewell, the longest ‘Minnesota goodbye’ that I personally have ever said.
In three days, I will bid adieu to the house that has been my hygge-haven for four deep and sweet years. Heartbreak has roamed the halls, and so has healing. The walls have heard laughter and crying; the windows have witnessed abuse, restoration, and ultimately miraculous joy and safety and peace. Packing and moving these past several weeks has been an immense but liberating process, as I sifted through and donated or sold clothing and furniture and other items best suited for others. I reviewed collections of keepsakes, ticket stubs, greeting cards, journals, and more dating back to my elementary years, taking a hilarious trip down Memory Lane. I repackaged a few while releasing others, experiencing ever-increasing levity with each letting-go. And as I physically renovated my environment, I felt God gently probing and renovating my own heart, calling me into deeper trust in Him. I was reminded of how Jesus offers to exchange any heaviness we carry for His perfect peace; how we are charged to cast aside anything that weighs us down or would cause us to stumble so we can navigate life with light and hopeful hearts; how He delights in doing ‘a new thing’, making streams in the desert and ways in the wilderness. My heart is always encouraged, jubilant at the thought of this!
Then, in six days, I board a plane to start the next volume of this journey. My heart’s passions are people, Pediatrics, art, cultures, language, nature, wellness, joy, and prayer. My heart’s desire is to love God and others extravagantly; steward whatever time or treasure or talent I am given in this life wisely and well and for the good; and learn and grow as God’s daughter, as a woman, physician, relative, and friend along the way. In the coming season, I am grateful for the opportunity to keep practicing all of these things in Saipan, an island gem nestled in a region of Micronesia called the Northern Mariana Islands. This archipelago – composed of limestone and volcano – has a rich and complex cultural, geographic and historical landscape that I cannot wait to learn more about. But until then, I am savoring each moment here in the Midwest, among the people and places that will always come to mind when I think of home, no matter where on earth the next months and years lead.
And so, grief and gratitude and excitement all coexist in this moment, tied together by peace. Releasing what is behind, grabbing hold of what is to come. Leaving the familiar for the uncharted. Turning away from the past, but bringing the lessons with me to the present and stepping forward into something brand new – a blank canvas ready to come to life, a block of clay waiting to be molded and shaped. Not knowing (and not needing to know) what the finished product will be, but simply delighting in the process, seizing each precious moment, and living each day to the fullest.
And as this season’s farewells with family and close friends have unfolded, what a treasure and a privilege each has been. I am humbled and awestruck – How blessed I feel to journey through life with such loving, golden-hearted people. How sweet that technology can bridge the gap “until we meet again”.
And as I step forward into what is to be – Saipan and, thereafter, God only knows – my soul says an open and whole-hearted céad míle fáilte (Irish for “hundred thousand welcomes”) to any direction He would take me, any new friends and experiences and lessons that await me, any joy or trial that lies ahead.
Words are hard to find this tender week. And as I lay in bed tonight, I cannot help but think about the women, men, children, families in Ukraine at this moment as they live – maybe barely survive – another day, hunkered in bunkers in an attempt to escape lethal intent. The prayers they are praying, I wish I could partner with and echo. What they must feel, what they are facing, I cannot begin to fathom.
Home is the one place you should never have to flee from. The one place in the whole world you should be able to feel safe, at ease, at peace, sheltered from any storm. A sacred ground where family gathers, memories are made, food and music and laughter are shared, and neighbors and strangers become friends. How anyone can justify threatening and destroying these spaces – bombarding and claiming a whole country, inciting fear, displacing families, massacring communities – cannot be grasped.
Abba, Father, This week’s events, we know, You see. We beseech you, God, That Your perfect peace would bring calm to chaos, That Your might and comfort would surround the mourning, the hurting, the suffering; Counteracting how their cities are surrounded by unjust armies and tanks and explosions. We pray that fear would be abolished, That evil would be extinguished. Our hearts cry out For deliverance for the oppressed. For rest for the weary. For strength for those who rise up in the face of darkness, Fighting for light. We pray for our world’s leaders, That they would have Your wisdom to navigate wisely This brutal war.
And during these painful days, As senseless brutality invades, May we be extra intentional – Wherever on earth we are – To be the sunshine, to be the peace To our neighbors, To our loved ones, To strangers, To anyone in our path. May we be extra willful To send our support and our prayers – In whatever form possible – To those affected, Near and far. May this become, In ever-increasing measure, Our normal rhythm and practice As we journey through this world, This life.
The morning air today carries a unique chill, the kind that seeps easily through your layers and into your bones. But no matter! The skies are clear, the birds are singing, and it’s bound to be a beautiful day chasing arches.
I am almost late for sunrise at the Windows, a pair of arcs situated to the north and south of a single rock formation in Arches National Park. I arrive at the landing within the North Window and am greeted by three photographers – one couple from Colorado, and one solo photographer – all directing their lenses around the landscape. The arch opens to a ravine, with beautiful views of the mountains directly to the east, where the sky is beginning to glow. Our perch within the arch happens to be serving as a special form of wind tunnel, and we four are hunkered down, sharing rocky ledges to hide behind, and offering extra hand warmers to fit into our gloves. I look around, noticing a view of nearby Turret Arch with the pink, lustrous valley behind it and a distinct moon overhead.
Opposite our ledge, on the other side of the ravine, is a daring, narrow bench that a handful of other photographers have hiked over to. Their tripods are at the ready, and they too await the idyllic spotlight that will soon expose what night has shaded. Within minutes, the sun arrives joyfully over the mountains to join the party, illuminating everything it touches. I marvel, snap a photo, and marvel again, and repeat this cycle ad nauseum until I have had my fill of the beauty from this vantage point. I then hike along the ridge to the opposing side of the ravine, stepping gingerly along the slickrock so as not to fall. This perspective affords a layered view of Turret Arch at the center of the eye of the North Window. I love how looking at the same subjects from different perspectives can reveal new facets, corners, studies, and beauty. This applies, I think, not just to photography, but to life.
I retrace my steps back through the North Window and toward its sibling just south, then across the rockscape to Turret Arch where I encounter another kind couple from Colorado. We exchange photos, and I climb up into the arch to peruse its stone-walled contents and gain a higher view of the Windows. Altogether, stunning. I thank God for the sunrise and how it warms my frozen nose, then make the short hike to another remarkable arch, or rather two – Double Arch. Here, I encounter a group of photographers performing a workshop, and after a fun parlance around our mutual hobby, we go separate ways along the trail. The formation is immense, intricate, unlike any of the others I have seen so far. It reminds me of an optical illusion, like the Magic Eye books I relished when I was a child. I snap a couple of photos, then continue my tour of the park, aiming for Balanced Rock.
This landmark is a quick stop, but interesting in its totem-like appearance. The portion of greatest breadth sits atop a stony pedestal, looking almost as if it could fall at any moment. I learn that the ‘teetering giant’ and the base that it stands on are composed of different types of rock, the base being more susceptible to erosion than the boulder above. One day, the base will crumble and the boulder will tumble off!
After admiring the balancing act, I drive along the main park road to its furthest extent, the Devil’s Garden campground and trailhead. My afternoon consists of two separate hikes with multiple arches of all shapes and sizes distributed along each, explored over a period of five hours. Tunnel Arch, Pine Tree Arch, and the ever-delicate Landscape Arch all lie along the Devil’s Garden trail. Others do as well, but an angry Achilles tendon today prevents me from scrambling upward along the angled slickrock that would otherwise permit access to them. I resolve to return to this trail again in the future to complete this unforgettable loop. I then reroute and hike along the unpaved, primitive trail which showcases extensive views of the mountains and valleys surrounding and beyond the park limits. This path is less traveled compared to the one toward Landscape Arch. Microspikes are handy here, as slushing snow is cooling into ice while the breeze blows. I hike through a flat wash, hugged on all sides by the smooth, phalangeal towers at the heart of the Garden. I then begin scaling the rock formations with my best effort, and regrettably come to the end of my ankle’s ability to tolerate the upward climb, so I make my return to the trailhead to set out on the next adventure.
Broken Arch and Tapestry Arch are my closing aspirations for the day. On this winding trail, I am one of only four hiking groups out and about. I take my time, noticing the detail of the sagebrush and the twisted bark of peculiar trees as I go. Tapestry Arch is a trio of beautifully woven stone formations that lie in sequence. Broken Arch hides further along on the path and involves some light climbing and scrambling, and I am delighted to find myself alone when I arrive. An unobstructed view of the mountains serves as the backdrop to Broken Arch, known for the large crack at its apex.
The sun is casting a serene glow over the scene, and I take a few photos. I then meet an older couple, a man and woman in town from Boulder and Telluride, respectively, who ask to exchange photos. We do, and in the meantime, they challenge me to a timed jumping photo. These happen to be some of my favorite, and I accept the challenge. They are playful and fun, kids at heart, and I note that I hope to carry that same playfulness and glee in my own heart as I journey through life.
We share about our gratitude for the beautiful day and about our hometowns, then we continue toward opposite arms of the looping path. The sun is making its way toward the horizon, and its golden rays are highlighting the rocks, trees, and trails in dreamy ways. I feel nestled in peace, free to relish the present moment, and ready for whatever curves and bends lie ahead when I fly home tomorrow. And above all, I remain thankful for the people, places, and precious moments that made this week so sweet.
I backtrack along the park road, driving slowly, eyes roaming the landscape and drinking in my last sunset in Moab. Skyline Arch makes its way into view from the road, and I spend a moment marveling before I continue on. Mile after mile, gratitude grows to overflowing. I get back to my hotel, rest a final few moments in the hot tub, and wind down the evening with a tired body, but a full and hopeful heart.
Captivated Me 