Travel | Captivated Me

April 17, 2022

Christos Anesti.

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. 🤍

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April 13, 2022

Palm trees and paper clips.

What is life teaching you lately?

This is one of several questions that I’ve been reflecting on in my inner journey, especially over the last five or six years. There have been innumerable lessons in that time, born mostly of grief and pain, but ultimately giving way to joy and healing. One lesson in particular – which actually dates back to a wisdom passed on from one of my former middle school teachers – has been on my heart in this season of tropical living on Saipan.

Ms. Byram taught my 8th grade class. She was diagnosed with cancer midway through the school session, and was sadly unable to complete the year as our teacher because of the illness and the treatment it required. During one of her final days in the classroom, she ended the lesson with a message: You guys, I am still learning a lot about life. But one thing I want to try to share with you is that life is less about what happens to you and more about how you respond to it. And I want to encourage you to respond like palm trees and paper clips as you journey through.

She went on to explain:

Palm trees grow deep roots over time. Their roots are tested and deepened with any level of breeze or gust they face. From early on in their growth, this is the case. And though it may be difficult, it is good that they are tested, because when the truly high winds inevitably come, they will not stay standing without having learned first to anchor deeply into the ground. Meanwhile, above ground, these and all trees actually learn to bend with and accommodate the wind – also in order to stay upright. Many palm trees in particular have those long, curving stumps as evidence of this accommodation. Firm in the earth, a mature palm trunk is steady and immovable when typhoons rage, shaped by the unseen forces underground and the palpable ones above.

Ms. Byram’s point, in essence, was that life sends little tests and also big ones, most of which we cannot control. And to survive, to eventually thrive, we must choose to learn from each gust, great and small. To live deeply, we anchor down into our foundation – our faith and our loved ones – as the winds blow. And at the same time, we learn and bend with the gales that come above ground as we journey through life. Both this firm foundation and this flexibility are necessary in order to grow tall and strong.

Next, she held up a paper clip, noting how its purpose is to hold paper together. She told us that we each, too, had a purpose, and that life is an exciting adventure of finding that purpose. Taking one end of the paperclip, she folded it to make an S-shape. With this, she took the concept of flexibility one step further. When an external force is applied to a paper clip, if the clip is too rigid and does not have the capacity to adapt, it will snap and no longer be of any use in its purpose. Similarly, she encouraged us to stay true to who we were made to be, while also being adaptable and open to growing and evolving with the seasons, people, perspectives, and lessons that life would bring. To stay rigid and unchanging along the way, we would be liable to snap under the changes and pressures that inevitably come.

Saipan had a strong storm last night, with loud winds, heavy rains, and power outages. As I drove about the island today, I noted the palm trees standing tall – both along the road and as I set course into the jungle – and I smiled as Ms. Byram and her encouraging presence and message came to mind.

I now issue Ms. Byram’s challenge to you, friends, even as I continue working on it myself:

Let’s be palm trees and paper clips.

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April 7, 2022

Getting to know Saipan.

This Week in Brief: The gracious and supportive pediatrics department at Commonwealth Health Center helped me get up and running in clinic these past several days and get ready for my first week on the hospital service, which is upcoming. Outside of work, my time was largely spent hiking and further exploring the natural wonder of the island. From cliffs to beaches, from caves to jungle, from slot canyons to estuaries, from mountain peaks to tide pools, Saipan holds an immense diversity of wilderness for its relatively small size (approximately 12 miles or 19 kilometers long by 5.5 miles or 9 kilometers wide). So many of the sights and sites here speak not just to the radiance but to the history and bravery of this island which, over the years, has seen everything from flooding and flattening due to typhoons and tropical storms to destruction and devastation from war and expansionism. And still, it stands strong and tall and simply beautiful. May we all learn a thing or two or twenty from the island and its people – steadfast, resilient, and defiantly joyful – no matter what trials life brings.

Come saunter through Saipan with me:

A boulder and rope course through the eastern jungle leads upward to expansive views of the rugged coast of Saipan and downward to a clear, refreshing tide pool – an area known as **Dragon Tail and the Infinity Pool**. While the west side of the island harbors a peaceful lagoon lined by an offshore coral reef, this east side showcases the mighty, powerful Pacific in all its fury and glory.

Sunday afternoon meant a sweet hike with new friends to the **Old Man by the Sea**. It is customary to greet the Old Man with a kiss when you are newly visiting the island.

**Fiesta Mall** was a chic, popular community gathering and shopping space in the 1990s. Now, it is in eerie disrepair – overgrown with mud and lime and vines – an abandoned hiking milieu with roaming, dilapidated halls; extensive wall paintings; and wide views of Saipan’s dense jungle and Pacific coastline.

**Mount Tapochau**, the highest elevation on Saipan at 474 meters, is accessible by dirt road or by foot. (I opted for the latter, and *wow* was it a glute workout! But I digress.) It was of strategic significance in World War II, giving whichever military occupied it a vantage point of the hills, troop movements, and airfield below. The entire island and its neighbor, Tinian, are visible from these heights, and placards are in place along the trail that tell the story of the infamous Battle of Saipan in 1944. The peak is of religious consequence as well, home to a beloved sculpture of Jesus installed in the 1970s and a simple wooden cross where people come to pray.

**Santa Lourdes Shrine** is composed of a short path leading to a beautiful grotto and altar that resemble the prayer grotto in Lourdes, France. This is a place of worship, contemplation, and peace.

**Jeffrey’s Beach** is a unique, fragile ecosystem with a calm estuary giving way to the raging sea. Small tide pools, star fish, and tiny invertebrates can be found here, as can old, rusted machinery from the war.

A jungle hike up to the foot of Suicide Cliff, and a stony climb along its northwestern face, leads to a narrow slot canyon and wind tunnel – called The Crack – that cuts straight through the cliff to the other side (with some shimmying along the way). Suicide Cliff is the tragic site where hundreds of Japanese troops and local civilians jumped to their deaths fearing that they would be held hostage and mistreated once the US achieved their victory during the infamous Battle of Saipan. There are thoughtful memorials along this and Bonzai Cliff commemorating the lives lost in these battles – regardless of nationality – and warning of the futility of war. I will share those photos after personally reflecting further on this history and on its reminiscence to the warfare in Ukraine.

**El Toro** is a Pacific overlook composed of jagged, sharp stone that gives way to a massive system of caves. It receives its name from one particular cave at sea level, from which the blowhole exiting upward creates the sound of a raging bull whenever the waves rush in.

Thank you **so greatly** for following along! Have a wonderful weekend, and keep adding light to the world!

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March 18, 2022

Of farewells and fáilte.

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.

Farewell, beautiful Minnesota.

Fáilte to this moment, and whatever comes next.

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January 22, 2022

Day 5: Arches National Park

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.

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January 21, 2022

Day 4: Dead Horse Point and the Colorado River

I arrive at Dead Horse Point around 7:25 AM. This morning’s sunrise is projected for 7:32, but a snowfall is also in the forecast. A thick, purple, luscious blanket of clouds covers the sky almost entirely, leaving only one thin, clear margin of heaven on the horizon where the sun is expected to announce the day.

Myself and two gentlemen – one traveling from Bozeman, the other a tour guide in Antelope Canyon – are here to capture these moments. We share photography tips and tricks and watch as the skies above and canyon below slowly, gently come to light in an array of jewel tones, as if earth and cloud are composed of ruby, sapphire, topaz and amethyst. Views of the canyons and serpiginous river inspire a combination of peace and awe. The sun smiles briefly, cheerily through the small degree of latitude between the horizon line and the cloud cover, then disappears as it continues its climb. Meanwhile, over the course of thirty minutes, grey clouds that clearly carry precipitation crawl toward our overlook. I slowly walk along the rim of the canyon taking photos, and in doing so, I encounter yesterday’s friends from Poland – Rafal and Stephania – once again. We linger a while, conversing and looking out over the vista, grateful to see each other anew. They plan to set course for Zion National Park this afternoon, and I bid them well as they go.

Next, I connect with Bridget, Tori and Loki, who have joined in the interval between my own arrival earlier this morning and the sunrise. They graciously extend a cup of fresh coffee from their Jetboil and we three continue meandering along the rim, noticing tiny, infrequent snowflakes falling. There is levity, joy, and beauty in sharing these experiences among friends. We have a blast shooting photos for each other and gazing in wonder as the snowfall intensifies over a period of around an hour. Tonight, we plan to share dinner together again, and we agree to select a location later on. They then return to Moab, while I abide a little longer.

The canyon, visible in clear detail earlier in the morning, is now shrouded in a soft, cozy fog. I see no one else around the overlook and I saunter slowly along the path with panoramic views of this landscape. I throw in a twirl through the snow every once in a while, delighted, akin to a child perusing a field of wildflowers. A cool, gentle snow, the kind that drops whimsically from heaven in the movies, is beginning to accumulate and sneak its way into my boots, gloves, and collar. I muster all the Minnesotan spirit that I can and press on, continuing to take photos for another hour. The gingerbread rocks and icing snow make for a magical, picturesque subject.

With gratitude and contentment, I return to the parking lot and brush the snow from my car’s windows. I feel tired and not up for further hiking today, but recall reading about a scenic drive just outside of town that sounds like a leisurely way to spend an afternoon. I find the highway – Highway 128 – heading north and east from Moab and feel comfortable and at home on the slushy streets. The moment I turn onto this long and winding road, I can tell it is going to be a beautiful drive.

Tall earthy cliffs line either side of the coursing Colorado River. Tucked in between the bluffs and over the water, there is a smoky, hypnotic layer of clouds that dance quickly between and across peaks. The rocky castles are reflected in the river water that darts by at their foundations. Untouched snow covers the river banks and conceals the plant life lining the highway. Patches of ice extend like puzzle pieces across shallower river shores. Who knew the American Southwest could be such a winter wonderland?

I drive for around fifteen miles, stopping every couple of minutes to snap photos of unique nooks and crannies along this byway. Ever so slowly, the snowfall ceases and the clouds tease at unraveling to allow open sky to pass through. I turn onto the La Sal Loop Road toward Castle Valley and drive with no destination in mind, stumbling on perhaps one of my favorite moments of the day.

Mine is the only car on this road. Red hills rise from the ground on either side, and the clouds held in suspension are just beginning to thin and disperse. There is a turn out along the side of the road where I pull aside and leave my car, noticing a makeshift trail that climbs one of the crimson mounds to a beautiful overlook. Patches of snow cover the ground, and my happy feet slosh step by step through it. As I reach the height of the mound, the sun declares itself with a bright, gleaming shine that illuminates blue skies and highlights the vibrant colors of the earth around me. Wispy clouds continue to flirt with some of the cliffs. Joyful tears fill my eyes, and I allow them to fall as I watch the scene unfold. So many moments on this trip (and many other trips, for that matter) have felt deeply special, leaving me in a speechless stupor. Moments such as this remind me, Tiana, look at how storms give way to beauty. Look at all that God has created and orchestrated. You can trust that He knows what He’s doing.

I descend and make my way back toward town, stopping a second time at many of the same overlooks I passed on the way in to take photos of a completely transformed riverscape. Open skies beam overhead, the waters of the Colorado glisten. Much of the snow that had previously accrued has already melted under the sun’s warmth. One area of rocky wall along the road contains petroglyphs that I stop to admire. A group of climbers is winding down after an epic day on what is called ‘Wall Street’, a nod to the scaleable, skyscraper-esque forms that enchant this highway. I take my time, unrushed, enjoying the vista through a new lens, and eventually find my way to a parking spot outside Moab Coffee Roasters, a local coffeehouse in the heart of town. Oat chai latte and chocolate truffles in hand, I walk about the town. I stop at a boutique known for showcasing local artists, called ‘Moab Made’, and lend my support. I then peruse the local bookstore, ‘Back of Beyond Books’, and make some selections before continuing my tour of the downtown area. Around 4:30 PM, I am back at the hotel and notice the sun will set soon. I get ready to go outside to the hot tub, which offers unobstructed views of the bluffs to the west. I soak, rest, refresh and watch as the day’s sunlight fades over the landscape. And for what feels like the millionth time today, I am thankful.

Later, I meet Bridget and Tori at a local Italian restaurant, Antica Forma, The Old Way. This eatery is known for its wood-fire brick oven Neapolitan pizza. I order a prosciutto pie with white sauce, and the others order incredible pastas. We delight in the good food, drink, and company, enjoy scrumptious desserts, and agree to keep in touch even after the two leave town tomorrow.

I get back to the hotel, turn on an episode on the Nature channel that teaches me about orcas (my favorite whale), and nod off, excited to find the sunrise in Arches National Park in the morning.

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January 20, 2022

Day 3: Canyonlands and Corona Arch

A calm, peaceful morning is underway. The skies above are a clear, velvety dark navy blanket bursting with starlight as I drive the short route to Canyonlands National Park. Situated around a half-hour from Moab, Canyonlands is known to offer an inverted, carved-inward landscape that juxtaposes the upward-reaching formations at Arches. My eyes squint carefully at the empty road before me to ensure that no wildlife are crossing along the way. I feel a familiar tingle of excitement for this morning’s hike.

Amos Lee sings as I pull into the trailhead parking lot, layer multiple times over for warmth, and collect my backpack. I get out of the car and adjust my headlamp, now necessary since the car lights have extinguished. Just a sliver of creamsicle coloring has started to tint the eastern horizon, and the area is dark. An easy, short jaunt leads me to the feet of Mesa Arch.

One of the most photographed icons in Canyonlands, I am surprised to be one of only four people at the landmark this morning. We all warm ourselves, exchange introductions and origins, and keep our eyes fixed on the horizon watching for first light. Tomas, one of the gentleman at the arch, shares a story from decades ago about his one and only visit to Minnesota, when he went tubing down the Apple River with his mother and brother. Soon after we start talking, the hiking duo from Minnesota that I met in Capitol Reef yesterday arrives, and we all visit further as we await the upcoming spectacle. These interactions remind me that home is something you carry in your heart, and it can include new people and new places and new moments, no matter where life takes you.

The canyon is grey with shadow several minutes longer. I cannot wait to see its depths and details revealed when sunrise comes, but I try to photograph its edges in the meantime as the sky slowly brightens. Then, one of many miracles that occurs every day in our lives, a tiny, vibrant sunburst peeks out from over the La Sal mountain range. In the minutes that follow, the arch before us exudes an ever-increasing tangerine glow. The canyon begins to fill with daylight. I gaze. And gaze. And gaze. And cannot believe the beauty before my eyes. I remain for two hours, noticing how the sun arches across the sky, admiring how the shadows dance along deep ravines in response to the sun’s gentle leading, marveling at how a scene can be at once so simple yet so intense. The first wave of explorers has gone, and a new couple has arrived. Rafal and Stephania are a loving duo from Warsaw, Poland who delight in finding adventure together and are on a tour of national parks in between work commitments. We admire the landscape together, then they leave to journey further into the park. My final friend this morning is named Phil, an aerospace engineer decades my senior, who is adventuring the park after a recent knee replacement. He works for NASA – which is the coolest – and we exchange our fascinations with astronomy. He and I exchange photos for one another, he departs, and for a moment, I stand before this luminous scene alone.

I feel breathless, humbled, grateful. A melody rises up from my heart, and I cannot help but sing and set it free. I go and sit beneath the gleaming arch and reflect on the drop-off to canyon views directly below. The layered rocks of peach and cream and seafoam green, the fringes and edges and expansive canyons that dive into the earth, the sheer, unadulterated artistry. I meditate for a moment on what a canyon can teach us about life. Can it teach us to embrace the depths, treasure the layers, brave the shadows? To watch the horizon expectantly for daylight, even when a season feels dark, and to appreciate the stars in the meantime?

Slowly, hesitantly, I leave my post and return along the looped trail toward my car. I spend the remainder of the morning driving the scenic roads of Canyonlands, stopping at any overlook or trail I can find to stand in awe of the views, and encountering Rafal, Stephania, and Phil several times along the way. To end the morning, I pass through the Visitor Center to pay my entrance fee and find gifts for family and friends. As I leave, Phil arrives and gifts me with a NASA pin, to my great surprise and giddy delight. I thank him profusely for the gesture. My heart is full.

I leave Canyonlands midday and make the drive to a trailhead along the Lower Colorado Scenic Byway just north of Moab. This quiet, tranquil road winding in tandem with the mighty Colorado River leads me to the desired parking lot. I am so eager to begin this hike that I start for a good few minutes up a strenuous staircase before realizing I left my phone on top of my car in the parking lot. I return quickly, gather my phone, and scale the staircase once again. There is a landing at the top, and I am unsure of where to go, so I veer right to follow a beautiful train track that appears to have a trail of footsteps beside it. Rocky walls line both sides of the tracks, and I take some photos as I hike on for another 15-20 minutes. I begin to question where this leads and, grateful to have my phone, notice on Google Maps that I am not at all following a hiking trail. This is unfortunate, because there are two duos of hikers behind me who have been following me all this way! I about-face and tell both groups that if they are destined for the local arches this afternoon, we are on the wrong path. We collectively laugh and joke, and begin our return to the landing from which we ought have ventured straight over the railroad rather than making a right hand turn. How wonderful it is, I observe, that when we go the wrong direction, it is never too late to turn around. How often does this happen in life, and God in all His goodness and grace allows us to course-correct and get back on track?

I hike on happily, leap-frogging with my fellow explorers as we take photos and stop to gaze at the landscape at different intervals. The dirt path contains some light obstacles and scrambles, which eventually give way to slickrock. Jade green dashes of paint mark the trail along the rock, leading to a steep upward climb along a cable system, followed by a ladder climb up to a ledge where views of two remarkable arches come into view. I continue the hike to the left along a broad slickrock bench that curves around a ravine, noticing beautiful Bowtie Arch to my left. I pause and goggle here, then continue on to one of the largest arches in Moab, Corona Arch. A hiking couple arrives around the same time, and it turns out they are from my home state! They tarry a moment, along with one family who was already exploring the arch, then as both groups leave, I have the space to myself.

An orange ribbon against a blue sky; I love this complementary color combination. Birds sing nearby, and my heart sings with them. Once again, as before, I sit and enjoy the vista quietly, drinking in the moment. Then I take a second to introspect and ask – What can I learn and glean here, from this place? I crane my neck to follow the extent of the formation and notice how open an arch is, how flexible it appears as it bends, how strong it must be to withstand the elements of wind, rain, ice, snow that assail in any given season. I love how these qualities relate to life – When struggle or hardship come, can we learn and choose to courageously keep our hearts open, stay flexible as circumstances shift, and strengthen our faith in God and our resolve to endure?

I ready myself to return along the out-and-back trail, and as I do, I notice two fellow hiker women and one dog approaching – Tori, Bridget, and Loki. Recognizing them from the railroad track mishap, we greet each other with laughter. We visit a while, sharing observations and stories and photos, and quickly learn that we all work in healthcare. We very swiftly become friends, joined by a love for hiking, faith, and our jobs! They have just arrived to town today, and we make plans to meet for dinner at a local eatery this evening. We say farewell for now, and they go onward toward the arch while I make way down the ladder, down the cables, and toward the parking lot. I drive the short road back toward Moab and decide on a detour through Arches National Park where I watch the sunset. The sky transforms from a bright blue to a soft cerulean, the orange rocks turn grey-violet, the mountains appear lavender, and I am spellbound by the beauty.

After sunset, I swing past my hotel to change, then drive the brief mile into town for dinner. Tori, Bridget and I meet at the Trailhead Public House and Eatery for burgers and drinks, wonderful gifts after a long day of exploring. We enjoy learning about Moab from our waiter, Travis, who over time has made his way here from Alabama because of the incredible outdoor experiences that this locale has to offer. The time is precious and full of laughter, as we talk together about life, love, and other mysteries. We tentatively agree to meet at nearby Dead Horse Point State Park for sunrise tomorrow, provided no one out-sleeps their alarm.

Another day in Utah has come and gone. It was full to the brim, and my heart is full in kind. I return to my hotel, soak leisurely in the hot tub, and turn in for the night.

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January 19, 2022

Day 2: From Capitol Reef to Goblin Valley.

An early alarm heralds the morning, and as I get ready for the day, I make a last-minute decision to take a road trip rather than stay local. Clouds are projected here in Moab for today, but clear skies are anticipated in Torrey, Utah, the city nearest Capitol Reef National Park. It feels like a great day to track down some of that sunshine.

I find a warm breakfast in the hotel lobby and set out due north just before sunrise. The moon is barely visible behind a veil of grey clouds which interrupt a rainbow-colored sky. Mumford & Sons and the Avett Brothers serenade as I drive along the narrow highway. A raven happily hops along the side of the road as cars pass by. Noticing a near-empty gas tank, I find a small, quiet gas station along the side of the road. By happenstance, this stop yields wide-open views of the La Sal mountains, over which the sun is just beginning to rise. I linger here for twenty minutes, well longer than the time it takes to fill the gas tank, and softly hum hymns as I watch the sun reveal its light through thick marshmallow-cream clouds. A fellow sun-admirer driving a Moab Express shuttle pulls into the parking lot and takes photos in kind. She and I knowingly wave to each other from a distance, acknowledging this special, stunning moment, and continue on with our days.

The drive continues for ten, twenty, one hundred miles, mostly along abandoned highways lined with rustic, dilapidated buildings – humble monuments of a history that renders me curious about who lived and worked here or there. I catch brief glimpses of the coy moon and the elusive sun as I go, and delight in seeing a sun halo reflecting off low, crystalline clouds in the atmosphere. My soundtrack for the day changes from indie folk to show tunes, particularly Hamilton, which infuses me with a rapping, belting, beat-boxing energy to fuel the remainder of the drive. I cross the broad Green River Overlook, traverse pastures of happy cattle against a backdrop of orange and yellow sky, and enjoy peculiar, paradoxical views of a frozen desert. I finally arrive at Capitol Reef National Park Visitor Center, obtain recommendations from the local rangers about various hikes and experiences for a five or six hour stay, and am advised to begin my adventure at Hickman Bridge.

The trailhead is a short drive from the visitor center, and I find myself one of only three cars in the parking lot. I follow the short, well-marked trail toward the star of the show, a natural phenomenon which I have only ever seen photos of. The hike is exposed, the sunlight feels warmer than the measured 45-degree day, and I have to shed layers to stay cool – a welcome change from the subzero temperatures back home this time of year. I find myself quickly approaching the bridge, encountering a kind couple from across the Pacific as I arrive. We exchange photos, comment in awe on the beauty we see before us, and part ways – them returning along the path from which we came, myself sitting on a rock to gawk and reflect further.

“Dum spiro spero”. “While I breathe, I hope”.

I encountered this latin phrase and its translation in study over the past several weeks, and my mind has often returned to it as I contemplate upcoming decisions that relate to work, faith, relationship, and life as a whole. It reminds me of a wisdom communicated by a retiring professor I learned from at university over a decade ago. In her last days teaching at the university, she told our class very simply, “There is no alternative to hope.” This season has brought multiple reasons for heartache, which has joined me on this trip. How grateful I am, that with every breath we are given, we have hope to hold onto, even when life hurts, even as we heal.

I think on this for a fair amount of time in solitude, enjoying the feeling of warm sunshine on my skin. I welcome these moments to bask, breathe, and pray. Several minutes later, as I ready myself to hike back to the car, a duo from my home state arrive. We laugh together about the difference between the terrain here in Utah compared to that of Minnesota, and we share comments of appreciation to have this wonderful space to ourselves. After visiting for a few minutes and taking photos for them, I make the return trek and set course for the next stop in today’s journey.

After a stroll along a boardwalk lined with ancient petroglyphs attributed to the incredible Fremont culture, I drive toward Capitol Gorge, which was described to me by the park’s rangers as a ‘slot canyon for cars’. The scenic drive toward the gorge was dazzling, reminiscent of the colors and sights one might see in Zion National Park. And the gorge itself? It constitutes winding walls of rock extending straight upward hundreds of feet overhead on either side, with two packed-dirt driving lanes smushed together in the wash in between. This leaves a grand, amazing, borderline terrifying impression on the nerves; the sense of feeling humble and small while at the same time feeling part and parcel of something bigger. I reflect on a quote I remember encountering years ago, just after college: “How cool is it that the same God who created mountains and oceans and galaxies looked and thought the world needed one of you too.”

I gingerly continue my drive through the gorge, careful to avoid the interspersed potholes in my compact rental car. A big horn sheep, unfortunately limping on one of its hind legs, climbs a rocky ridge near my car; it eats from the shrubs at its feet, then sits to rest and stares in my direction. I sit silently for a moment as we observe each other, then I continue slowly. Wildlife amazes my soul.

My final stop today in Capitol Reef is Panorama Point, which affords 360-degree views of the surrounding Cathedral Valley and the bright red and white stone classic to the Reef. The wind cuts, and my time here is short, but it feels like the perfect conclusion to this chapter of the trip. I reload into my car and type my next destination, Goblin Valley, into the GPS.

Goblin Valley is situated around halfway between Moab and Torrey. I enjoy the scenes as I drive – Clouds float across the sky at interval, causing the bright scarlet rocks to take on a violaceous hue. I continue to sing songs from Hamilton at the top of my lungs, dancing in my seat as I navigate the empty highways back in the direction of my home base for the week. I take the appointed left at the junction for Goblin Valley, continue to drive another 20 minutes toward the park entrance, and pull off to one side of the road as I enter the grounds. There are maybe 40 minutes that stand between this moment and sunset, and I cannot wait to explore.

The small pitstop yields innumerable paths among peculiar, bright orange totems of sandstone called ‘goblins’, named so for their ghoulish appearance. If you engage your imagination a little bit, some even appear to have faces! (As it turns out, this field of goblins is just scratching the surface of what is to come!) A man on a business trip from Texas pulls in to the same pit stop, and seemingly the only two visitors in the park, we take a few photos for each other to capture the moment. We bid one another adieu, and I drive the final stretch to the parking lot for the Valley of the Goblins. My new friend from Texas tarries a few moments, then leaves, and I have the whole space to myself.

Here, I descend a wooden staircase into the valley. Families of goblins are clustered along the valley floor, with rocky fortresses surrounding, and blue-tinted mountains in the distance to the southwest. I wander, skip, frolic among the stones, observing the golden-hour shadows and colors as the sun inches ever closer to the westward horizon. I am surrounded by a vacuum of peaceful silence. The sky emits an otherworldly, neon glow that – taken together with the martian landscape – lends itself to the feeling of being in a galaxy far, far away. I gaze, slack-jawed, until well after sunset, and have no further words to describe the scene that unfolded in a way that would do any justice. I thank God for the moment, and remain at a loss for words when I reflect on it, even to this day.

I drive the remaining miles to Moab in darkness, humbled and grateful once again. Stars punctuate the sky like diamonds as I go, and while my body is in the car driving, my mind is already relaxing in the hot tub that will soon be a reality. After I get to the hotel, change, ease into the soothing water, and breathe a lovely sigh of renewal, I meet a kind couple from Grand Junction, CO. Experts in archaeology, they share with me about various nearby sites where I can explore rock art, peruse prehistoric museums, and learn about the history of uranium mining in the area. I am realizing, there is well more to encounter here than I will have time for on this trip. Moab begins to feel much like locales such as Santa Fe and Lake Powell that I have written about elsewhere – A special place that you do not journey to just once in your life, but over and over again. We three visit for some time and go our respective ways. I float down the hallway on a cloud of gratitude for the day, readily snuggle in to the cozy king bed, and fall asleep swiftly yet again.

References:

Fremont Culture – https://www.nps.gov/care/learn/historyculture/fremont.htm

Capitol Reef National Park – https://www.nps.gov/care/index.htm

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January 18, 2022

Day 1: From Minneapolis to Moab.

A cheerful ‘ding’ awakens me from my light sleep, and I find myself at once excited and alert after a solid two-hour nap. I look to my left, past my seat mate, out the small window overlooking the mountains. An early morning flight brought me to Salt Lake City this morning, and gorgeous views are welcoming the plane as it makes its final descent. A hazy fog is nestled over the city such that only the snowy mountaintops are clearly visible. I’m grateful for the opportunity to get away, to embrace a week of retreat and renewal.

After deplaning, I find my way to the rental car agency, select a vehicle, and immediately set course south and east. I am headed to a place I do not know, somewhere I have never been before, and yet I feel as though I am exactly where I am meant to be. The drive is long, over three hours duration, but charged with sights unlike any that lie roadside back home. The time is filled with iconic tunes from the local classic rock station. In this midwinter season, the highways here weave among snow-peaked mountains and eventually bright red cliffs that are illuminated by sunlight, big sky views rising above. Creeks meander across the ground and give way to rivers, all frozen to a trickle and covered with a soft blanket of snow, the surface of which is dotted with tiny footprints belonging to local rabbits, deer, and the like. These scenes extend for dozens of miles as I pass through Provo, Price, and onward to my destination: Moab.

I have heard Moab described as an outdoor enthusiast’s mecca, a gem of a region that combines as many imaginable seasons and terrains as you can dream of. And as I approach, watching the ‘Welcome to Moab’ sign soar by my window, I feel my soul readying itself to step away for a time from life’s demands and sink into this all-natural atmosphere.

It is mid-afternoon, around 3 PM, and with the sun setting early these days, I have only one hike in mind today: Delicate Arch, a 52-foot tall formation hidden from road view, tucked deep within Arches National Park. I gain entry into the park, thanking the ranger at the entrance station after a ‘small-world’ moment discussing loved ones back home in the Midwest, and navigate toward Wolfe Ranch Trailhead. The winding roads through the park expose delicious views of the La Sal mountain range, the iconic red rock formations erupting from the earth, the high-desert flora and fauna at every turn. I stop multiple times, jaw agape, to photograph the landscape, and slowly but surely find my way to the trailhead. One of very few cars there, I park, hurriedly collect my daypack, don multiple warm layers, and make way. A small, abandoned homestead marks the trail’s beginning, and after a short stretch on loose dirt, I find myself angling upward along slickrock toward the serial markings that line the path. It feels incredible to move my body after spending hours seated on a plane and in the car. A bitter wind tickles my exposed nose, and I am grateful for the warmth of fleece and feather covering the rest of my body as I go.

Fellow hikers are sparse and far between today, lending to a feeling of serenity and solitude in what would otherwise – to my understanding – be a charged and busy trail if this was peak season. Interspersed, we climb and descend and climb and descend, making our way eventually along an icy, exposed ledge hidden by shade toward the end of the about 1.5 mile trail. I turn a corner toward the south and, suddenly in view, the masterpiece. The arch rises from its stage to the backdrop of the nearby mountains; shades of purple, blue and orange reflect into the clouds overhead from the sun’s spotlight; and an amphitheater of red rock stretches out at the arch’s feet where one might sit and marvel in awe as if delighting in a premier musical or opera.

Myself, and others around me, are giddy with delight at the view. Maybe ten hikers are there, spaced out across the grounds, staring in awe and trying to capture the arch in photograph in a way that does its beauty justice (which feels darn near impossible). I meet a family from Los Angeles, one trio and one couple from Colorado, a local couple who are taking photographs for their ‘baby due’ announcement, and we all celebrate this day and share insights and recommendations for the must-sees in and around Moab. Individually and collectively, we marvel at the work of art surrounding us, snap photos for each other to keepsake these memories, and laugh at how cold our fingers and toes feel. These special moments with strangers warm the heart and add to the beauty and joy of this experience; and I am grateful.

The sun continues to float toward the horizon, and the light cast over the arch shifts and changes in kind. The impressionist in me is tickled pink. I stay for around two hours, taking some time to meet the arch up close and crane my neck to appreciate its immensity, then switch on my headlamp and begin the return hike to my car as the skies dim. The views opposite the arch to the north are just as dazzling – Hills and valleys painted orange with sunlight, with a vibrant purple-orange sky overhead. I pray my hundredth ‘thank You’ to the heavens for this precious experience, and step lightly down the slickrock back toward the dirt trail.

Darkness falls quickly, and I set course for my hotel just a few miles from the park entrance, on the outskirts of downtown Moab. I check in, partake at the hotel’s restaurant, refresh in the hot tub situated outside under the stars, and reflect in gratitude on the beautiful flight and drive and hike all contained within the past twelve hours. I fall asleep faster than I can type a letter on this keyboard, humbled, thankful and excited to see what tomorrow will hold.

Locations:

Wolfe Ranch: https://www.nps.gov/places/arch-wolfe-ranch.htm

Delicate Arch: https://www.nps.gov/arch/planyourvisit/delicate-arch.htm

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January 2, 2022

Portals of Charleston.

The New Year was well spent with a kindred friend in Charleston, South Carolina. It being my first time to the city, I was smitten. This historic, walkable town is bursting with sweet nooks and crannies, lively music and markets and restaurants, and an air of passing through olden times. In some ways, this olden-day feel was sobering, given the dark seasons of slavery and conflict that have unfolded in these streets and cannot be denied. On the other hand, a heart of reconciliation seemed to rise up in kind.

The one thing that caught my particular attention in looking around, though?

THE DOORS.

Apparently, this is a thing that is all over social media. I had no idea, but can see why now after my own experience of encountering it in person!

I fell in love with so many aspects of the city – The trees and the warmth, the horses navigating the streets, the joining of chic modernity with preserved yesterdays, the benne wafers. But there is something special about these doors. They feel like portals into history, entrances into homes that are filled with stories of generations past and present. Almost every centuries-old, preserved residence, hotel, church or building had at its entrance a peculiar door, framed in antiquity, many also ornamented with vibrant colors and the added festivity of wreaths and boughs heralding the holidays.

All I can say is: Run, don’t walk to Charleston. Come for the education and ambiance and food (I recommend Melfi’s, High Cotton, Clerk’s Coffee, Metto Coffee, Bitty and Beau’s Coffee, and Tommy Condon), and stay for the doors. Or vice versa. 🙂