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!
It is a peaceful, easy, gorgeous morning. I inch leisurely out of bed to get dressed and make my way downstairs for breakfast, where I have a front seat to the sunrise outside the hotel eatery’s window. As the rocks catch fire with sunlight, I read my new novel and enjoy my last meal in this town that has so captivated my nature-loving heart. After a couple of compelling chapters, I open my journal and begin to write. It has been a full, blessed, unbelievable week, and I feel ready for the journey back to the Midwest.
I load the car, pass through the Arches National Park Visitor Center for gifts for my nieces and nephews, and begin the three hour drive back to Salt Lake City. A private singalong concert with the Beatles, Tom Petty, Don McLean and friends ensues as I span the miles. A bag of sour gummy worms – one of my favorite road trip guilty pleasures – sits opened in one of my cupholders. A crisp, ethereal sky serves as the backdrop to the stunning mountain-scape that paves the way to the airport. Big breath in. Big breath out. Thank you, God, for sharing this incredible artistrywith me today.
I return my rental car, pass through security, and sit down to a Mediterranean-style meal. I visit with a Delta agent and a trio of paramedics at the restaurant and then retreat to my gate with the latest copy of Magnolia Journal and a spiced oat chai latte. The magazine contains a sweet and inspiring segment on delight that I relish. Boarding the plane, tea in tow, I allow these insights to steep into my soul:
“Cherish your delight. Not because it is fleeting or hard to come by, but for the same reason you protect a child’s imagination from the realities of the world: because it is good and pure.
Fight with it. Use your delight to conquer what ails you. Go into battle against your fears and shames, holding high the banner of delight, declaring where your allegiance lies, declaring where you choose to give your attention.
And give it away. Gift your delight. Take joy and peace and levity with you into moments and situations and conversations where they are needed most, and may you freely offer your delight whenever and wherever you can.
And in these moments in which delight reigns, it is not because there is no longer any sadness.
Delight reigns when you simply see it, when you make note of it, when you mention it.
Delight reigns when you lean into it despite the realities of the world around you.
Because delight is a reality. It is here. And it is yours in whatever way, shape, or form you find it. Whatever you do with it next can be yours as well.“
Whatever you do with it next can be yours as well…
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.
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.
Today In Brief: A short gallery from a recent staycation in Stillwater, MN. Reflecting on the charm of this town, dreaming with hope and excitement for all that is ahead in this new year, and embracing the two words on my heart for 2021: wonder and simplicity.
“We are alive, our skin is leaving these bones. Fire in the wind, we’re burning out of control. We are the children chasing wondrous thrills; chasing a vision, baby, like we’re running downhill.” – Needtobreathe
A familiar tone begins to sing me into consciousness, coaxing me awake after a four-hour nap. I look at my phone. 4:30 AM.
I had landed in Phoenix just six hours prior, with a skeleton of a plan for the week and a “what the heck am I doing here?“. I was able to quickly collect my baggage, find my way to the car rental shuttle bus, weave through the short car rental line, and hone in on a cute black 2019 Mitsubishi Eclipse. I then set course toward the budget-friendly Airbnb that I’d reserved a week earlier when I first decided to take this trip. After finding the guest house – (thank you, map apps) – I fell asleep faster than a lightning strike. And now it is time to wake up if I would like to get where I am going in good time. Breakfast is quick – a bagel slathered with honey cinnamon cream cheese and a clementine. I heat up some water in the microwave and add a packet of instant coffee that I brought from home, then load up the car.
I know what I’m going to. As in, I know the name of the landmark. But I don’t actually know where I am going. I have never been to Arizona before; I’ve only ever dreamed of it and heard rave reviews. So when I had margin to plan a weeklong healing retreat, ahead of a knee surgery that I was to undergo two weeks later, the Southwest was an exciting choice.
I plug in my destination – Cathedral Rock – and follow the route like a recipe. The air is warm, much warmer than the Minnesota breeze I left behind to come here, and the drive is smooth; highways, mostly. I drive for two hours, and as I take a couple of turns from the highway, the dark sky slowly starts to lighten, casting a pastel glow over a collection of towering structures not able to be seen before. I am arriving in Sedona.
I continue driving, and the structures only grow taller, the sky only grows more golden. Day breaks, and the sights are breathtaking. I clutch one hand to my heart and breathe: Is this even real?
A few more turns and some long scenic roads, and I am at the trailhead. The main parking lot is already full, but there is one spot remaining in the alternative lot just down the road. For how many cars are here, I see so few people; perhaps one of the underrated benefits of having such ample recreation space to spread out safely (especially with the pandemic) and drink in nature.
I fumble awkwardly and enthusiastically out of the car, eyes fixed on the scene and the trail before me, and lace up my hiking boots. It looks graded, then steep. Above all, it looks beyond beautiful. I have never seen anything like this before. I start climbing.
Stories of both heartbreak and resilience are rampant these days. It has been a long year for everyone. If I am honest, it has felt like a long three or more years. (I am sure I am not the only one who feels this way.) Beautiful in many ways – marrying who I thought I would spend my life with, beginning work in the field I have longed to practice in since I was a little girl, and beginning a healing journey that I never knew I needed. But long and hard and painful in other ways – finally confronting unresolved trauma from the past that I did not realize I had been carrying, unwittingly entering a story of domestic trauma which also needed healing, and acknowledging an emerging global pandemic and deep community grief.
Step. Step. Step. What the heck am I doing here? I look up, again in awe, awakened from my thoughts and centered on the moment. I encounter a twosome of friends who had road-tripped from Orange County, California. Together, we approach the segment of trail that increases from an approximate 20-degree steep to about 70 degrees. We laugh at how uneasy it feels to scramble upward over these rocks, however short the steep section is, but we make it and celebrate the triumph. Little victories are always worth celebrating.
We part ways along the trail and I keep climbing. It looks like around half of the hike upward remains. I pause on an overlook and turn around, to get a sense of how much trail lies behind me. I breathe deeply. The sun rises warmly over Sedona, lighting up its towers in a bright orange-gold. The blue sky contrasts in stunning fashion with the rocky columns. Greens look greener. Cactus spikes are well-defined. Cacti! We certainly don’t have these in Minnesota! I see my car in the trailhead lot, a speck. I feel content, at peace, alive.
The climb again steepens, the boulders and trees are leverage to stabilize my footwork. I am grateful they are there. A support system is a blessed gift. Huffing and puffing, I continue to scale, eyes on the ground in front of me so as not to misstep, and suddenly, the land beneath me evens out and I look up. My jaw drops, and I can barely breathe.
Eastward views from Cathedral Rock.
Before and behind me, extending seemingly beyond the horizon, a ground of dark green foliage blended with sands and structures of bright, rusted orange goes on for miles to meet a cerulean sky. On my left and on my right rise the rocky castles that seemed so far away when I observed them from the trailhead. A wedding ceremony with bride, groom, and four witnesses is unfolding to my left. Marriage is so beautiful. Unity. Tender promises.Two wildly unique hearts determined to join and adventure through life together – highs and lows, fun and tears.Learning to make harmony out of your differences. Learning forgiveness and intimacy and grace.
I am reminded that love is a freeing partnership between two beautifully different people. That forgiveness is necessary and exceedingly liberating, even in the absence of an apology. These principles used to come with tears of grief daily, but not anymore as healing has come. Now, I cherish them as simple truths and important lessons. Nuances of love to carry forward.
I stand in awe. Heart overflowing for this newlywed couple and the exciting journey ahead for them; heart beating wildly at the thought of what beauty the future will hold; heart grateful to God for His faithfulness and for His hand in the creation stretching out all around me. Tears fall, and I smile. Life is rich and so beautiful, albeit unpredictable and incomprehensible at times.
I take photos of the scenery, and a kind stranger offers to take photos for me on my phone. “I’ve traveled alone before; it’s nice to have photos of yourself in places like this.” I thank him, and he encourages me to walk along a path to the endpoint of a cliff for a wide view of the landscape. Not something I would normally do, especially with a bad knee and with historically unsteady footing the closer I get to any edge. But at the same time, I am here, and here I am. I walk to the edge, heart beating faster as I do, Lady Gaga’s Edge of Glory playing in my mind, and suddenly I am there. At the edge. I breathe. I smile. Little victories.
Sunrise at Cathedral Rock. Sedona, AZ.
I visit a while longer with the stranger and the two friends I had met earlier in the morning. I make my way down the trail, a few more stops for mental and photographic landscapes along the way. Midway down, I hear a loud cheer from above, signaling the end of the wedding ceremony. I smile, and a joyful tear falls. Grateful to be here; grateful to be party to this place and this moment. I finish the hike, taking one last look at the surroundings, and load into the car once again.
My final destination today is Grand Canyon National Park, but I have no set itinerary. I drive, unrushed, and take in the views along the wondrous Oak Creek Canyon and Coconino National Forest. Sedona and its environs appear every bit as charming and magical as I’ve heard them described, and then some, as if venturing through a modern country western movie. I stop at an overlook after driving switchbacks up the canyon-side, and I am met with the kinds of wind gusts that tousle the hair and cause you to pull your jacket in a little bit closer. A beautiful day, with rolling hills and treetops for days. Nature heals.
Lookout over Oak Creek Canyon.
The drive continues, and I make my way to the entrance of Grand Canyon National Park. Tom Petty, Queen, and Needtobreathe’s Alive are my soundtrack for the final stretch. I park at the Market, walk the short distance to the iconic Mather Point, and as I approach, I once again find myself short of breath. Not because of the altitude, at least not entirely. More so because of the carpet of layers and edges and shadows and highlights that ripple out before me like a real-life painting. The vastness is terrifying and awe-inspiring and more than beautiful, all at once. Clouds float daintily overhead, and the juxtaposition with the rugged canyon is striking. How is this real? I gaze, lost in the scene, delighting in how unbelievable this natural masterpiece is.
Looking at the time, I discover I have about 4 hours until I can check in to the hotel. Shuttle buses run like clockwork east and west from the Market to impactful viewpoints along the South Rim of the canyon, and I choose one heading eastward to the South Kaibab Trailhead, ready and excited to explore in closer detail.
South Kaibab Trail is a pathway from the rim to the river, with various beautiful rest points along the way. I start down the trail and find that the same gusting wind that met me at Oak Creek Canyon is present along the trail in kind. Cliffside switchbacks continue seemingly for days, and the views both frighten and astound. On one side, rocky neighbors loom vertically overhead, while on the other side, a steep drop-off descends from the edge of the trail. The Grand-ness is not subtle. Back and forth I weave until I reach Ooh-Aah Point, where the gusts of wind are so strong we hikers have to crouch to lower our center of gravity and remain steady on trail. One school-aged boy on the trail ducks all the way to the ground until the gusts ease. A fellow hiker notes that this is the worst of the wind, that it will get better further down-trail. The set of two hikers I encounter next – one of whom is braving the trail as rehabilitation on a prosthetic limb (can you say inspiring and amazing) – attest that the wind actually gets worse as you go. I continue on and, meeting a fresh new wind gust, brace myself against the solid side of the trail just as a mule train turns the corner ahead of me, ascending. They pass and I watch in awe as the wranglers lead the train with steady grace, despite the wind, despite the sheer cliff they ride along. They are practiced, assured, impressive. Strong winds make for skilled sailors. I continue on a new stretch of trail, exposed to gusts from all sides and with steep drop-offs to my left and my right. I check in with my energy level and my knees – This is my limit for today. This is where I turn around.
I climb the way I came, my steps more sure with each familiar inch of trail I retrace, and the views leading upward are every bit as spectacular as those on the descent. My fear begins to subside as a simple, deep respect for this very Grand Canyon grows. I reach the trailhead once again. At the same moment, a man completes his 10-mile out-and-back from the same trailhead – People are amazing in their strength and resilience of mind, heart and body.
I shuttle back to my car and am now due to check in. I drive the short way to Maswik Lodge, my rest-place for the next four nights. Charming, simple, cozy, and again friendly on the budget, the rustic units are organized motel-style and only a 2-3 minute walk from the South Rim. I find my unit – a second-floor space with a small, sweet balcony overlooking old pines and a railroad – bundle up anew, and route toward Shoshone Point Trailhead. It’s almost time for sunset.
I reach the quiet trailhead, where only two other cars are parked. The trail courses flatly through a quiet woods. The sun tickles the path between the shadows of the trees, and I am alone. Content. I cannot believe I get to be here. I have never taken a trip like this before. I have taken 2- to 3-day excursions on my own, but never a week. Today felt like an entire week in and of itself, and I am pleasantly exhausted. I still don’t quite know what I am doing here. But it feels right. I feel present, centered, whole, joyful. Like a giddy child who believes once again that anything is possible.
We lose our wonder sometimes, don’t we? We lose our faculties to dream and play and be light and wild. Something truly heartbreaking happens, or we are betrayed, or we are judged and told that we should be ashamed of our hearts. We entrust our story to someone, and they mistreat or manipulate it. Maybe we absorb the message that we are unworthy of love. Maybe it confirms a fear that we’ve carried with us much longer than we realize. And with each blow, our hearts grow progressively more numb. We start to live from a place of fear rather than faith, hypervigilant against anything that has the potential to hurt us more. The past two years for me have been a slow breaking open, an undoing of this process of succumbing to trauma. A regaining of that childlike wonder, of the belief that God works everything – even the most painful, rejection-packed, grief-filled, difficult circumstances we encounter – together for our good and His glory. I watch the sunset from Shoshone Point, meeting three precious people along the way who are doing the same, and I take a moment to celebrate wonder. The wonder of this canyon. The wonder of healing. The wonder of this journey. Little victories.
I went for a jaunt recently along the shores of the Mississippi, reflecting back on this year (and in many ways, this decade). It has been a wintery season of confronting wounds and traumas previously buried for years. A year of growth, of learning, of setting and understanding healthier boundaries, of being released from captivity to the past, of rediscovering passion and wonder that was lost nearly seven years ago. And as I look back, despite the painful moments, I feel my heart pounding with gratitude and an eager desire to keep evolving on this path. Winter seasons can be challenging, but they can also sustain growth – Just look at the evergreens.
May we move into the coming decade with hearts that long to continually GROW.
G – Gain perspective. Be compassionately curious about what is going on around us, about the hearts and souls we encounter, about who God made us to be, about how things work, and about how to make the world a better place.
R – Release the past. Process it, but don’t live in shame because of it. Forgive your own mistakes and the mistakes of others. Extend wild grace in every situation. Learn from and let go of the negative; appreciate and carry forward the good.
O – Own up and level up. Take responsibility for your own words and actions; you are not responsible for others. Do what you can to seek understanding and pursue peace. Remember problems can’t be solved at the level at which they were created.
W – Welcome change, and welcome God into every season. Things will happen that you cannot foresee or expect. And in the unknown of it all, there is joy and wonder to take hold of. Uncertainty is the fertile soil where adventure can bloom.
When years of hurt give way to deepest healing,
Our hearts are transformed
And we can never be the same.
Where trauma and fear once lived,
Light breaks through.
Shame melts away.
Hearts levitate.
Joy abounds.
Peace resides.
Our souls sing.
We are new.
Where storm once echoed through the halls of home,
Drenching its inhabitants beyond recognition;
Waters surging, wind wild;
Love floods in like morning light and calms.
Sunshine on a cloudy day.
A sparkling sunset after daytime rain.
A candle in the dark.
A lighthouse in the night.
Shaded hallways are painted fresh and white;
Ready for new life to run through;
Inviting ever more fun, adventure, laughter.
A blank canvas ready for color.
When deepest healing comes,
Our ability to give and receive love expands.
Our understanding of the reality
That everyone is up against something
Allows us to be kinder to all (including ourselves)
As we skip, hop, stretch, run, walk, grow and sometimes stumble through this beautiful thing called life.
Imperfect, we do our best.
We start where we are.
We use what we have.
We do what we can.
We pray and ask for direction.
And still, sometimes we trip and fall.
We say the insensitive thing,
Or that thing is spoken toward us.
We misstep and it impacts someone,
Or their misstep impacts us.
We cannot change the past,
But we can move forward choosing joy on the healing path.
Light-hearted, even knowing bumps and bruises will come.
Determined to apologize quickly, forgive swiftly, embrace uncertainty, and proceed in love.
And as we take each step on this journey,
Choosing progress over perfection,
Releasing years of trauma into Healing hands,
Practicing grace,
Learning new patterns,
Gaining fresh perspective,
Cultivating gratitude,
Committed to loving, learning and growing with soft and vulnerable hearts,
Living with open hands, accepting what comes and what goes,
We heal.
We get stronger.
Life changes forever.
And every day is a new beginning.
One glance at the news today, and we can find ourselves bombarded by messages that fixate on the differences between us, painting anyone with an opposing viewpoint as an enemy. Words of blame, judgement, and accusation seem to race back and forth like tennis balls zinging off a racket, or heartbreakingly, sometimes more like grenades between trenches. Misunderstandings and assumptions fill the air like dust from the explosions that ensue, making it difficult to see each other clearly. Partisan agendas on all sides, generalized stereotypes, unkind or mocking words of anyone deemed through our own lens as an “other” – These so often seem to eclipse the basic truth that within each person we do or don’t agree with rests a treasured, precious heart and soul fashioned by God – worthy to be treated with dignity, respect, and kindness.
Behind each unique face we encounter day to day lies a nuanced and beautifully complex story of triumphs, traumas, giftings, mistakes, fears, joys, and sorrows. Beneath each pair of feet is a path we know very little if anything about. Can we have a little (or a lot) more grace for each other as we all try to navigate this messy but gorgeous thing called life? Instead of pointing our finger outward, can we extend a gentle hand? Instead of jumping to conclusions about others, can we direct our gaze within today and work to let go of the judgements we might unwittingly harbor? As we do, let’s not shame ourselves, but instead choose grace over ourselves and others while we find healthy, edifying ways to use our voices for change, take steps forward, learn and grow.
We are all human, and not a single one of us is perfect or has this thing all figured out. Let’s lay our grenades down, love extravagantly, and work to become ambassadors of grace today.
“Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace.” – Ephesians 4:2-3
Captivated Me 