Captivated Me

captivate : v. to attract and hold the attention or interest of, as by beauty or excellence; enchant.

Tag: Travel

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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November 10, 2021

Charmed in the Land of Enchantment.

“If you ever go to New Mexico,” O’Keeffe told a friend, ‘it will itch you for the rest of your life.”

Nestled in the Southwest is a hidden gem of a state, one that does not get nearly enough recognition for its beauty, diversity, and splendor. I spent two weeks in New Mexico this fall and found myself delighting in the sweetest spectrum of vistas and experiences – From charming, rustic mountain towns to fine, snow-white sand deserts. From vibrant, rosy sunsets to peaceful, heart- and body-warming hot springs. From eclectic, creative communities to sun-drenched, flower-lined hiking trails. From rich foods livened with green chili to charming pueblo-style coffee shops. And from storied, ancient relics and monuments to scarlet, flat-topped mesas. If this national treasure is not high up on your bucket list of places to visit, I’d humbly but whole-heartedly recommend rearranging your list. 🙂

A list of excursions to consider:

White Sands National Park: With gorgeous acreage in the Tularosa Basin, this expanse of sand dunes is composed of a fine powder from gypsum crystals.

Sandia Mountains: A stunning, standalone stretch of mountainland on the outskirts of Albuquerque, known for its rosy hue at sunset. Take the tram toward the peak, or hike one of a plethora of trails for an awe-inspiring experience.

Santa Fe: The capital of New Mexico, situated about one hour’s drive north of Albuquerque. Meander the galleries, tour the sacred chapels (e.g. Loretta Chapel, home of the legendary ‘Miraculous Stair’), enjoy live music along the streets, and cozy up in one of many fine restaurants (check out Sazon and Tia Sophia’s) in the town. The artistic, historic atmosphere is palpable, and an air of whimsy and relaxed vibrance will go with you as you walk about.

Taos: At the foot of the Sangre de Cristo mountains, this charming town in northern New Mexico feels like an international escape. It is both peaceful and vibrant, quaint and eclectic, and offers easy access to the nearby Taos Ski Valley where year-round recreation is a rule. Hike Wheeler Peak to reach the highest natural point in the state at 13,167 feet (but bring good water and sustenance, and add micro spikes if hiking in the snowy season!).

El Santuario de Chimayo: This blessed and beautiful adobe chapel is a National Historic Landmark, known to be a site of pilgrimage especially around Holy Week, and thought to house a healing, holy dirt within. The grounds are serene and draw you into peaceful contemplation as you walk along the complex. Another chapel, Santo Nino de Atocha, is a minute’s walk away, and is home to a small prayer room lined with the shoes of infants and children, resembling prayer requests and answered prayers.

Jemez Mountains: The Jemez region is so named in honor of the native Puebloan population to whom the land belongs. Replete with beautiful views of both red rock and mountain, deep gorges, quiet winding roads, countless hiking trails, and hidden hot springs, this area is a cannot-miss for the hiking and nature enthusiast.

Old Albuquerque Historic District: Spend a morning or afternoon walking the museums, galleries, boutiques, and San Felipe de Neri church in this beautifully preserved plaza. You’ll have your pick of multiple restaurants and cuisines here along the square, or you can hop over to the nearby Sawmill Market with a great variety of eats, beats, and beverages.

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September 2, 2021

Magnificent.

The clouds between,
The sea beyond 
Those rocky towers
Rising strong
In calm defiance. 

The powdered crests,
Their walls descend
Where ground and glacier
Sweetly end
At water’s margin.

The braided creeks,
Who weave so brave
Toward rugged coast and
Reminisce
On iced ancestry. 

These gilded gifts,
Magnificent,
Grandest wonders born
From heart of
A loving Deity.

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March 16, 2021

La Isla del Encanto: From Seven Seas Beach to Playa Escondida

Today In Brief: A short mile-long hike leads from Seven Seas Beach to Playa Colora to Playa Escondida, with birds and frogs singing around you and wind-bent trees rustling over you. The fine white sands of Escondida give way to the calm, shallow, aqua sea, which was perfect for swimming and watching for sea-life for hours on end with the peaks of the rainforest in view. This simple but breath-taking trek is 100% worth your while should you find yourself along the northeast coast of Puerto Rico.

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February 3, 2021

The Narrows: Hiking the Virgin River

I first heard about the Narrows on a hike in Sedona four months ago. Fellow hikers raved about Zion National Park and the magic of weaving and wading along the river that courses through the narrowest segment of Zion Canyon.

Today was my opportunity to see what all the praise was about, and I was nothing short of stunned by the experience.

The day started at Zion Adventure Company, one of the multiple enterprises in Springdale – the sweet town just adjacent to Zion’s west most park entrance – offering rental gear for hiking the Narrows (along with many other excursions). Within the store, a screen sharing today’s weather and current conditions near the river, both reporting optimal conditions. The store itself had a light trickle of travelers passing through for gear; far fewer, I’m sure, than in the summertime. Helpful staff recommended a dry suit, lined with rubber gaskets, along with neoprene socks and boots and a walking stick – all to protect from the cold, rocky river trail. I rented the whole package and drove the short distance to the parking lot for the Riverside Walk – a short, paved hiking trail lining the Virgin River to the Temple of Sinawava, the point where river access begins.

‘Magical’ is an understatement in describing this magnificent hike. Maybe it’s the fact that I only saw around 5-10 people each way along the path during my 3-4 hours hiking it. Maybe it’s the way the cloudy skies turned blue and sunlight broke through over the canyon walls as the afternoon went on. Maybe it’s the challenge of hiking against the current along water-worn rocks lining the riverbed. Maybe it’s the waterfalls pouring from cliffs standing sky-high overhead, or the teal tinge of the river waters. Maybe it’s the mighty combination of these things that leaves people speechless, stunned, lost in wonder and joy at this experience – an adventure which, if you have the time and ability and inclination, I cannot recommend more highly.

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February 2, 2021

Bryce Canyon National Park: Hoodoo you think you are?

Today In Brief: A short collection from an enchanting hike among the hoodoos of Bryce Canyon National Park. This stunning trail began at Sunrise Point and descended steadily down into Queens Garden Trail, whereafter it looped south and then west up to the switchbacks of the iconic Wall Street. Ending at Sunset Point, the sun fell to the horizon behind me and lit the rocky beauties in gold and pink. A quiet photographer perched at Sunset Point, capturing the scene with a high-powered lens. An older woman enjoying the view shared that this was the exact point where her parents met. We three watched together as the lighting shifted over the canyon. As dusk gave way to night, we dispersed along the icy Rim Trail toward our respective cars, enthralled, at peace, happy-hearted.

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January 10, 2021

Stillwater: Wonder + Simplicity

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.

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October 30, 2020

Day 4: Adventures in Page.

I wake up at 2AM, somehow feeling refreshed and ready for the three and a half hour drive ahead of me. I am hoping to make it to Page by sunrise, and with road closures directly east of the Grand Canyon, the trip will take around one hour longer than the usual two and a half hours.

I get ready quickly, as if I’m running late, then step out into the chilled early morning. I stop and take a breath – a million stars twinkle overhead. As I pull away from the lodge, a family of five elk traverse the road in front of me, highlighted by the front beams of the car as they cross. Unbothered, they walk gracefully and calmly. I watch them in awe. I wait a few moments to see whether additional relatives will join them from the direction they came from. Then I drive on.

I drive south through Kaibab National Forest, east through Coconino National Forest – meeting two more elk along the way – and then back north once I arrive in Flagstaff. I meet no cars on the road for the first hour and a half of the journey. (Granted, it is three o’clock in the morning on a Thursday. Who in their right mind would be up at this time?) My route takes me a very short distance on historic route 66, and I start to notice hills spanning along the highway north of Flagstaff. The slopes are gently but forebodingly highlighted by the soft moon. A small wildfire is seen along the route, lighting the sky in smoky orange. As I drive on, the hills seem to continue for miles.

I arrive at the Horseshoe Bend trailhead two minutes shy of its opening at 5:30 AM. One car pulls in directly ahead of me, and it happens to be the attendant who is there to admit cars to the trailhead parking lot. She moves the barricades, and myself along with one other car that has since arrived drive ahead. I pay the $10 admission and exchange smiles with the kind worker who shares that conditions were perfect for the upcoming sunrise this morning. “Make sure to hike out with your headlamp!”, she says. “The drop-off sneaks up on you, and is hard to see before the sun comes up.” Noted.

As I pull into a parking lot, I look at the sky overhead and see a sharp, bright streak of light flash across the sky. It comes and goes in less than one second. A beautiful shooting star to start the hike. I lift a prayer, feeling seen and delighted by what feels like a gift from above. Two other cars pull into the parking lot, and we each find our way to the path.

I hike the mile-long trail and start to see a deep, dark, arching crevice in the ground. I can’t make out the details within, at least not yet. All I can see are vague structures of charcoal and navy along the ground with the faintest trace of dawn in the far distance. The morning is cold, and even though I am layered like an onion, the chill soaks in deeply. I cannot wait for the sun to rise and warm the day! Stars still populate the sky above, and I am one of four attendants facing west to witness the show.

Very slowly, almost imperceptibly, a ribbon of orange is illuminated at the horizon line as the sun begins to awaken behind us. As the ribbon widens, crawling toward us along the ground, a shade of powder blue gradually extends upward from where the ground meets the sky, drowning out the starlight with daylight. For six hours, I stand there, walking along the ledge as shades of pink and orange and purple evolve along the ground accompanied overhead by blues and yellows. The Colorado River becomes more visible, defined as the sun rises and exposes its contours. And for hours, I watch the colors change, the people come and go, two tiny kayakers braving the river. A woman with panda drums carries out a live meditation on one of the rocky overlooks. A goldendoodle named Hazel comes to say hello. But most of my time is spent staring at the riverbend as shadows waltz along the walls of the canyon.

Hundreds of photos later, I hike back to my car in the warm sunshine. The sky is screaming blue, the earth is vibrant orange. The land around the bend is flat overall, but with small ripples as if a wavy water surface has been petrified. My stomach is grumbling with hunger, so I sit in my car and eat my lunch – A turkey wrap, granola bar, and apple. I drink some water and remember the name of a sweet coffee shop I had read about the night before that I think is nearby on North Navajo Drive. Coffee sounds like an excellent decision right about now. I turn the ignition, then I turn left out of the Horseshoe Bend parking lot, following signs toward downtown Page. I twist through unfamiliar roads until I find North Navajo Drive. As I continue along, I come upon a small strip mall and see the sign: LP Espresso! I park, secure my mask on my face, and walk inside. The spacious café has an eclectic atmosphere, with beautiful artwork along the walls featuring the same orange earth – blue sky dichotomy that I spent time enjoying this morning combined with quirky word art. I order a vanilla latte and almond croissant, then scoot back outside into the sunshine.

I have two hours to enjoy before my next adventure, so I make my way to the Carl Hayden Visitor Center with my coffee. I spend a few moments looking out over Glen Canyon Dam, and my eyes trace the azure waters of Lake Powell bound up behind the impressive wall. I rest and reflect on the day so far – the sweetness of a shooting star, the beauty of a riverbend, the hearty coffee in my hands, the sunrise, the warm rays. I am grateful.

After walking along the short paths around the visitor center, I set course for Glen Canyon Dam Overlook, a short five-minute drive away. This is a small but mighty park with rocky steps descending to another spectacular view of the dam. From this vantage point, rather than a view of Lake Powell, I can see the Colorado coursing southwest downstream from the dam. I sit on the rocky ledges at the overlook which have been warmed by the autumn sun, enjoying the views a moment longer. Then, I pile back in the Eclipse and make way toward Page Municipal Airport.

The airport is nearly vacant when I arrive. Very few cars rest in the parking lot, and no passengers are present inside, only employees. I again secure my mask, cross the entrance toward the counter designated “Grand Canyon Airlines”, and I check in for my next adventure. A helicopter ride.

I am one of three scheduled passengers sharing a six-seat helicopter for a 20 minute ride over Lake Powell this afternoon. An orientation video plays, reviewing the safety specifications for the helicopter, and I cannot believe I am about to ride in one. I meet the pilot and the two other passengers, and we get situated, spaced out and strapped in the helicopter. I am in the front, feet from the outside, feeling as if I am in a bubble that is getting ready to fly. We start to rise from the ground and everything feels weightless.

“You’re living, and that’s a good thing.”

My mom said these words to me two nights ago. A reminder of how God moves and heals and loves us to life through the trials and storms we encounter on our journey. A reminder of His unbridled grace extended toward me and others. A reminder that no matter what happens to us, we have a choice as to how we respond to it. A reminder that it is not selfish, but instead important and wise and fruitful to pursue rest. This is hard to stomach, coming from a society and a profession where self-care is not a built-in rule and instead has to be fought for. And after over a year of processing through such things, what a blessing that my heart feels as weightless as this helicopter ride. U2 plays on the headset: It’s a beautiful day. Don’t let it get away. My eyes water for the umpteenth time with joyful, grateful tears.

I enjoy every minute of the tour, thank the pilot profusely afterward, and stop at one more park in Page as the sun begins to tuck itself in. A few more deep breaths, then I hop in the car and begin the journey back to the Grand Canyon. This turns into a 5 hour drive involving a detour (i.e. period of time that I was very lost) through the beautiful Navajo reservation as a orange-purple sunset unfolds, and subsequently onto a deep sandy fire road in a desertland with no cell service where I nearly get the rental car stuck. Miraculously, I meet three kind people at interval along the way who I am convinced are angels, all directing me back to the correct highway. The rest of the way is smooth – full of acoustic hits, prayers of gratitude, and phone calls to family.

I chuckle as I reflect on the last 20 hours. Today was an adventure. And I am exhausted and delighted and spent. Tomorrow is my last full day in Arizona, and I can’t wait to see what’s in store.

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