Harapnuik Adventures

My lovely uncle passed away this week. Another lovely uncle has been given 2 years to live. And I mourn with their families. The thought of saying goodbye, the gaping hole in lives left behind…why, oh why?

A small, casual church in the mountain village extends a hand to our family in welcome and worship. A church family in another place. The pastor speaks of the “worth-ship” of God and His glory. He says something I have not considered before.

When Adam and Eve sinned in the garden, God determined that we should not be tied to sin for eternity. He allowed our physical lives to become temporary so we would still live eternity in perfection. So death is not so much a punishment, but a release to the way we were created to live; eternally without sin.

Death is only the door that leads to being with our Creator.  Death, in itself,  is a gift to the one who dies as a child of God. But not us that remain without them. The true act of selflessness is to rejoice for my uncle who is right where he belongs; perfect and at the feet of his Lord. But we ache for the loss in our lives. We weep for the daughters and son and brothers and sisters and all the loved ones that are staring into the hole that is left behind.   My God, though, is so happy to see one of His sons is back home.

And us wounded ones who have lost parts of ourselves in the battle, who walk around with gaping, bleeding emptiness, who feel the longing for something we have lost but can never seem to find, who yearn for a home that always seems to elude us and a wholeness that is never quite ours, perhaps that aching is itself an answer from God?

That our craving for Him is a way of experiencing Him. And in our hungering for God, we are slowly healed by God . Ann Voskamp

www.aholyexperience.com/2010/07/letters-to-wounded-when-you-wonder.html

Someday we’ll understand. Someday the emptiness won’t be there. The hole will be filled. We will be made perfect.  It will be as it was intended. Walking with Him in the garden.

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I walk in the coolness of the evening, the dampness creeping up my legs and the sun retreats behind the mountain. Another day has past and I am at wonder of the peace, coolness and freshness of life in the mountain village.

I find it’s interesting to be sitting in one place for days 9 now. The same bed, the same crackling crow alarm clock, the same coffee cup. To have some repose from moving one hotel room to another, to find a spot to rest and make our own for two weeks.

Rest. What is vacation but a change, a rest, a re focus. Yet, what is it in us that causes us to always be working? Dwayne wakes every morning at 6 to sit in front of his silver square of information – his to gather, his to impart. He takes calls from a learning institute in another country to counsel, encourage, advise. He plans for the term of teaching, writing, thinking. He downloads pictures and videos of our boys adventures of the day.

I turn to my stack of books to read and prepare for another year of learning. Finally, after 9 days I’m ready to take on the boxes of receipts and struggle to place them in the right creamy yellow files as they are matched to the bank statements on my own black box. Why not rest? Why don’t I wake to the crackling crow and roll over, to enter into the dream again. Instead I think I must rise and start a day that doesn’t even care if I meet it. There’s no rush to be somewhere, get something done, answer any calls, plan any errands. Instead, rest. Watch the news. Make a strong coffee. Take a walk. Watch your children as they sleep. Feel that same sun that left us last night begin it’s long walk across the brilliant blue field of sky.

“A change is as good as a rest”, but when we have the opportunity, I shall take both. It just takes a while to be ready to rest.

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Today we didn’t get biking till 2:00 because we were occupied with a chipmunk that came into are apartment. At first mom shooed him away but later we were drawing him in with peanuts. At the end he was eating out of are hands I will put up the videos later. Heres some pictures from biking

This is the biggest jump in winter park

This is a wall ride and it is about 12 feet tall and all most strait up and down and I'm on it

Levi's jumping over me

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Today we had to do some bike repairs so we didn’t get out on the hill till 2:30 but thats ok.  Once we got out I only did 2 runs but they are about 6 1/2 miles long and we got some cool pictures.

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One 3 year old’s eternal life with Christ begins the moment her whispered heart’s desire falls on the ear of God. She will live out her days with eternity in her heart.

One man’s last whispered breath moves him from his lived out days into eternal life with Christ, to rest in His arms forever.

The mystery of eternity: we have it now in Christ on earth, and we look forward to it then with Him when He brings us home.

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The first week at winter park has been fun. The runs are long and some are quite smooth. Some of them are harder but they are still fun. Here are some pics.

That’s one of the biggest step up on the Mountain. I’m not sure how big it is. But It’s really fun.

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As I stroll around a mountain village, I regret the person I never was. I always pictured myself as someone who was a little off kilter, drawn toward a simpler life and a bit renegade in my way of doing things or living. I regret the fact that I haven’t lived that way, truly.

Sure I recycle as much as I can, but I still buy the silly things in the packages that need to be recycled. Sure I homeschool, but I don’t take advantage of every opportunity for learning, especially the simple small ones that would be a natural outcome. I tend to latch on to the big ones that inspire a lecture instead of small statements of fact and insight. Yup, I try to buy local, but I’m continents away from the 100 mile diet. And yes, we did drive a “Jesus” van for a few years, but truth be told, I was a little embarrassed about it being parked in front of our house.

I don’t have dreadlocks, have never pierced anything and my Birkenstock have long been donated. So as I stumble into these fabulous coffee shops and bookstores where the customers linger over art or discussions in their fisherman’s sweaters that hold cable knit stories of their lives, I feel a bit fake; like I don’t belong, yet I’m trying to fit in. Guess it’s the age old struggle of humans. Wanting to fit, but not sure if I’ve quite made it.

I walk through another part of the village where wine and cheese tents are set up for tasting and buying. I hear conversations of “oaky, deeper, clairvoyant, smokey” and I go, “huh”? It kinda makes me feel like an idiot; as though I deeply know nothing. I know I like ice wine from Germany and Asiago from Costco but the descriptions fail me. To me they are just yummy.

As much as I feel a bit out of it, I am enjoying our mountain experience. I love hearing the guys talk about their day, seeing their smiling, yet sweaty, muddy faces. I love the cool air, the green, soft grass, the friendly people, the lovely little condo we found. I even enjoy cooking the meals with whatever the SAFEWAY (yes, I’m excited about safeway, though still too expensive, it’s a safeway) store in town inspires. I love the dry air, though the hands and lips need lotion and I’m experiencing static cling again. It’s crisp, and clean, and smells of the mountain. The sky is brilliant against the green and grey of the elevated 12,000 feet. The flowers are exploding everywhere. It’s a lovely place, so much like our Rockies. I’m so thankful to be here.

I know I wasn’t meant to be like someone else. God made me me, and though I can admire others who are more like I want to be, I am thankful for the place I am at and definitely thankful for the people I am with; for the place we have come from, for the place we are going to, for the many people that God has given us to learn from and enjoy from Alaska to Texas and all the homes in between.

If I was a elephant, I’d thank you Lord for my fine trunk,

if I was a fuzzy, wuzzy bear, I’d thank you Lord for my fuzzy, wuzzy hair,

and if I was a crocodile, I’d thank you Lord for my wide smile,

but I just thank you Lord for makin’ me me.

For you gave me a heart and you gave me a smile.

You gave me Jesus and you made me your child.

So I just thank you Lord for makin’ me me.

Perhaps it’s that simple. An attitude of gratitude instead of regret. For if I did live another way, I wouldn’t have lived, or be living, this way. And, oh God, I am so thankful for what you’ve given me in this way of my life.

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Here are some pics from Winter Park!!!!! We need this to do down the hill to go up the hill to go back down the hill. (try to figure that one out)

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We are  in Colorado right now and am I ever glad. It is 15 C here and 25 C in Abilene. In the morning it was 5 C bbbbbbbbbbbrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. 2 days ago we drove from New Mexico to Winter Park Colorado where we are now. We have been biking for the last few days. It is really fun and luckily we are staying here for 2 weeks .

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We drive through New Mexico, and we comment, “this reminds us of Kamloops”. We walk outside on a warm, humid morning in Abilene and I hear, “this reminds me of Florida”.  We drive through Southern Colorado with the Rockies on one side and the flat land on the other and I say, “boys, look, it’s like driving from Fernie to Lethbridge”. We drive through Colorado Springs and it reminds us of, well, Colorado Springs since we had been there before . We drive up to Winter Park and it reminds us of Bragg Creek, Banff, Whistler… Every where we go, I hear that refrain, it reminds me of…

I mentioned it to Dwayne that we seem to always be reflecting our new observations back to something we’ve seen/experienced before. My learning theorist reminded me that that’s how we learn. We hang new things on things we know already.

It makes me think of how people see Father God. I remember a question an atheist friend asked, “How do you picture God?” There’s never been a choice for me. I have always seen Him as a pair of strong and gentle hands.

I know some people see Father God as a stern judge, harsh and cruel instead of loving and kind. Perhaps it’s because of their remembrance of the only father they had; their earthly father. Perhaps a movie, or a sermon, or a threat that painted a picture for them.

But I see strong and gentle hands. Probably because my earthly father’s hands are strong and kind. One of my many memories growing up were of  them reaching out and grabbing me as I walked by to go upstairs to bed. He’d be sitting in his creaky easy chair by the stairway and I’d end up in his lap with a kiss on my cheek and a “God bless you, sleep tight” in my ear.  Those hands fix thing I never think can be fixed, medicate calves that refused to be medicated, were always pulling and building and digging and moving. Not often, but when necessary, those hands smacked my butt for lippin’ off, stealing from my mom’s purse or whacking a sibling without cause.

I can understand how some would struggle with their image of  God if they had an absent, evil or destructive father.  That would change my image as well. But I guess that’s where truth wins over transference. We find the truth of Father God in Scripture. He is strong and gentle, firm and sure. He grabs us to hold us, heals us when we don’t want His help, is always pulling us closer, building us up, digging to our core and moving us forward.

So we continue to build a true reference of Father God, so that when we see Him in another detail of our life, in creation, in someone else’s life,  He reminds us only of  Himself.  We’ve seen Him before.

I will not forget you. See, I have carved you in the palm of my hands. – God – Isaiah 49:15-16

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