Climb Every Mountain

After hours on the road with my brother we arrived at the bottom of the mountain. The sun had slipped away many hours before and we begin the slow climb up the mountain road in the dark. If you have never had the privilege of climbing a winding mountain road in the dark, you have yet to live or think about dieing. We arrive at the top with a tired sigh of relief and open the doors of the car to be greeted by the crisp mountain air. My senses are overwhelmed once more by the purity and the alpine. Greeted now by the wave and the 'your here' of my auntie waiting on the porch....ahhh there is the great picture again of someone waiting for me to come home. And I have. The past few weeks have held tragedy, health concerns, big life changes, grief, and so many more weights being added to my daily thoughts. In one breath on this mountain they are lifted. For just a few days we will be here to celebrate. As we gathered our family together around my grandma's life we are blessed to have this place to share in. The kettle is on and we take tea outside to watch the almost full moon, bring light to the mountains, which hem us in. The silence is ear piercing and rejuvenating all at the same moment. Slowly we drift off to bed and await the arrival of more. In the wee hours I join the welcome on the porch and hug and hold on to loved ones we have missed for too many years. Not long after the sunrise crew continues the grand tradition to watch in as the sunrise peek over the mountains to the east and we are bathed in light. Each morning we will gather here. Here we sing, cry, remember, and dream. The sun spreads over everything, awakening the hope in everything, that the new day has arrived. Here we sit in the porch swing and take in where the sun now strikes across the medicine wheel. My stone in that circle witnesses this sunrise each morning. Lucky stone. The days are filled with the blessed task of saying farewell to a dearly loved mother, grandmother and friend. We get a chance to hike, rest, and just be together. Stories and love are spread across the family who have come to be here. The little boy cousins(who are all 18 and over now, well except Cole-he is still 17 right?) provide entertainment. The aunties visit like a flock of hens(good hens) and the men plan hikes and other feats of strength. We journey through shared meals, shared heartaches and talk with hope about the future. Mackenzie River Pizza may never be the same. And then, all at once, it is over too quickly and we wave farewell and descend from the heights, back to our lives. We are richer and closer. On the porch we say goodbye and I hug my auntie hard and whisper 'I love you' and thank you for so much.  The long ride home begins, as I go it alone. A stark contrast to the past few days. I slowly make my way down the mountain. I stop at the bottom and tears come down my face, unbidden. 'Goodbye' I whisper to no one in particular and to everyone and everything at the same time. The aspens shine a bright fall yellow in the warm morning sun and I hear them say 'until next time'. I smile a warm smile as I roll forward ready to face the valley.

On the Porch

I sat on the front porch tonight gazing down the long, tree lined street in front of our house. Sitting there waiting for my girl to come around the bend, it comes to me. Falling down through the leaves, that are now beginning to blaze with color, the words sift.

"While he was still a long way off, his father saw him coming. Filled with love and compassion, he ran to his son, embraced him, and kissed him." 

This story is one of my favorites. The lost son coming home. The characters come to life and seem to play out on the lawn in front of me. Each character weaves in and out of my world. Keenly aware of each one of these roles, I wonder at being the rebellious son. Leaving behind this kind of Father I have been this son and have known the mercy of the Father who waits, not to punish but to receive. I am blown apart by this every time. How does He still wait for me, watch for me, long for me, after all I have done. 
Shamefully, I do know the heart of the older brother, too well sometimes. Striving, driven to impress and doing what he 'should'. How I wish I could say that I am free of his jealous heart. Never wavering, consistent, and dependable, he longs for his Father to see all his works. The feast is filled with cringing as his spoiled brother receives the welcome he has longed for. His is a heart hardened by wanting more than the love his father offers. Devoid of mercy he stays in the darkness and misses the joy. 
 Waiting still. I am struck by my impatience in the way I wait. I am waiting for dear ones to come home. Wondering at the longing I feel. Praying for Him to turn their journey. My heart breaks for the still rebellious sons. I don't like the waiting and it makes me wish I was no longer on the porch. Maybe I am a too poor an actor to get this role. I look up, just then, to see my girl stroll across the yard and break up the story. The characters seem to evaporate into the crisp fall air. There is so much joy in that simple moment. Embracing her like she has been gone too long I know this is not a role. It is Him and Mercy and JOY. His eyes straining, longing, hoping to see that glimpse of the lost son coming home and waiting on the porch. 

MORE

  
                                          Great day as I am reminded that faith is irrational. That is what makes it faith. A trust. A knowing. Words like 'essence' and 'spirit' taking new roles in my relationships. The beauty of all of us, living messy lives, and wishing for something more. Finding that More and opening up to new view of what a simple task of sharing that kind of joy with a world filled with people all looking for that same something MORE!

Brave

Like an old friend the warm wind skipped up from the south and filled the farmyard.  Up the road, out of the yard the light purple furry crocus strains towards the sun. Rain from the night before, still lingered on the edges of the petals.  That fresh smell is everywhere. The one you can't quite name, it reaches into your very soul and fills it up with joy. Every breath is an upper. It's juicy. All the grays and browns are defeated and set back to their dull master. Ah but the secret is underneath. Green is there and yellow and that unusual shade of red reserved for the cockiest of tulips.
Tiny fluff ball kittens mew after their mumma and cross the yard to find a shock of sunlight to safely lounge in. Murph the old farm dog raises his head and listens for his master’s voice. He has already found a spot to take in the sun. First lazy bumble bees sputter and bump as they set to another season of fetching home the sweet parts of everything.
The bleak days are over. The puddle fun and mild air hold a promise of more. Sleepers of all kinds awake to find new life. White sheets snap on the clothes line. A small princess dances between them and the old dog lifts his head at the sound of her parade.  She is wearing her bright yellow boots and her tiara. Her jeans and torn shirt go with the outfit because she is not a frilly princess, she is a strong princess.  Bare feet are the order of every day as socks are for sissies. In and out she weaves as the sheets become walls of the castle. Murph stretches and falls in line behind her bringing shouts from the kitchen window. 'Get that mutt away from my fresh laundry'.
Racing away towards the rope swing she beats Murph to the seat. He never has tried to swing, but she thinks the only thing stopping him is that she always wins. He is her best friend and well equipped to do all sorts of things no adult would believe. She pushes off and swings up so high that her squeal of delight makes Murph bark in alarm. Mom, ever watchful, yells her usual, 'be careful'. She slows the swing just enough and leaps out and marks her landing. A little farther than last time. Jumping up she scrambles up the tree as high as she can.
The yard gets bigger and the old dog gets smaller the higher she climbs. This is where spring is best. Up where no one can see her. Freedom is seeing everyone and no one knowing where you are. Princess of my kingdom she thinks and she is lost in a world all her own making. Time slips away and she thinks about getting down from her tower, to walk amongst the peasants (or at least to find a servant with some supper).  Her fair prince Murph has fallen asleep at the base of the tower with his red ball close by in case of emergency fetching.
Looking down at him, she realizes she is much higher than she has ever been. Tiny bare feet in boots that rub like awkward high heels are not cooperating as she tries to climb down. Higher isn't always better she decides and yells out. 'Damsel in distress, damsel in distress'. Truly this is her favorite princess line. Murph shocked to life below barks wildly thinking there is an emergency. Mom calls back, 'Where are you this time?'
"I am in the tower watching spring come to my kingdom", I announce.
'Come down you silly girl',  Mom calls up.
"Can you come and get me, I think I am stuck...."

Wish

The day sparkled. The sky a darling blue. A dress so crisp and white lay across the end of the feathery down bed. She sat beside it, her cheeks a warm rose hue. She had been awake for hours and finally a moment alone. A gathering of finches announced the rising sun outside the upstairs window to her bedroom. She fussed with her veil that was already in its place in her perfect red curls. The train of her veil was wrapped around her tiny waist, the white wisp transforming her flannel gown like a fairytale. Stepping in front of the round iron mirror she almost didn't know herself. Then she saw the look in her eyes, dark and foreboding. If she had just turned to go and follow the delightful smells wafting up from the breakfast kitchen below, she would have missed it. Instead she stared deeply into her own eyes, knowing something was wrong. All week, the fear had been building and now the day had arrived. She knew the truth and nothing about the last six months had changed it. She knew he was prince charming but the wish of that incredible love was not there. So many times through the flurry of the preparations she meant to ask him was it the same for him. She wondered was he "the one" for her? This was the rest of her life, and she was holding it out to him. Is this what she had always wished for? Unsure she closed her eyes tight as if to search for the answer. A warm breeze blew the window open across the room. The wind swirled in and kissed her soft face. She blinked and raised her hand to shade her eyes from the reflected light of the open window. Shaking her head she shifted and laid her wrinkled hand in his. The light catching her eyes and making them sparkle. He looked down at her and asked what she was thinking about. "It seems like you were somewhere else," he said. Her head rested on his feeble shoulder and she thought of the years since they said 'I do'. Here on the end of the dock, at the end of another day, they sat side by side. This is where you could find them each day waiting on the sunset. She smiled. She knew the incredible love that only time can create. A deep abiding passion, flourishing and blossoming like an apple tree in the spring. Sweet and full of promise. She knew full well that she had not lied that long ago day of exchanged vows. It had been the beginning and she had wished for this love. With a sigh of contentment she whispered, "I truly love you" and closed her eyes again.

Willow

The willow bush calls to me from its deep red branches as the miles fly past. As I scanned the horizon for any sign of hope I am drawn to the springs of glistening red, shocking against the all white palette. Here is nature in her glory. The rest of the earth cloaked in browns and dreary gray and yet this "red-headed snipet" stands against it all, showing off.
"Look at that" I say as it passes out of site.
"At what?" Tim asks
Sighing and thinking of spring I say "At the red willow, isn't it marvelous."
"Oh, yeah marvelous....humpf"

Enter "Tim" the week before Mother's Day 2009 5 months later:
"Over the years, I have proven poor at buying presents for my wife (something about actually having to listen to her when she says, 'Oooh - that is nice' so that I know what I should buy - or something like that - I was only 1/2 listening at the time). Anyway - many times my presents have been "ok" but not "great"....... However, this year's Mother's Day present topped them all!!

I was off in search of the elusive red willow. Unfortunately, our tree nursery closed down, so I was left to find a wild one to dig up. After talking to several farmers, I determined that most of them consider this stuff no better than a weed and that I could dig up whatever I found - so the search was on.

Last Friday (two days before the big day), I was off work and Sari and the kids were at school. I was going to do some work on my motorcycle, or on our camper, but it was -1 degrees outside. Since it was too cold to work, I decided to go dig up a willow.

Willows like water, so I started my search in the Souris river valley. After driving for a while I came to a bend in the river that had a ton of Red Willow bushes, so I stopped the truck, got the shovel, ran down the bank and started digging. Surprisingly, the Willow came out very easily (muddy ground) so in no time I was done and ready to go back up. That is when things went horribly wrong!

I was going to work on my Bike and camper - so I was dressed for that: work boots, big fleece coat, sweatshirt, etc. Unfortunately, I have had my work boots for 10 years and there is no grip left on the soles - worn completely flat - not a good thing on a muddy riverside!

As I started to climb back up the bank, with a shovel in one hand and a Red Willow in the other, I started to slip. By the time I threw the shovel and willow up and over the bank ahead of me, it was too late. I spun around and belly-flopped off the 4 foot bank right into the Souris River. Over my head - fully clothed - wallet in my back pocket - all by myself - 20 miles from home - at minus 1 celcius!

I scrambled up the bank soaked to the bone (think muddy and steep climb) - grabbed the shovel and the STUPID WILLOW - got to the top of the hill - checked to see if any cars were coming (b/c it would be embarrassing at this point to have to retell this story to a stranger on the road side) - got to my truck - peeled off as many clothes as decently possible (and then some) and started driving back to town.

On the way out I was thinking, "What if I have an accidental and die out here on the road? Sari will always wonder what I was doing going out of town this morning". How much more so if they found my truck abandoned by the side of the road and my body floating in the river a 1/2 mile away?

Anyway - got home - had a hot tub (b/c by now I am feeling a little hypothermic) - dried out all the important papers in my wallet and waited to show Sari this stupid willow.......

Enter Sari:
I arrived home from work to find Tim, looking like he had had a relaxing day. He smelled freshly showered as I kissed his neck, but then over his shoulder through my kitchen window were his boots and an entire wardrobe sunning itself across the back fence. Was that gotch on my fence? What on earth had he been up to?

"How was your day dear?" Sari slowly breathed out....not sure I wanted to know.

"Come and see..." he said, leading her out the back door.

A large pail overflowing with my favorite natural wonder sat just waiting for someone to find it a place to grow.

"Where? How?" I cried through tears. He had remembered.

"Let's not bother with the details just now" Tim avoided "We need to find a home for your gift."

The willow bush took hold that summer and every time I look out my kitchen window to admire the view it is there reminding of real romance.

Tree

Life is very good.  Sitting in the warm sunshine, I let the gentle warmth reach all the way to my bones.  The air beyond the picture window has a crisp feel and the leaves paint the whole world with colors I don’t even have names for. I am thankful for so much. I pull the fleece blanket close around me and breathe out a deep sigh. My teacup is full and the steam rises into the air like a spirit. I am home and surrounded by family and friends and even a few strangers.  The house is filled with the comforting aroma’s that make holidays so memorable. A huge turkey has been tucked into the oven for the day and the table begins to fill with dishes full of warm favorites.  This holiday is positively overflowing with blessings and comfort. Letting my head fall back into the soft leather couch I drift off, exhausted from the efforts of getting the perfect evening ready. Just having a moment alone to rest with everything I want around me.  I feel that gentle falling feeling that comes with a deep sleep and I slip off to dream. 

A bright hot image begins to form in my mind’s eye and I feel suddenly uncomfortable. I wish at once to be awake again. In the distance I see a small child sitting up against a stark black tree with no leaves.  Where am I? I wonder out loud and try to pinch my arm to wake up. The view remains the same, I hardly feel the pinch, and I move towards the boy against my will. He is very grubby. The flies on his face don’t seem to bother him. He acts like he doesn’t even notice them hum around the dry dusty spot, with no shade from the skeleton branches above. He is staring at me with wide and very black eyes. 

Shame washes over me as I recall my table full of food and comfortable day I had been part of only moments ago. All of the things I was enjoying and not one of them were for my survival. I was living in opulence compared to the bare need of this little one. So hot, so dry and so alone. Calling out to him I watch his nervous eyes flick back and forth as if looking for an escape route. No trust. Slowing my approach I hold out the palms of my hands as if to ‘I come in peace’. Sending out loving vibes I hope he can feel, I sit down gingerly beside him but not so close that he would be scared. He sits in a squat, like a wild rabbit, ready to dart away.  A song from my childhood spills out from my heart in a hum. ‘Jesus loves me’ fills the air around us both. The boy beside me becomes very still, his face and body relaxing. Tears fill my eyes and I can no longer think of the frivolous world I live in. I only want to help this child. My mind is cleared like a muddy glass window letting in the light after a thorough washing.  The song ends and I ask him is name. ‘Justice’ he says weakly. I hung my head at the sound of his name. What could I do for this boy? How could I change how he got to this point? This cannot be okay with the world.

I lean over to touch his hand and wince at the heat I find there. Looking down I realize I have picked up the tea cup and his hand has disappeared. It burns my fingertips and I drop it on the floor with a crash. He’s gone, but not the memory of the sensory assault his world was to mine. I knew in that moment my life would never be the same. Selfish, comfortable, gluttony crashed on the floor with the cup and would no longer rule my holidays. Everyday decisions would have a new filter. The burnt tips of my fingers would be my talisman.

‘Justice’ would visit my dreams on many occasions over the next few months, reminding me to act. This first spirit filled siesta on the couch has pressed me to speak for the lonely and advocate for those without a voice.  Every aspect; the heat, the hunger, the stark loneliness, drives me to chase each opportunity until it is exhausted. Taking the risk, the discomfort, and the sacrifice it may take to cause change.  This dream has become the new bounty in my self centered life and I am governed by the name of the small boy by the stark black tree.