lean into grief

"I didn't miss the sad story, did I?" Kelli asked, returning from the ladies room.

"She's right in the middle of telling it," I said, surprised she would want to hear again the story that just weeks ago had dissolved her into tears.

We were at a women's brunch at the church, listening to Nichole Nordeman share in story and in song. Word for word, song for song, the same set we had listened to last month during the Women of Faith conference in Sacramento. (And it was just as powerful the second time.)

The sad story was about a young couple, deeply in love, who asked Nichole to sing at their wedding. Shortly thereafter the groom was diagnosed with cancer and within the year Nichole was singing again, this time at his funeral.

When Kelli had dissolved into tears beside me the first time I had only known her for about 3 hours. So even though I wanted to wrap her up in a hug, I didn't. This second time, however, I knew her enough to put my arm around her, exchange a little conversation and some shared tears.

Kelli's own son had met and fallen in love with and married a young lady, beautiful all the way to her core. And earlier this year, still in her 20s, his beautiful bride passed away.

It struck me that Kelli would want to feel the grief inspired by the similar story that Nichole shared. Isn't grief a feeling most of us try to avoid? And yet Kelli has discovered, I think, a secret that might better serve us. That to lean into the grief, to feel the feelings, is where healing comes.

In addition to being Kelli's daughter-in-law, the young woman who died was also Randy's niece. During our family Thanksgiving prayer last month, his brother named the sadness that we all felt at her absence from us, but the joy that would come when one day we would be with her again.

Again it strikes me that the grief would be named, felt, shared, rather than being the elephant in the room or the thing that everyone knows not to talk about.

I'm heartbroken for this family's loss, but grateful that through it they are teaching me how healing comes.

flexibility

We learned right away we were going to have to be flexible on this journey.

The week before we were to leave, my car was in the shop to fix the minor scrape I got two months ago when I got hit in a parking lot, and to make sure it was in fact minor and not hiding something major.

It did end up being minor, but they estimated it taking until the day before we were to leave to get done.

Which meant that we wouldn't be able to get a hitch put on my car to pull the u-haul until the day we were to leave.

Which meant borrowing my dad's truck in the middle of harvest in order to pick up the u-haul so we could get it loaded while the car got worked on, and pushing our take off by at least half a day.

Then Randy missed his flight to Ohio.

Luckily the next flight had him landing just an hour later. His luggage, however, took the scenic route, through airports he never even flew through, and we had to pray it would arrive before we departed.

It did. In the middle of the night. With a loud banging on the door and a need for a signature.

The trip itself was smooth sailing compared to this rough start. But I'm glad we had it. Because it reminded us that whatever came up we would be able to handle it. That we might have to be patient. That our schedule might get changed. That we can see the delays and detours as opportunities, rather than annoyances.

You see, because we couldn't leave until Tuesday afternoon, I got to go to the airport with my little brother (who was in town visiting for the weekend) and my parents on Tuesday morning. We had the car ride and breakfast to spend time together.

And because we didn't get an early start, there were other times in the trip when we decided that we could also wait until noon to begin our driving day. Days that one or both of us had to work. A morning just hanging out with my niece Riley. Lingering over breakfast or taking Jovi (my dog) for a long walk before we spent the rest of the day in the car.

And because Randy missed his flight, my nieces had time to put on their Halloween costumes after church to go with me to surprise him at the airport. Followed by a trip to Foy's in Fairborn where we could buy them candy since we would be missing out on trick or treat.

The flexibility and patience of this trip was similar to that of our walk across Spain. Never knowing from one night to the next where we would be sleeping. Taking much longer than most to make the journey. More often than not stopping short of our daily goal. Intentionally adding miles, even when our deadline for being home was approaching.

And enjoying every step of the way!

everything is beautiful

Seven months ago Rand and I stayed at this very bare bones albergue. Which was as stark on the inside as it was the outside. The beds were barely as wide as my hips.

But what I remember most about this stay is not the lack of luxury. What I remember is that as we prepared to leave in the morning Rand said, "Love makes everything more beautiful, doesn't it?" And when I looked at him like he was crazy he pointed at the yellow (flowers? plant? bush?) growing out of a rock pile across the street.

This memory came to me today as I was thinking about how beautiful Ohio is right now. How yellow. And orange, red, and green.

I'll miss Ohio's colorful seasons. (California was already brown when I visited in September.) But I'm looking forward to the challenge of looking with new eyes. Eyes that see -- that know to look for -- beauty in all things!

"home"

I did not want to leave California yesterday morning. I had such an amazing month with Randy, his family and friends. From getting a closer look at his catering business, to house hunting, a weekend at the beach, concerts, hikes, and visiting several churches, I felt completely at home.

Yet I find myself comfortable in Ohio this morning as well. In a place I've made home for the past two years. Walking my dog to the sound of combines in nearby fields. With my family right around the corner.

I imagine this will make leaving at the end of the month both easier and harder. Harder because I'll be leaving home. But easier because I'll be going home.

My hope for the next few weeks is to take time to focus on what I have here. To cherish the relationships, the scenery, the support, and the life lessons that make up Ohio. So that when the car is loaded and we are on our way west, the memories and the gratitude will go with us.  

simple things

"Thank you for appreciating simple things," Randy said, as we sat in the sand watching and listening to the ocean waves.

"Simple?" I replied. "This is the most exquisite thing I could imagine."

"And simple," he said with a smile.

I wondered if we'd just discovered a secret to our happiness. This ability to see simple things with an eye for all their beauty, extravagance, and grace.

When the Game Stands Tall

Why would anyone voluntarily go up against the team with football's longest winning streak? According to Del Oro Head Coach Casey Taylor, "You get better playing the best."

And why would De La Salle, that winningest team, bother with a team like Del Oro? In the words of a De La Salle fan, whose brother is one of their longtime coaches, “Our programs are similar… it’s not about football.”

Having listened to a couple of the Del Oro pep talks the night before game day I can attest to the truth of this. Talks that focus on goals, character, discipline. On and off the field.

“So what if they have a movie out?” Coach Taylor said Thursday.

I imagine Bob Ladouceur, former head coach of the De La Salle Spartans, would have said the same thing were the circumstances reversed. In fact, he seems like the kind of guy who would say to his team, “So WE have a movie out. Who cares? That is not the measure of our success.”

I haven’t seen the movie yet, but reading the book When the Game Stands Tall tells me that the De La Salle Spartans have beat plenty of teams that towered over them, the way they towered over Del Oro on Friday night. Because they cared about one another, they played with heart, and they worked hard, together, as a team.     

And while the home team didn’t pull out an upset on Friday, instead sending De La Salle home with another big win under their belts, they did inspire an estimated 8,000 people to come together as a community to watch a little high school football.

And anything that builds community is a success in my book.

What Coach Lad did with the De La Salle Spartans should challenge us, not to be awed or intimidated by a Catholic school's football team in California, but to live exemplary lives right where we are. 

It was incredibly inspiring to see Coach Ladouceur, standing right there on the field before us with the opposing team Friday night. But so was hearing the Del Oro coaches teach their kids that “fear” stands for: Face Everything And Rise. 

Because they've figured out the same thing Coach Lad did. That they are in the position to influence these kids, and help them grow, not from boys into football players, but from boys into men.

Keep Calm and Fly On

Shortly before leaving for the airport on Tuesday I received notification that my connecting flight in Chicago was delayed half an hour. A few minutes later it was delayed another hour. I only had an hour to make my connection to begin with so there was no way I was going to make my plane to California.

I called the airlines from home and they quickly and efficiently got me on another flight, through Dallas, landing just 45 minutes later than my original flight.

Once in Dayton and safely on the plane, I sat next to a young guy headed to LAX for a morning meeting. The pilot came on over the speaker and shared with us that the auxiliary power wasn't working. We didn't need it to fly, he said. Just to turn the plane on. It should only take about 10 minutes, he concluded.

That 10 minutes soon became 90. Something to do with paperwork and a fax machine. (Who still uses fax machines? we wondered.)

But during that time, sitting on the tarmac waiting for a jump start,  I got to know the guy beside me. Married for 3 years, he was expecting his first child. He was a lawyer, headed to Los Angeles to fix someone else's mistake, and would be on the red eye home the following day.

By the time we finally took flight he knew there was no way he was going to make his connection in Dallas. Which was the last flight out for the night.

But here is the crazy part. He wasn't the least bit angry, frustrated, anxious, or upset about the situation.

"Maybe there will be another flight after all," he said. "Or maybe an early morning one so I can still make the 9 o'clock meeting. If I can't make the meeting, I'll just grab the next flight back to Dayton."

He was so casual about his options. Not the least bit frazzled by his plans not working out, or the idea of making a roundtrip flight to Dallas and never leaving the airport.

It was very comforting to be in his presence. Which helped me relax as my own layover grew shorter and shorter.

As we disembarked in Dallas and everyone ran to make their connection, he was the one who stopped and asked a woman in a wheelchair if he could help her to her gate.

I felt incredibly grateful to have witnessed such kindness, such a peaceful spirit, which is so rare these days. It reminded me that my own attitude can have an affect on others, either positive or negative, depending on how I choose to live and respond to the world.

Apparently a reminder that I needed since I wasn't originally scheduled to be on this flight. In fact, I wasn't even scheduled to sit next to this guy. But someone was sitting in my seat so I took the open one next to him. I love the way God works!

 

do the thing

Last night I spoke to our local Lions Club about my walk across Spain.

I've had lots of opportunities to share about my experience, and each time it comes out a little differently. But I think I've finally figured out what I've been trying to say:

DO THE THING

The thing that stirs in your heart. The thing that gives you joy. The thing you long for. The thing you know you are made to do. The thing you are afraid of. The thing you would do if you won the lottery. The thing you would do if you only had one month to live. The thing you are most passionate about. The thing you want to be remembered for. The thing. Whatever it is. Do it. Do the thing.

I know not everyone wants to walk across Spain. And I don't think everyone should. But I know that everyone wants to do something:

Adopt. Host a foreign exchange student. Be the president of the Lions Club. Donate food to the local pantry or towels to the local shelter. Run with the bulls. Canoe down the Amazon. Graduate. Pay off student loans. Learn to read. Join a book club. Protest for peace. Fight for your country. Quit a job. Start your own company. Take a photography class. Bungee jump. Sing. Dance. Fly. Move. 

No matter how big. No matter how small. Whatever it is. Do it. 

DO THE THING. 

That is the message I have to share.

And here is some added inspiration: One year ago TODAY I attended a lecture in which a retired teacher shared her experiences of walking el Camino de Santiago. And I decided that "now" was as good a time as any to do the thing.

Here I am. A mere year later. And now I... ME... I am the one sharing the experience of my own walk. Hoping to inspire others. Like she inspired me. To do the thing.  

 

married in McDonalds

One of the many life lessons that I took away from my time in Spain is that we can't confine God to a "box" (ie., a church building).

I expected to come to know and love the Lord better in churches and cathedrals, through prayer and walking meditation, learning to recite the 23rd Psalm in Spanish, and honoring the Sabbath. But, in retrospect, I spent very little time doing any of those things.

And yet, I still came away feeling closer to God.

Because I encountered God in the people I walked with, the hospitality shown to me when I was tired and hungry, conversations over bread and wine, tending to one another's feet. Rainbows and snow covered mountains, watching shepherds tend their sheep.

Which shouldn't be surprising. After all, Jesus spent way more time outside the church -- on mountain tops, beside the sea, in gardens and other people's homes -- than he did inside.

And while I still think it is important to have a church home where we regularly attend, we shouldn't think that God can only be experienced within those walls.

I was reminded of this yesterday when I shared this picture on my Facebook page, asking friends if they would marry their partners where they first met:

As I read through their responses: French class, 4-H camp, BP gas station, church, square dance, martini bar, football stadium... I couldn't help but think that these are all perfect places to get married. On the travel channel this week I even saw a wedding in McDonalds. And that seemed perfect too.

Because they are places of significance to the couple. Maybe where they fell in love at first site. Or at least the place where the energy of one first encountered the energy of the other. A reminder of how and why they came together.

Not long ago I would have told you that church was the best place to get married. I might have gone so far as to say the only place for a Christian couple. Symbolizing the importance of God's role as the One holding it all together.

But God has been working in my heart to get me to lighten up. To remind me that nothing can separate us from his love -- not a gas station or a fast food drive-thru, not an elementary school hallway or Ohio stadium when Ohio State and Michigan are playing.

And if God is in all those places he can certainly honor commitments we make in those places. After all, it's the commitment that is important, not the place.

allowing others to make a difference

I spent last week in Athens, Ohio, with a friend of mine. She had just had surgery and asked if I could spend a few days with her helping out.

I know how hard it was for her to ask for help. It reminded me of just a few years ago when I broke one of my ribs in a 4-wheeling accident. I couldn't drive or carry anything, clean my house or any of the other ordinary things that we do on a daily basis without thinking about it. I had to rely on my coworkers to drive me to work and doctors appointments, carry my purse and anything else over five pounds I needed.

I hated feeling helpless and I hated asking for help.

But I know my coworkers didn't mind helping. They were glad to help. And last week so was I. Because I knew my friend was sore and tired and frustrated. And even though I couldn't take any of those feelings away, I could help with the kids, the laundry, the house, and try to take her mind off things with much needed girl talk.

Yesterday I got a card in the mail that said, "You make a difference in others' lives, and you allow them to make a difference in yours."

It reminded me that I am here on this planet to love others. But so is everyone else. And maybe I am the person they are called to love. Therefore, if I don't allow others to love and care for me, I'm denying them their purpose. I need to be just as good at receiving love as I am at giving it.

going nowhere

Kasen: "I hate hiking. We aren't even going anywhere."

You will have to forgive Kasen's attitude. We were "forcing" him to hike on a morning when it was already 83 degrees, with an added 73% humidity. And it was true--we weren't going anywhere. We were simply wandering the trails until we got tired and turned around.

But it made me pause. And think. Because hiking is my absolute favorite thing to do.

How could I love something so much that gets me nowhere?

Granted, some hikes have destinations. The bottom of the Grand Canyon. The top of Mount Whitney. A waterfall or hot spring. But most times I hike simply to hike.

I love feeling the earth beneath my feet. I love the green plants and towering trees. I'm not a fan of bugs but I can appreciate the architecture of a spider's web as long as I'm not walking right into it. I love listening to creatures I cannot see, making their way thru leaves and debris. I love the distant sounds of cars and planes, reminding me that I am my own mode of transportation. I love the space it gives me to think and dream and breathe, or to empty my mind of everything.

So hiking, for me, is not actually about getting anywhere. In fact, I think it is a gift to have no idea where you are going to end up and still be able to enjoy the journey.

Because success is not always having an end goal. Or everything turning out the way we planned. And we don't have to wait to arrive in order to be happy. We can be happy every step of the way, if we begin to see the ordinary moments for the extraordinary moments that they are, even if they don't appear to lead us anywhere. Even if we have to turn around or begin again. Because it is in the dailiness of life that we see who we really are.

And I for one want to be someone who can enjoy life, whether I am going somewhere or nowhere at all.

smoothed edges

Yesterday during her children's sermon, Linda talked to the kids about how rocks are rough, with jagged edges. But through adversity--being tossed around by the water and the waves--they can be made smooth. Likewise, God can use the challenges and obstacles we face in our own lives to make us more like him.

Former Buffalo Bills quarterback Jim Kelly was a hot topic last week. (Is it a "coincidence" that I visited the Pro-Football Hall of Fame for the first time recently???) Not only because of his success on the football field. Or his battle with cancer. But also because of all the good he has done for families and children battling degenerative diseases like the one his son died from.

A couple of years ago, while crafting a devotional book, I was directed to an interview that Jim and his wife gave. In it Kelly talked about his son's diagnosis, the hardship that followed, how his family had to learn to stop treating Hunter like he was going to die (even though they knew he was going to) and start showing him what it means to live (which likely contributed to him living 6 years longer than doctors expected). And Jim's devastation when his son died in the hospital 5 minutes before Jim could get there.

Obviously he wouldn't have chosen this disease for his son or their family. But instead of allowing that reality to make him bitter, he used their experience to reach out to other children and families affected by Leukodystrophies.

"My son Hunter made me the man I am today," Kelly said.

And that is a man after God's own heart. A man who has taken the challenges life has given him and used them to make a difference.

It is not part of my faith DNA to believe that God makes bad things happen. But it is my belief that he can make us stronger if we choose to trust him when they inevitably do.

I can see God using my own experiences--my mistakes, my hurts, my heartaches and my hopes--to encourage others. And I believe he wants to do the same for you.

So if you find yourself tempted toward bitterness, remember that when you offer those rough edges to God he can make them smooth. And use you to give hope to the people you walk with.

Perfect peace

I went to a baseball game this week. It was scheduled to start at 7 pm. At 10 minutes till it started to rain. Hard. And it didn't let up for over an hour. The entire backstop was under water. Once the rain let up it took another hour to prepare the field for play. The start time ended up being 9:05 pm. And the game went into extra innings. Resulting in a loss for the home team. Well after midnight.

But the most amazing thing happened that night.

So amazing it is hard to believe.

While we sought shelter with 5000 fans as our seats gathered rain, I didn't hear a single person complain. No one seemed angry or put out. People chatted. Kids played. The ball players from both teams danced in the rain and entertained us with skits made up on the spot. We pointed out the rainbow to one another and shared towels and sweatshirts to dry our waiting seats.

It was the best experience of waiting I have ever had.

A little glimpse of heaven. An evening that proves peace is possible!

savor

Family cookouts. Hot dogs over the fire.
Time with loved ones. Those who live next door. And those visiting from California.
Shared laughter. Making memories. In the front yard. And farther distances.

Football. Playing catch with nieces and nephews. Two a days and scrimmages and camps. Cheering on your favorite team from the stands or your recliner.

Giant marshmallows. Sticky fingers and faces.

Moments worth savoring.

simple solutions

Last week was my week to go to Quaker Knoll Church Camp in Wilmington, Ohio, to share devotions with the kids around their nightly campfires. Last year I learned that what these kids (grades 5-8) are looking for is authenticity. So during my first campfire talk I shared with them my recent struggle...

Me: Lately I've been feeling lost. Like I'm not sure what God wants me to do next. Do you have any suggestions for me?
Camper: Take a nap.
Me: Great suggestion. And if I wake up and still feel lost?
Another camper: Take a longer nap.

It's easy for me to want to over-spiritualize whatever I'm going through. To think if I just pray hard enough, read the Bible long enough, or sing loud enough then I will start to see the signs God is planting in my path. But these kids reminded me that no matter what I'm going through, Jesus is there and He is the way. And sometimes all I need in order to see that is a really long nap.

healing hurts

Two months ago my feet started to hurt. I had just walked 500 kilometers so it was kind of understandable.

Two weeks later a doctor treated me for tendinitis and told me to "be more quiet." I rested for a few days but then walked another 110 kilometers, so it was kind of understandable why my feet kept hurting.

But in the last month, since returning to the U.S., I have done a much better job of being quiet. So why do my feet still hurt?

I went to the hospital yesterday to find out.

Doctors are adorable when they get excited, so I had to laugh at mine when he said, regarding my x-rays, "Come check this out!"

He pointed out the broken bone.

But that wasn't the cool part.

The cool part was the new bone growth. Developing on both sides of the fourth metatarsal. Which nearly doubled the width of this bone. (No wonder my foot feels swollen!)

He said this is exactly what you want to see happen after a broken bone. That the healing process is progressing as it should. That I shouldn't go home and run, but I could walk as much as my foot says is okay.

Hooray!

I could talk now about how, just like my broken bone, we grow and develop and become stronger through times of trial. Putting a positive spin on the adversity that is simply part of life. But I think that denies a key point: healing hurts.

We expect to hurt at the moment an injustice occurs. A bone breaks. A loved one dies. A marriage ends. But after the point of impact we think the pain should go away. Immediately. And if it doesn't go away immediately we must be doing something wrong.

Only that isn't the case.

In reality, we continue to hurt through the healing.

Eventually it might go away. Or lessen. Maybe it will come and go with a memory, anniversary, or the rain. Or maybe it doesn't go away at all and we simply learn to live with the pain.

Regardless of what the future brings, I think it is okay to tell the truth today: healing hurts.

what is hard now

Looking back at my pictures from the Pyrenees, I am in awe of the beauty. The adventure. The wonder. I feel a sense of accomplishment. A desire to return. To conquer new mountains. And other heights. 

In the back of my mind I remember the two men, younger and in better shape than Randy and me, we met several days later in Pamplona. Who had followed in our footsteps. "We seriously thought we were going to die up there," they said. 

The paths were steep. The snow was deep. The hours kept ticking by with little sense of accomplishment. If giving up had been an option we surely would have considered it.

But all that is a distant memory. A feeling I can no longer relate to. Now I only see beauty and joy in those paths, those drifts, those feats. 

A reminder to me that what is hard now will soon be a distant memory.   

March 7, atop the Pyrenees, Spain

turtledoves

My turtledoves hatched while I was in California.

I've been thinking about these two birds and how they must feel listening to and watching all the other birds in the yard. Running and jumping and flying. Doing the things they were made to do. While my little squeakers (that's what you call a baby dove!) aren't yet ready to leave the nest.

Because even though they are far closer to achieving God's plan for the next stage of their life than when they were encased in egg shells, just because they hatched doesn't mean they are ready yet to fly.

This speaks to my own frustration. My longing to live into the next adventure. To explore more of the beauty, community, and opportunity beyond my front door.

But like a nestling, I have to be patient. Until it is my turn. My time. And then, soon enough, I too will be ready to fly.

the in-between

In Spain, I had a clear and defined "purpose"--to walk. 

Today I am wrestling with what that clear and defined purpose is now that I am "home". If I have one. If I need one. What is next.

Or if I'm being called to stay in this "in-between" place for a while, to rest and reflect and recover. 

It is an unsettling place. The in-between. But that doesn't mean it's not right where I'm supposed to be.  

Day 61

Day 61: Madrid

There is nothing fun about a 9-hour overnight bus ride from Santiago to Madrid. Except the 5 minute break we had in Ponferrada, my home for those few rest days after my hospital visit.

It is hard to believe that was only 10 days ago. But an amazing reminder that so much can change in such little time!

Ponferrada is where I was told my walking journey was over. Tendonitis in the feet is one of the major reasons people have to leave the Camino early. Caused by walking too fast, or too long, or carrying too much weight in your backpack.

The doctors and nurses and pharmacists applauded me for having come this far (approximately 615 kilometers). But told me to stop walking. Until it didn't hurt any more. Which could be days or weeks or months. And by no means to walk with crutches.

But one person told me if I could immobilize it, get an orthopedic boot, rest, that MAYBE after a few days I could walk.

I didn't believe it for myself. I was in too much pain. And had been for too long. But sometimes all you need is one person to believe in you to convince you that anything is possible.

When Kari, my sister-in-law, told me if I did all those things I might be able to walk some more, I started to imagine that it could be possible. At least the last 5 kilometers into Santiago.

I went to the bus station in Ponferrada all those days ago to see about taking a short ride, just 45 kilometers. Slowly making my way to Santiago. And around the corner from the bus station I found a home health care store. Where they sold me an orthopedic boot. Which a pharmacist told me they don't have in Spain (Randy and I were told by a hotel clerk that Spain doesn't have pizza, which is also not true).

So I wore the boot. And took the bus for a day. Then a taxi for two days. And on that third day, with a short 4.5 kilometers between towns, I tried walking the Camino for the first time with the boot.

It was hard. And painful. Because even though the tendonitis was in the top of my foot, my heel was also causing me pain. Which didn't have much cushion in the boot.

The next morning, now that the swelling in my foot had gone done enough, I decided to try walking in my hiking boots, with the crutches. And strapped the ortho boot to my pack in case I needed it.

The support and cushion from the boots was just what I needed. So I walked that way for 50 kilometers, over the course of 3 days, before deciding I needed to trust my feet to carry me to Santiago.

So I left the boot at kilometer marker 53.

Maybe someone else will need it. Or will be inspired by it. Or realize they too need to let go of what is weighing them down, in favor of trust.

I used the crutches for those 3 days, plus one day more. My last day walking. But for most of that day I carried them in one hand at my side. To see if I needed them any more or if I had just come to rely on them the same way I had the boot strapped to my back.

Determined to walk into Santiago unaided, I left them at the top of a hill, about 5 or 7 kilometers outside of the city.

Tony saw the crutches the next afternoon when he was walking those final kilometers into Santiago. "It was like you were giving me a sign," he said. "It was incredible!"

"Animo!" I said, his favorite Spanish word. Which doesn't exactly translate. But is meant to be an encouragement. Like "keep it up" or "you can do it!"

Which is exactly how I felt at that 5 minute bus stop in Ponferrada. That even though my foot has swollen again with all the walking and long bus rides, and even though I have blisters on the other foot from using it so much more... I did it! I can do it! And I can keep choosing to believe that with God ALL things are possible!