Don't Panic

The view from the top of the zipline.

Something about spending a lot of time in a harness 40+ feet in the air changes your perspective. I began to see panic differently during the time that I worked in adventure recreation. One of my favorite places to work was the top of the zipline - a small platform perched on the side of a small mountain where I was paid to convince people that they wanted to step off into thin air (after being clipped into a heavy-duty cable, of course). As you can imagine, I had a lot of opportunities to observe panic.

Given the situation, it was entirely natural for people to have some sort of fear response. What they were about to do did appear crazy. However, I began to notice that they had an option of how to deal with the initial fear of the situation. They could put it in mental override, notice the safety precautions in place, listen to my safety briefing, ask any questions they had and then proceed to have a thrilling ride down the zipline. Or, they could panic.

Panic would occur when a person allowed fear to take control of their actions. It would root their feet in place, cause them to grab hold of the nearest object, close their eyes and shut down. When a person reached the state of full-on panic, it was very difficult to get through to them. Unless they decided to override their panic with reason, there was nothing that I could do to help them move forward. They were stuck and their only option was to go back. It was always very sad for me to watch someone climb back down the ladder because they would not overcome their panic. There was a sense of loss because I knew what they were missing.

On the flip side, there were the people who would instead choose to fight back. I could see the battle in their eyes. Something inside was screaming very loudly, "You're crazy! Don't do it!" But, something else was saying, "This is going to be awesome!" Sometimes there were tears. Sometimes it took a group of people chanting their name. Once, I even had a lady ask if I would pray her down the zipline. I said, "Sure! 3, 2, 1, go! Dear Jesus, I ask that you will be with this lady as she goes down the zipline..." I don't remember the rest, but it worked. She had the ride of her life. And I never once had someone come back and tell me they were sorry they went. More often than not, they came marching back up to the top, enthused and ready to go again.

Those experiences changed the way I handle panic in my own life. First, I learned that panic is a choice and it can be overcome. Secondly, I learned that panic does not lead to good results. Yes, there are times that fear keeps us from harm. But, panic shuts down the logical thought process that allows us to analyze a situation and determine whether or not a fear is valid. Third, I learned that the best way to combat panic is to do the next right thing.

For the people on the zipline, the next right thing was following whatever instruction I gave next. For me, it is walking through whatever next step the Father puts in front of me. Sometimes the big picture of life gets overwhelming and I feel tempted to panic. However, I am working on developing the discipline of praying through situations instead of panicking. Instead of shutting down in misery, I invite Jesus into the situation (very much like praying that lady down the zipline) and then do the next right thing, whatever it may be. Sometimes it's a small step ("Put your hand here on the tether") and sometimes it's a leap of faith ("When I say go, step off the platform"). And slowly but surely, the screams of "You're crazy!" are being drowned out by the voice that says, "This is going to be awesome!"


"Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." 
Hebrews 11:1 ESV

P.S. For more on praying through things, I highly recommend The Circle Maker by Mark Batterson. It's a great read!

The Day That Pablo Got It Right

I'd like to introduce you to Pablo Erikson, descendant of the great Viking warhorses. In all honesty his heritage probably isn't that grand, but if you knew him you would understand the embellishment. Pablo is a character.

We became well acquainted on my first trail clearing ride at Glorieta. He was our packhorse and carried the chainsaws, fuel and other tools. When we reached the top of Baldy after a 4+ hour ride, we stopped for lunch and turned the horses loose to graze. Pablo, friendly fellow that he is, came over to see if what we were eating was more tasty than grass and took interest in my sandwich. I thought it was cute and hopped up to snap a photo. Much to my surprise, when I returned to my seat there was a large bite missing out of my lunch!  That was just the beginning... Pablo kept my life interesting by mastering the art of snatching Lefty's wallet out of his back pocket, fitting an entire lead rope in his mouth like a wad of gum, blowing out his belly to keep his cinch loose and giving me the innocent look when I came out of the tackroom to see what the disturbance was at the tie rail.

Known as the horse with the mohawk, he often lived up to it and was a real punk. But every now and again, the mischief gave way to a glimpse of something brighter. One of those times came on a day when the mud was so deep it was seeping into the tops of my boots. The trails were much too slick to ride and so I was filling my day with barn chores. About half way through the morning I decided to let the horses out into a small area of grass we had fenced off with electric wire for grazing. Since I was going to be at the barn, I could keep an eye on them and let them enjoy the good grass - a rare treat in New Mexico!

So, I started making my way out into the pasture, whistling and calling. The mud and muck were deep and slick and I slipped, slid and almost face planted several times. When I finally found a few of the herd, I started making my way behind them to drive them in, thinking all the while how much they were going to enjoy that grass. However, as soon as they sensed my intention to take them in, they snorted, wheeled and ran away into the hills. They thought I was going to make them work. I started to follow, slipped once more and realized that it was useless - there was no way I was going to catch them in footing that bad. 

Frustrated and muddy I headed back to the barn. As I rounded the corner to the catch pen, I heard a noise and looked up. There was Pablo looking expectantly at me, "Hi! I'm here! What are we going to do?" I laughed, patted his neck and led him out to the grazing area where he spent several hours with the grass all to himself (the stuff of dreams for that pony).

As I walked away, recalled that C.S. Lewis once wrote we are all like children who continue making mudpies because we cannot imagine what is meant by a holiday at the sea.  I wondered how many times Jesus had wanted to offer me green pastures and I chose mud instead. I'll probably never know in this life, but the day that Pablo got it right has inspired me to keep my heart open for any sea holidays that might look like just more work at first glance.

I'm Ok With Eight Out Of Twelve

Back in October I wrote a post called Story Bricks about how God had put it on my heart to start writing again and committed to posting once a week from then until the end of the year. Well, I just tallied eight posts in twelve weeks. Math isn't my strong suit, but that's not quite once a week. A few years ago, that would have really bothered me. I would have beaten myself up mentally for not making my goal and then probably quit writing because I was frustrated with not keeping up. However, the past few years have been quite the journey in grace for my go-get-'em perfectionist side.

You see, when you're put flat on your back (literally) with a severe injury, you receive a crash course in grace whether you want it or not. All of the sudden there are things you simply cannot do...and there are even more things that you should not do because the long term consequences greatly outweigh the any short term gain. And thus, you learn to say "I can't." I know...it's much cooler to say that "can't" isn't in my vocabulary, but bear with me here as I explain the way I've learned to think about "can't."

1. It's ok to say "I can't" when there's something greater at risk. For me this started with having to say to myself "I can't do ____________ without risking my ability to walk the rest of my life." Walking is pretty important to me, so that helped keep things in perspective. I've since learned to carry this thought process into other situations such as "I can't help with this wonderful ministry that needs help without risking ___________________ (blank being something important I know deserves priority)." This is important because if I don't prioritize I risk burnout.
2. Sometimes "I can't" is really "I can't yet." Recovery can be an excruciatingly slow process, but if you try to rush it, you can end up frustrated or - worse - re-injured. Growing in life is often the same way. It takes a slow, steady plodding and a recognition that you're just human after all (and you wouldn't look good in spandex anyway). You have to give yourself the grace to grow.
3. Having to admit that "I can't" opens the door for me to receive grace from others. I've always loved helping others but have been a bit resistant to receiving help. However, after being forced into requiring it, I've learned that there is something deeply touching when people truly help you. Often this means having to explain why you can't (as much as the situation warrants, anyhow) so that people understand what is going on.
   But I have been pleasantly surprised by how willing people are to both understand and help. From my college roommate who was willing to help me with things like getting boxes off shelves to my current roommate who is re-learning to cook with me after I discovered that I am gluten intolerant (even though she is not) and many people in between, I have discovered the quiet yet surprisingly rich blessing that comes in letting others journey with you though helping. 

In these ways I have put "can't" back in to my vocabulary and truly believe that I am better off for it. And so, I'm able to say that I'm ok with eight out of twelve. I managed to keep my priorities fairly straight during those twelve weeks. Also, I have learned a lot about my writing process, including the fact that my ideas have to "stew" for a while. I'd still like to get to where I'm posting once a week, but I'm not there yet. Thus, I will keep writing with that goal in mind and humbly ask for the help of anyone out there reading this to encourage me to keep going (comments are a great way to do that, btw).  Journey on!

Keeping God in the Equation

Worry is what happens when you take God out of the equation. It sounds simple, but if you think about it, the implications can be huge.

I'm a dreamer and a detail person...it's a frustrating combination sometimes. Most of my ideas are immediately followed by a deluge of details and "what ifs." It can be downright paralyzing. As I was wading through a discouraging onslaught yesterday, God stopped me and reminded me that I had left Him out of the equation.

So, for 2012, I am committing to keep God in my equations. I will still be asking "what if" because it is important, but I will follow what question with a greater one.

So, what if God...?

Redeeming My Limits - Part 2

I'm grinning slightly at the irony that surrounds writing this entry. I've been planning to write on this subject for a while now. Up until Tuesday it was going to be a retrospective piece. In this second part of "Redeeming My Limits" (read Part 1 here), I was going to reflect on how God had used my limits to teach me about accepting sudden redirection and how He had redeemed the disappointment I experienced with my back injury over the past five years.

To sum up, I was going to tell the tale of how the change of my summer plans led to an unexpected internship, which turned into a job which led to the freelancing journey that placed me in the path of Speedy. Eventually Speedy recruited me to work at Glorieta - the amazingly beautiful piece of New Mexico where my dreams of wrangling in the wild west were fulfilled. My time at Glorieta in turn and quite unexpectedly led me to my current job where I use the skills that I learned in that unexpected internship and subsequent job. The skill with which each of those threads was woven is incredible. It was a tumultuous journey at the time, but the view looking back is incredible.

It is that view that allows me to grin as I write that my trip to Ecuador was canceled on Tuesday. Seemingly out of the blue, Samaritan's Purse has decided to close their base in Ecuador and thus is canceling all of the trips they had planned to send there. After I got the call on Tuesday, I kept asking myself if it had really happened or if I had dreamed it. This process seems so easy for other people - they sign up for mission trips and they go on mission trips. However, this is the second time I have received a resounding "no go" after following God's leading to sign up.

Here is where I come to the complexities of what I feel versus what I know. The feeling part is quite disappointed and wants to pitch a small fit about "my" mission trips. However, deep down I know that they are not mine to begin with and am prompted to take a look at the intricate tapestry behind me. The same loving Father who wove those threads is at work here too. And so, in the midst of the dark threads of disappointment, there is also a glittering thread of hope. The trail has turned, but that does not mean that the adventure has ended, it just means that it will look different than expected. And, if recent history is any indication, the unexpected can be quite exciting.  And so we journey on...

P.S. I'm still looking for an international missions opportunity between now and April... if anyone has any ideas, let me know!

Redeeming My Limits - Part 1

At this point five years ago, I was preparing to go on my first international mission trip. The team of students from my college was meeting regularly to plan and pray for our early March trip to Puebla, Mexico. After years of reading missionary stories and dreaming of where I would go as soon as I had the chance, it was finally here! I was thrilled. Then, just weeks before we were slated to leave, my life hit a sudden and unexpected speed bump.

I was a fairly active and healthy twenty-something. But, the morning after an intramural basketball game, I woke up and knew that something was very wrong. What had been occasional back pain had suddenly flared into a blinding pain that I could not escape. After a miraculously fast MRI, I went to see the sports medicine specialist who had just opened a clinic on campus that month (another miracle). He started to give me a lecture on how some people just suffer from chronic back pain and I asked him if he had looked at my MRI. He left the room to do so and returned wide eyed. "You're in a lot of pain, aren't you?" It was all I could do to not roll my eyes and groan. "Yes, I am," I answered. "You have the back of a forty year-old steel worker," he replied and proceeded to tell me that I had two herniated discs in the lumbar region of my spine.

There was no good explanation for why the discs were herniated, they just were. And that meant major and immediate lifestyle changes for me. No lifting anything over five pounds (my laptop at the time weighed more than that), no sitting for more than twenty minutes at a time (yes, professor, I will be standing up at regular intervals during your class) and, if you make this any worse, you may lose function below the waist (ie, if walking is important to you, you'd better follow instructions). The next week was a blur of coping with pain, barely managing to get through classes, learning how to do homework while flat on my back and discovering that my body did not like the steroids the doctor prescribed to bring down the swelling (oh, and since your blood pressure has shot through the roof, make sure you don't do anything that raises your pulse).

Exhausted, frustrated and scared, I prayed with my team that God would heal me and intervene to somehow allow me to still take the trip to Mexico. The doctor indulgently gave me a week to see what would happen and then gave me a firm "no way." The risk of further injury without access to good medical care was too much - and besides, the plane ride would be pure torture as I still could not sit comfortably. And so, they went without me. I was heartbroken. However, life had suddenly become so painful and complicated that I did not have the strength to deal with it in the moment. So, I gave the pieces to God and asked Him to hold them for me. Quietly and gently He assured me that He was not just holding the pieces, but was holding me as well. He knew my pain (Isaiah 53:4).


After several months of strict limits, NSAIDs and physical therapy, the pain gradually subsided and it became apparent that I would retain the use of my legs and lead at least a semi-normal life.  God was answering my prayer for healing, albeit much more slowly and less dramatically that I would have preferred. It also became apparent that the road to recovery would be a long, slow one with many changes and lasting limitations. Many of my plans - including my dream of international mission work - were put on hold indefinitely as I worked to get better and wondered how much better I would get.

Complete surrender is never easy, but when you're literally flat on your back, you don't have much choice in the matter. God has used that extremely painful time in my life to significantly redirect my path and draw me closer to Him. Over the last five years, He has not only "taken away" (Job 1:21) but also given me more than I could dream. Daily, He is working things together for good as only He can (Romans 8:28). He is redeeming my limits (more on this later). And, in that neat way that only a loving Father can, He has brought many of my dreams full circle in ways that I never expected...

At this point, five years later, I'm preparing to go on my first international mission trip. In February, I will be traveling as a part of a team of volunteers with Samaritan's Purse to Ecuador. We will be part of an on-going effort to help build a structure for a local church that currently meets in three homes. And though I'm not the most obvious choice for a construction trip, God has opened the door for me to serve in some auxiliary ways, including doing after-school Bible story and song time with some of the children (so fun!). Stay tuned for more details and stories of how God continues to redeem my limits for His glory.


To be continued...

Faith, Hope, Love and Pies

Thinking about holidays, traditions and family this week made me remember just how blessed I am to have had the chance to know all four of my grandparents. Three of the four of them are World War II veterans and all of them grew up during the Great Depression. Their stories of a different era and the lessons they learned have both fascinated me and enriched my life. As I reflected on my relationship with each of them, I recognized unique threads that each one has woven into my life - threads of faith, hope and love. And while each one wove many threads of each, these are the threads that shine brightest.

Grandaddy C. passed away when I was young - around nine, I think. My memories of him are mostly echos of his booming voice and imposing presence. However, in the short time that I knew him, he instilled in me the hope of things to come. He was enthralled with the second coming and lived in expectation of Christ's return. Young as I was, his example left a deep impression on me and helped me learn that there is more to this life than meets the eye.

Nanny met Grandaddy C. in the operating room when she was an Army nurse and he was a sergeant. They married after the war - and after she resigned her commission so that (she says) he wouldn't have to salute when seeing her in uniform (since she ranked him).  Her stories of faith and waiting for God have been inspiring to me in my own journey. From being raised as a farm girl in Indiana to joining the Army and meeting her husband to raising her family and becoming a grandmother and great-grandmother, her life is marked time and time again by God's hand of provision and grace. And the stories that I've heard many times still serve as a reminder that God is good...and often provide many laughs along the way.

Grandaddy H. was also in the Army (or "the service" as he calls it) and served in several countries overseas during the war. He has stories too - stories that he does not often share because the memories are too painful. He served in love during the war and has continued to serve his family with love for many years. He has took a vested interest in each grandchild from an early age and did his best to make sure we saw success. For me, that took the form of making sure I had access to a computer and a piano from an early age. Both instruments have been major factors in my life and he has followed my journey with great interest and provided much encouragement along the way.

Gammy - who waited faithfully on this side of the pond during the war - also loved us well. My memories of her are filled with special holiday traditions, late night "tea parties" with special deserts, Wheel of Fortune and games of Rook. She was the epitome of a gracious hostess and worked hard to make sure that any occasion - major holidays or minor victories - was properly celebrated.

So, as I walked through just my second Thanksgiving without Gammy's gracious presence at the table, and as I made her pies, I prayed that the pumpkin and pecan are just a small part of the continuing legacy of faith, hope and love entrusted to me by my four amazing grandparents.