James writes, [3:1] Let not many of you become teachers. He is warning of a stricter judgment on those for whom excessive gum-flapping is a vocation. Over the years, I have had occasion to wonder if I should have taken James’ counsel to heart...
There was the time when I was describing from the pulpit the attire of the High Priest when he went in to the Holy of Holies in the Tabernacle/Temple to offer sacrifice on the high and holy Day of Atonement. Part of his dress included bells attached to the hem of his robe, the silence of the bells being a signal that God had judged him and struck him dead. What I said was, “The people listened for the sound of the High Priest tinkling in the Holy of Holies.” Nice turn of phrase, that.
Or the time just recently when I was describing the empires that had occupied the land mass that is currently Iran, mentioning Assyria and Babylon and the “Peeds and the Mersians.” Nice touch.
More troublesome was the time that I was describing the leadership roles that Jesus’ disciples were to have in the coming Kingdom. I intended to tell the congregation that Jesus said, “You shall sit on twelve thrones...” I got my mords wixed up and said something more like, “You sall sh** on twelve thrones...” Needless to say, I pretty well lost the teenagers at that point. (Shall sit. Shall sit. Shall sit. Shall sit.)
There is no question that teachers and preachers need to be careful about what they say. My propensity for malapropisms prompted me to manuscript sermons many years ago. While not totally eliminating blunders, I can only imagine how I would have mangled things had I not become more intentional about word choice.
However, word choice in messages and silly mistakes in a sermon are not what James had in mind when he issued his warning.
In a number of places in his short letter he writes about using the words we choose to bring blessing to those around us.
Any observer of human interaction could come up with a list of examples of people using words to curse (James 3:9-10). Sadly, that’s easy, like shooting fish in a barrel and I could join the party with a few illustrations of curse-words.
But from the observation deck of serving as a pastor I’ve had the privilege of seeing words bring great blessing, too. I’ve listened in on conversations where someone was blessed because of the words a speaker used, as in the time when:
a recently widowed mother of four knelt at the bedside of another young mom and tenderly urged her to trust the Lord in a season of despair;
a group of Elders prayed in the home of a family suffering from diseases and other hardships, anointing members of that family with oil as they spoke words of genuine encouragement;
a leader of youth used his position to mentor those in a Sunday School class in the things of God;
another youth group leader used her words to bring hope to a hopeless young man;
a woman offered a sincere apology for an unthinking remark that caused pain to someone she dearly loved;
a group of people wisely “ganged up” on a pastor (yes, that would be me) to lovingly confront him about his workaholic ways;
On and on and on I could go and not even scratch the surface of the times I've listened to the power of words bring refreshment to weary souls, exhortation to rebels, and instruction to the naive.
You are aware that there are lots of ways to express love and care. We could offer financial assistance to the poor, help someone with a move, offer the gift of childcare and/or meals when a family is overwhelmed - and more. But we are missing a huge opportunity to bless if we neglect the way we use words.
I take advantage of the time I’ve been given to manuscript the messages I bring on the weekend to the church I serve. But nobody has the freedom to manuscript the chance conversations that come our way every day. What we can do is enter each conversation with a heart eager to bless, with an aim to encourage, with a desire to do good.
Over and over again I’ve proved James comment that [3:2] we all stumble in many ways. (Amen!)
By God’s grace may we all be those who [3:3] do not stumble in what [we say], proving to be agents of grace to those who hear.
Sunday, December 29, 2013
Sunday, December 22, 2013
Just What We Need - More Drama
We bemoan “drama queens” (and presumably “drama kings”). You know the type. They react with over-emotion to the mundane. Diva (or “divo”) - like, they draw waaay too much attention to themselves. They exaggerate their every predicament, overstate every trial, and embellish every victory.
You see them and think to yourself, “Oh, just what I needed. More drama.”
At the same time, it’s not as if drama is bad...
For nearly twenty years I’ve been enough convinced of the power of drama to incorporate it into the life of the church I pastor.
Several times a year I present a sermon as a full-blown dramatic portrayal of a biblical character. I’ve played the part of Paul and Peter and Manasseh and Jonah. I’ve taken on the role of the Corinthian who was disciplined, repented, and restored, and of the leper who came back to say “Thanks!” to Jesus for his healing.
I have often given these presentations in costume, dressing in long robes complete with head covering to hide my identity a bit so as to better free the congregation to enter into the story. (Once, eight year old Becky told me after the worship service, “I knew it was you all along.”)
I present these dramas for a couple of reasons.
On the one hand, I believe that drama touches a place in our conscious or sub-conscious that normal preaching - at least my normal preaching - often does not.
Maybe like you, I have long been impressed that the bulk of Scripture is story. Not as in, “Once upon a time...” fairy tales. No, true story. Even the parts of the Bible that are not narrative are in the Bible because of a narrative backdrop.
(Here’s a dare: Take a passage that looks like it’s not narrative. Investigate the background to the passage - doctrine from Paul, psalm from David, whatever - and I’ll bet that you’ll find a story. I double dog dare you.)
Nothing draws us in like a story. I often hear from adults after a dramatic presentation, “The kids really like those things.” And I think to myself, “Yeah, and you didn’t go to sleep today like you usually do, either.”
For a Sunday morning, drama is out of the ordinary. It captures our attention. It humanizes a story that we may have spent too long reading in a monotone.
On the other hand, I use drama to get across another idea, this one also delivered slightly below conscious level.
Just as the stories of Abraham and Joseph and Barnabas and Herod are “larger than life”, so you and everyone you know is living an epic quest.
Did Job know, when he was living through his trials and subsequent debates with his three “friends”, that four thousand years later, his life story would profoundly impact me? Surely not!
Did an ancient Parthian magician, traveling to Palestine to pay homage to a Jewish King, know that his journey and example of submission would inspire centuries of Christians to likewise bow before King Jesus. I doubt it.
Could Ruth and Boaz have ever guessed that their romance-and-marriage story would picture for all time the redemption that believers in Jesus enjoy when He rescued us out of the marketplace of sin? Nope.
And on and on and on we could go.
Partly as a result of having served as a pastor, I’ve had the privilege of meeting a bunch of people over the years. Lots of them have been “dull, boring, and ordinary” - UNTIL I GOT TO KNOW THEM. There is not one person I’ve ever come to know well who still fits in the category of “ordinary.”
Every person is multi-layered, complex, and uniquely gifted. Each person has shades of heroism and cowardice, brilliance and dullness, fears and foibles that make them who they are. There are no dull people - and that truism certainly applies to you who are reading this drivel.
Who knows if perhaps, a year from now (or more), someone will hear of your story, your trial, your victory, your passion, your faithfulness in the face of adversity and will find in your epic quest courage to trust God and to be faithful as well.
Well, I’ve got to be off now. Going to church this evening to watch some people portray Mary, Joseph, some shepherds and wise men. Just what we need. More drama.
You see them and think to yourself, “Oh, just what I needed. More drama.”
At the same time, it’s not as if drama is bad...
For nearly twenty years I’ve been enough convinced of the power of drama to incorporate it into the life of the church I pastor.
Several times a year I present a sermon as a full-blown dramatic portrayal of a biblical character. I’ve played the part of Paul and Peter and Manasseh and Jonah. I’ve taken on the role of the Corinthian who was disciplined, repented, and restored, and of the leper who came back to say “Thanks!” to Jesus for his healing.
I have often given these presentations in costume, dressing in long robes complete with head covering to hide my identity a bit so as to better free the congregation to enter into the story. (Once, eight year old Becky told me after the worship service, “I knew it was you all along.”)
I present these dramas for a couple of reasons.
On the one hand, I believe that drama touches a place in our conscious or sub-conscious that normal preaching - at least my normal preaching - often does not.
Maybe like you, I have long been impressed that the bulk of Scripture is story. Not as in, “Once upon a time...” fairy tales. No, true story. Even the parts of the Bible that are not narrative are in the Bible because of a narrative backdrop.
(Here’s a dare: Take a passage that looks like it’s not narrative. Investigate the background to the passage - doctrine from Paul, psalm from David, whatever - and I’ll bet that you’ll find a story. I double dog dare you.)
Nothing draws us in like a story. I often hear from adults after a dramatic presentation, “The kids really like those things.” And I think to myself, “Yeah, and you didn’t go to sleep today like you usually do, either.”
For a Sunday morning, drama is out of the ordinary. It captures our attention. It humanizes a story that we may have spent too long reading in a monotone.
On the other hand, I use drama to get across another idea, this one also delivered slightly below conscious level.
Just as the stories of Abraham and Joseph and Barnabas and Herod are “larger than life”, so you and everyone you know is living an epic quest.
Did Job know, when he was living through his trials and subsequent debates with his three “friends”, that four thousand years later, his life story would profoundly impact me? Surely not!
Did an ancient Parthian magician, traveling to Palestine to pay homage to a Jewish King, know that his journey and example of submission would inspire centuries of Christians to likewise bow before King Jesus. I doubt it.
Could Ruth and Boaz have ever guessed that their romance-and-marriage story would picture for all time the redemption that believers in Jesus enjoy when He rescued us out of the marketplace of sin? Nope.
And on and on and on we could go.
Partly as a result of having served as a pastor, I’ve had the privilege of meeting a bunch of people over the years. Lots of them have been “dull, boring, and ordinary” - UNTIL I GOT TO KNOW THEM. There is not one person I’ve ever come to know well who still fits in the category of “ordinary.”
Every person is multi-layered, complex, and uniquely gifted. Each person has shades of heroism and cowardice, brilliance and dullness, fears and foibles that make them who they are. There are no dull people - and that truism certainly applies to you who are reading this drivel.
Who knows if perhaps, a year from now (or more), someone will hear of your story, your trial, your victory, your passion, your faithfulness in the face of adversity and will find in your epic quest courage to trust God and to be faithful as well.
Well, I’ve got to be off now. Going to church this evening to watch some people portray Mary, Joseph, some shepherds and wise men. Just what we need. More drama.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Reflections from the Plains of Shinar
Premise: Generally speaking, large groups of people, gathered together, are capable of greater mischief than smaller groups.
Proof: The Tower of Babel
Out there on the plains of Shinar, in the land that would eventually be Babylon - throughout time identified by the Bible as the ultimate anti-God empire - the people gathered.
The Bible tells us that the whole human population traveled east to Shinar and settled down. All together. It was a great crowd of people (Genesis 11) that had gathered - and that gathering was a great problem. By settling down together the people were flagrantly disobeying God’s command that they “be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth.” (Genesis 1)
In what may be humanity’s first experience of “group think,” out there on the plains of Shinar the people got a grand idea.
[Genesis 11:3] They said to one another, “Come, let us make bricks and burn them thoroughly.” And they used brick for stones and they used tar for mortar. [4] They said, “Come, let us build for ourselves a city, and a tower whose top will reach into heaven, and let us make for ourselves a name, otherwise we will be scattered abroad over the face of the whole earth.”
The group agreed that it would be better to NOT obey God’s command to fill the earth, but to remain together. Theologians are agreed that the people had determined, together, to exalt themselves above God.
Remedy: Think small.
God’s remedy to the situation created by this massive group of people getting into such mischief was to force smaller groupings by confusing their speech.
At Babel, God created the world's various major language groups. This forced a division of the human race and made more likely the fulfillment of His “fill the earth” mandate. As well, by dividing people by means of the language barrier, God created smaller groups of people, who could, together, get into less mischief. A brilliant move.
Such a move was made necessary because of the broken nature of people in the post-Garden of Eden world. With the coming of sin (Genesis 3), the general tendency of all people everywhere is independence from God, not trust. Left to our own devices, we will choose rebellion from God, not worship.
Yes, this is the consistent teaching of the Bible. But you really don’t have to be a biblicist to come to that conclusion. It is also the consistent teaching of history. If we would be honest in our assessment of human history, we will admit that the general trajectory of an impressive technological upward spike is accompanied by an equally depressing downward spiral by most meaningful, personal metrics. With a few notable and welcome lapses, our race's story is one of harsh cruelty, violence, and injustice.
The reason, again, is that individuals are (to use an extremely biblical word) “sinners.” Groups of people gathered together would, thus, be groups of “SINNERS” - hence, more dangerous. Hence, to reduce the danger of the negative AND to increase the likelihood of the positive, reduce the size of the group. That was God’s solution in Genesis 11. I think it still makes great sense today.
Think small.
Rather than think grand thoughts of "megas"...
think of the impact you can have in the lives of your circle of friends when you serve them.
think of the impact you can have when you show love to one, lonely, sad person at the end of his hope.
think of the redemptive influence you and your small circle of friends can have when you join hands to help a struggling family.
“Grand” turned into silly and vain grandiosity on the plains of Shinar. Grandiosity still reigns today, and just look where “big” has gotten us. We are technological giants, tempted to relational dwarfism. We are digitally connected all the time and it is so easy to be regularly disconnected, personally. Sure, “big” is impressive at a distance, but impact is always made "up close and personal."
It’s time to embrace and to celebrate the small. Jesus did and He invites us to join Him.
He applauded the small amount of leaven that leavens a whole lump of dough and the mustard seed of faith that moves mountains.
So, we applaud he the leavening effect of a small group of friends who journey through life together, along with the mustard seed of the family that plays and prays and weeps and laughs together and builds spiritual sequoias, and the church that makes it possible to known and be known, to love and be loved.
Proof: The Tower of Babel
Out there on the plains of Shinar, in the land that would eventually be Babylon - throughout time identified by the Bible as the ultimate anti-God empire - the people gathered.
The Bible tells us that the whole human population traveled east to Shinar and settled down. All together. It was a great crowd of people (Genesis 11) that had gathered - and that gathering was a great problem. By settling down together the people were flagrantly disobeying God’s command that they “be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth.” (Genesis 1)
In what may be humanity’s first experience of “group think,” out there on the plains of Shinar the people got a grand idea.
[Genesis 11:3] They said to one another, “Come, let us make bricks and burn them thoroughly.” And they used brick for stones and they used tar for mortar. [4] They said, “Come, let us build for ourselves a city, and a tower whose top will reach into heaven, and let us make for ourselves a name, otherwise we will be scattered abroad over the face of the whole earth.”
The group agreed that it would be better to NOT obey God’s command to fill the earth, but to remain together. Theologians are agreed that the people had determined, together, to exalt themselves above God.
Remedy: Think small.
God’s remedy to the situation created by this massive group of people getting into such mischief was to force smaller groupings by confusing their speech.
At Babel, God created the world's various major language groups. This forced a division of the human race and made more likely the fulfillment of His “fill the earth” mandate. As well, by dividing people by means of the language barrier, God created smaller groups of people, who could, together, get into less mischief. A brilliant move.
Such a move was made necessary because of the broken nature of people in the post-Garden of Eden world. With the coming of sin (Genesis 3), the general tendency of all people everywhere is independence from God, not trust. Left to our own devices, we will choose rebellion from God, not worship.
Yes, this is the consistent teaching of the Bible. But you really don’t have to be a biblicist to come to that conclusion. It is also the consistent teaching of history. If we would be honest in our assessment of human history, we will admit that the general trajectory of an impressive technological upward spike is accompanied by an equally depressing downward spiral by most meaningful, personal metrics. With a few notable and welcome lapses, our race's story is one of harsh cruelty, violence, and injustice.
The reason, again, is that individuals are (to use an extremely biblical word) “sinners.” Groups of people gathered together would, thus, be groups of “SINNERS” - hence, more dangerous. Hence, to reduce the danger of the negative AND to increase the likelihood of the positive, reduce the size of the group. That was God’s solution in Genesis 11. I think it still makes great sense today.
Think small.
Rather than think grand thoughts of "megas"...
think of the impact you can have in the lives of your circle of friends when you serve them.
think of the impact you can have when you show love to one, lonely, sad person at the end of his hope.
think of the redemptive influence you and your small circle of friends can have when you join hands to help a struggling family.
“Grand” turned into silly and vain grandiosity on the plains of Shinar. Grandiosity still reigns today, and just look where “big” has gotten us. We are technological giants, tempted to relational dwarfism. We are digitally connected all the time and it is so easy to be regularly disconnected, personally. Sure, “big” is impressive at a distance, but impact is always made "up close and personal."
It’s time to embrace and to celebrate the small. Jesus did and He invites us to join Him.
He applauded the small amount of leaven that leavens a whole lump of dough and the mustard seed of faith that moves mountains.
So, we applaud he the leavening effect of a small group of friends who journey through life together, along with the mustard seed of the family that plays and prays and weeps and laughs together and builds spiritual sequoias, and the church that makes it possible to known and be known, to love and be loved.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
The Flexibility Challenge (or “The Parable of the Stiff Joint”)
I have always loved physical movement, the great outdoors, and athletics. A consistent limiter to my enjoyment of these activities, especially in recent years, has been a glaring lack of suppleness, flexibility, and joint elasticity.
And folks, I’m talking serious lack of flexibility!
Due to tightness of the hips, I can’t comfortably sit cross-legged on the floor. I can’t make either of my feet touch my glutes due to knee stiffness. I come laughably far from being able to keep my legs straight and touch my fingers to the ground. I can’t sit in a chair and cross my left leg over my right knee.
Such lack of flexibility has made some of my favorite things less delightful.
Backpacking is among my favorite things, but given my joint mobility issues, downhill movements are killers. And, given that most mountain treks include a combination of uphills (which aren’t all that much fun, either) and downhills, that’s a problem.
The other physical activity that I have greatly enjoyed since 2008 is Crossfit, an exercise regimen that involves a combination of gymnastics, bodyweight exercises (pull-ups, push-ups, sit-ups, etc…), Olympic lifting (snatch, clean and jerk), weightlifting (deadlifts, squats, and presses), along with running, jump roping, rope-climbing and other such fun.
Again, my inflexible body greatly inhibits full range of motion in lots of these exercises, and that, too, is a problem.
So, on occasion, I try to loosen tight joints with stretches, foam rollers, and hard rubber balls placed at strategically located and notably inflexible spots on my anatomy. I’ve tried yoga a few times. I even bought a very expensive book (BECOMING A SUPPLE LEOPARD by Kelly Starrett - an excellent book, by the way) that includes a physical therapist’s counsel on how to become, well, supple. You know, like a leopard.
I’ve noticed something both interesting and disturbing about this lack-of-flexibility thing. It’s getting worse as I’m getting older.
I’ve never been extremely supple, even in earlier years, but the lack thereof wasn’t all that noticeable when I played basketball, golfed, or ran track in my twenties, thirties and even into my forties.
In my thirties, distance running was my exercise of choice. Putting one foot in front of the other for miles and miles didn’t require tremendous range of motion, so I did fine. (I’m suspicious that one of the major reasons for my world-class lack of flexibility NOW is my inattention to flexibility during the many years when my primary exercise was running long distances at a constant speed. That sort of exercise is a profoundly repetitive process that - without some intentionality to avoid it - greatly reduces range of motion in joints. The problem wasn't running, per se, but my refusal to work to remain limber while running.)
But now, deep into my 50’s, I’m playing with younger men’s activities, and my stiffening joints could end up being show-stoppers.
If I don’t get flexible, I won’t be able to keep camping. If I don’t get flexible, I won't be able to lift well, sprint, or jump high. So, I’ll keep stretching and “flossing” tight muscles for sustained performance for a few more years.
I’m not embarrassed to be so concerned about my physical fitness. We all only get one bod per life, so it’s a good idea to give it care and attention. But there is a grander point to this reflection on the physical than simply the physical. That's why my post's sub-title is, “The Parable of the Stiff Joint.”
Lack of flexibility can be a problem, PERSONALLY, as well as PHYSICALLY.
A willingness to adapt to changing realities, an ability to “bend over backwards” to serve a new generation, and a penchant for doing new things AND for doing old things in new ways is as necessary to a personal life as hip flexion is to an effective squat or a mobile shoulder joint is to a winning snatch or supple knee joints are to a scramble down Rocky Mountain talus.
The process that I’m following to attain a supple physical state is a generally painful combination of stretching, use of resistance bands and foam rollers, and “flossing” the muscles to gain peak range of motion.
Becoming a PERSONALLY flexible person will involve, likewise, a generally painful process. Specifically…
1). Stretching to understand the other person’s point of view. It will mean going out of my way to get to know people with whom I currently disagree and working hard to see how they have come to conclusions different from mine. Personal stretching will involve hanging with conservatives and progressives and libertarians, befriending Muslims and the homeless, and listening to NPR while also reading the Wall Street Journal.
I certainly have no interest in becoming an intellectual bowl of mush, a man without convictions. Not at all! It’s just that meaningful convictions will stand the fire of real engagement with others who have differing convictions - and that kind of engagement is a stretching experience.
2). Trying new things. Intentionally placing myself in situations where I am uncomfortable (what the exercise industry calls “muscle confusion”) will lead to personal leopard-like suppleness.
To combat personal rigidity I’m putting some “soul confusing” lifestyle choices into my immediate future.
I’m planning to explore some personal spiritual disciplines and ministry initiatives that I’ve not tried for a long time. I’m excited about them.
In addition, I’ve dreamed for years of writing a book (and actually have several themes I’d like to develop). Now, I have the makings of a plan to attempt an actual writing project.
As well, I intend to pursue some key relationships in ways that I hope will be revolutionary and transformational.
These new ways of approaching life have the potential of increasing my personal range of motion. Getting out of familiar ruts will require a trust in God deeper than I have known for some time and will hopefully, prayerfully, God-willing (!), change me into a loving man God might be pleased to use more powerfully in the future than He has been able to in the past.
With increasing years comes a tendency to lose flexibility. With Jesus, it need not be so. The Apostle Paul assures us that we need not lose hope for progress, for while [2 Corinthians 4:16] our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.
And folks, I’m talking serious lack of flexibility!
Due to tightness of the hips, I can’t comfortably sit cross-legged on the floor. I can’t make either of my feet touch my glutes due to knee stiffness. I come laughably far from being able to keep my legs straight and touch my fingers to the ground. I can’t sit in a chair and cross my left leg over my right knee.
Such lack of flexibility has made some of my favorite things less delightful.
Backpacking is among my favorite things, but given my joint mobility issues, downhill movements are killers. And, given that most mountain treks include a combination of uphills (which aren’t all that much fun, either) and downhills, that’s a problem.
The other physical activity that I have greatly enjoyed since 2008 is Crossfit, an exercise regimen that involves a combination of gymnastics, bodyweight exercises (pull-ups, push-ups, sit-ups, etc…), Olympic lifting (snatch, clean and jerk), weightlifting (deadlifts, squats, and presses), along with running, jump roping, rope-climbing and other such fun.
Again, my inflexible body greatly inhibits full range of motion in lots of these exercises, and that, too, is a problem.
So, on occasion, I try to loosen tight joints with stretches, foam rollers, and hard rubber balls placed at strategically located and notably inflexible spots on my anatomy. I’ve tried yoga a few times. I even bought a very expensive book (BECOMING A SUPPLE LEOPARD by Kelly Starrett - an excellent book, by the way) that includes a physical therapist’s counsel on how to become, well, supple. You know, like a leopard.
I’ve noticed something both interesting and disturbing about this lack-of-flexibility thing. It’s getting worse as I’m getting older.
I’ve never been extremely supple, even in earlier years, but the lack thereof wasn’t all that noticeable when I played basketball, golfed, or ran track in my twenties, thirties and even into my forties.
In my thirties, distance running was my exercise of choice. Putting one foot in front of the other for miles and miles didn’t require tremendous range of motion, so I did fine. (I’m suspicious that one of the major reasons for my world-class lack of flexibility NOW is my inattention to flexibility during the many years when my primary exercise was running long distances at a constant speed. That sort of exercise is a profoundly repetitive process that - without some intentionality to avoid it - greatly reduces range of motion in joints. The problem wasn't running, per se, but my refusal to work to remain limber while running.)
But now, deep into my 50’s, I’m playing with younger men’s activities, and my stiffening joints could end up being show-stoppers.
If I don’t get flexible, I won’t be able to keep camping. If I don’t get flexible, I won't be able to lift well, sprint, or jump high. So, I’ll keep stretching and “flossing” tight muscles for sustained performance for a few more years.
I’m not embarrassed to be so concerned about my physical fitness. We all only get one bod per life, so it’s a good idea to give it care and attention. But there is a grander point to this reflection on the physical than simply the physical. That's why my post's sub-title is, “The Parable of the Stiff Joint.”
Lack of flexibility can be a problem, PERSONALLY, as well as PHYSICALLY.
A willingness to adapt to changing realities, an ability to “bend over backwards” to serve a new generation, and a penchant for doing new things AND for doing old things in new ways is as necessary to a personal life as hip flexion is to an effective squat or a mobile shoulder joint is to a winning snatch or supple knee joints are to a scramble down Rocky Mountain talus.
The process that I’m following to attain a supple physical state is a generally painful combination of stretching, use of resistance bands and foam rollers, and “flossing” the muscles to gain peak range of motion.
Becoming a PERSONALLY flexible person will involve, likewise, a generally painful process. Specifically…
1). Stretching to understand the other person’s point of view. It will mean going out of my way to get to know people with whom I currently disagree and working hard to see how they have come to conclusions different from mine. Personal stretching will involve hanging with conservatives and progressives and libertarians, befriending Muslims and the homeless, and listening to NPR while also reading the Wall Street Journal.
I certainly have no interest in becoming an intellectual bowl of mush, a man without convictions. Not at all! It’s just that meaningful convictions will stand the fire of real engagement with others who have differing convictions - and that kind of engagement is a stretching experience.
2). Trying new things. Intentionally placing myself in situations where I am uncomfortable (what the exercise industry calls “muscle confusion”) will lead to personal leopard-like suppleness.
To combat personal rigidity I’m putting some “soul confusing” lifestyle choices into my immediate future.
I’m planning to explore some personal spiritual disciplines and ministry initiatives that I’ve not tried for a long time. I’m excited about them.
In addition, I’ve dreamed for years of writing a book (and actually have several themes I’d like to develop). Now, I have the makings of a plan to attempt an actual writing project.
As well, I intend to pursue some key relationships in ways that I hope will be revolutionary and transformational.
These new ways of approaching life have the potential of increasing my personal range of motion. Getting out of familiar ruts will require a trust in God deeper than I have known for some time and will hopefully, prayerfully, God-willing (!), change me into a loving man God might be pleased to use more powerfully in the future than He has been able to in the past.
With increasing years comes a tendency to lose flexibility. With Jesus, it need not be so. The Apostle Paul assures us that we need not lose hope for progress, for while [2 Corinthians 4:16] our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.
Thursday, December 5, 2013
The Least of These
Some time ago, when I created this blog, I decided to name it in honor of an idea that has long captivated my imagination. The idea? Simple. Small is beautiful. “Learning Small” reflects that deeply held conviction.
The thought that small is beautiful is certainly not to imply that big is ugly or that BIG won’t teach lessons. Over the years, though, God has typically done His best work in me through small things, through the seemingly trivial, the unobtrusive.
I serve what is, in comparison to many churches, a small church. Like many (Most? Come on, guys…) pastors of smaller churches, I have wrestled with my small-ish place in the grand scheme of things.
I’ve wondered as I’ve wandered through life in a small place, does God desire to do something BIG through me? Am I doing something wrong that is keeping me at a small place? Is there something wrong with me that is keeping my church under 10,000 (OK, under 1,000; OK, under 500)?
Then, this afternoon, I got a phone call from a fellow our church helped through a terribly ugly divorce back in 1986. He was a young man then. He worked with his hands as a skilled carpenter. His life was wrecked by the divorce, as many lives are. But, in the months following that divorce, lots of people in our church walked him through that valley. He gained strength and stability. He trusted in Jesus - and then moved from San Antonio and out of our lives.
I hadn’t heard from him for about twenty five years when the phone rang today. He still works with his hands. He has been happily married to a wonderful Christian woman for the last sixteen years. He is still walking with Jesus - and he called to say “Thanks” for the help our church provided to him during the low point of his life.
I don’t tell that story to gain bragging rights. No, I tell it to bring a different metric to the table when measuring the success of a life or of a church.
I wonder if rather than measuring success by more typical standards (money, bodies, buildings), we might better measure success by stories, the stories of lives impacted by love and grace.
Jesus’ life and ministry impacted thousands, true. And by His death on the cross and resurrection from the dead He has saved untold millions. But examine the record of His life as found in Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, and you’ll see a life chock full of one-on-one conversations and small group interactions.
He impacted people - individuals! - up close and personal. In the end, He entrusted His worldwide ministry to a very few people (eleven men and a few women) who knew Him quite well. I think we would all agree that they did quite well with their mission.
I suspect that the greatest impact is always made face-to-face, one-on-one, life-on-life, within a small circle of intimates.
Impact occurs when a mom or dad speaks grace into the life of a son or a daughter; when an older woman lovingly mentors a struggling young mom; when a man who has been “clean and sober” for six years comes alongside the guy who is having a hard time making it to Day Two and says, “You can do it, buddy. Trust Jesus. One day at a time. I’m with you. I’m praying for you.”
There is no sour grapes-ism to this post. I genuinely thank God for the wonderful large churches in my city of San Antonio where God is doing amazing things.
I’m just wondering if, at the end of time, God will turn to each of us and to each church and say something like, “Well done. You loved ________ really well.”
And who is _______?
The homeless person.
The sad person who tried to make a living as a children’s party clown.
The socially awkward older woman who never married and hates men, anyway.
The guy with mental illness.
The high-powered executive who needed acceptance, not for achievement, but for his basic human worth.
The addict.
The woman involved in the sex trade.
The lonely teen.
The child with learning challenges.
The Pharisee who finally found grace.
When Jesus took the time to reach out to the poor, the oppressed, the leper, and the diseased, He was creating a template for His people to follow for all time.
It is as if He was saying, “I never forgot the least and the last and the lost. Don’t you forget them, either. They are near and dear to My heart. Big is fine, but small is beautiful. And guess what? Put enough smalls together and you get BIG. Really BIG - Kingdom of God sized BIG!”
As seen through the stories of Gideon’s army, David vs. Goliath, and the early church, God often does His best work through small things. He has always been delighted to do His best work through small people like me and you.
The thought that small is beautiful is certainly not to imply that big is ugly or that BIG won’t teach lessons. Over the years, though, God has typically done His best work in me through small things, through the seemingly trivial, the unobtrusive.
I serve what is, in comparison to many churches, a small church. Like many (Most? Come on, guys…) pastors of smaller churches, I have wrestled with my small-ish place in the grand scheme of things.
I’ve wondered as I’ve wandered through life in a small place, does God desire to do something BIG through me? Am I doing something wrong that is keeping me at a small place? Is there something wrong with me that is keeping my church under 10,000 (OK, under 1,000; OK, under 500)?
Then, this afternoon, I got a phone call from a fellow our church helped through a terribly ugly divorce back in 1986. He was a young man then. He worked with his hands as a skilled carpenter. His life was wrecked by the divorce, as many lives are. But, in the months following that divorce, lots of people in our church walked him through that valley. He gained strength and stability. He trusted in Jesus - and then moved from San Antonio and out of our lives.
I hadn’t heard from him for about twenty five years when the phone rang today. He still works with his hands. He has been happily married to a wonderful Christian woman for the last sixteen years. He is still walking with Jesus - and he called to say “Thanks” for the help our church provided to him during the low point of his life.
I don’t tell that story to gain bragging rights. No, I tell it to bring a different metric to the table when measuring the success of a life or of a church.
I wonder if rather than measuring success by more typical standards (money, bodies, buildings), we might better measure success by stories, the stories of lives impacted by love and grace.
Jesus’ life and ministry impacted thousands, true. And by His death on the cross and resurrection from the dead He has saved untold millions. But examine the record of His life as found in Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, and you’ll see a life chock full of one-on-one conversations and small group interactions.
He impacted people - individuals! - up close and personal. In the end, He entrusted His worldwide ministry to a very few people (eleven men and a few women) who knew Him quite well. I think we would all agree that they did quite well with their mission.
I suspect that the greatest impact is always made face-to-face, one-on-one, life-on-life, within a small circle of intimates.
Impact occurs when a mom or dad speaks grace into the life of a son or a daughter; when an older woman lovingly mentors a struggling young mom; when a man who has been “clean and sober” for six years comes alongside the guy who is having a hard time making it to Day Two and says, “You can do it, buddy. Trust Jesus. One day at a time. I’m with you. I’m praying for you.”
There is no sour grapes-ism to this post. I genuinely thank God for the wonderful large churches in my city of San Antonio where God is doing amazing things.
I’m just wondering if, at the end of time, God will turn to each of us and to each church and say something like, “Well done. You loved ________ really well.”
And who is _______?
The homeless person.
The sad person who tried to make a living as a children’s party clown.
The socially awkward older woman who never married and hates men, anyway.
The guy with mental illness.
The high-powered executive who needed acceptance, not for achievement, but for his basic human worth.
The addict.
The woman involved in the sex trade.
The lonely teen.
The child with learning challenges.
The Pharisee who finally found grace.
When Jesus took the time to reach out to the poor, the oppressed, the leper, and the diseased, He was creating a template for His people to follow for all time.
It is as if He was saying, “I never forgot the least and the last and the lost. Don’t you forget them, either. They are near and dear to My heart. Big is fine, but small is beautiful. And guess what? Put enough smalls together and you get BIG. Really BIG - Kingdom of God sized BIG!”
As seen through the stories of Gideon’s army, David vs. Goliath, and the early church, God often does His best work through small things. He has always been delighted to do His best work through small people like me and you.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
THE TRIP (camping with my daughter and her epic dog, November, 2013)
My daughter, Erin, and I have camped before. She first “car camped” with her mother, me and her two brothers as a youngster on expeditions to Lost Maples and Enchanted Rock. Her first backpacking trip (1997; she was nine) was to the Hill Country State Natural Area with me and her brothers, sans Mom.
This post details a trip to the same spot, a sweet sixteen years later. This time, rather than enjoying the company of her brothers, we enjoyed the company of her dog of ten years, Jazmine.
Erin has always loved the outdoors and has always had a heart for adventure. A “study abroad” program that took her to England for a semester of college was filled with travel, adventuring with friends, mountain-climbing in Wales, and, so she tells me, a bit of study here and there.
Her first post-graduation job of nearly two years had her serving a family with four extreme preemies from birth through several near death valleys, to stability, to thriving. Again, high adventure.
Erin’s heart for people and for God has been a consistent encouragement and thrill to me, most especially in recent years, as the churches she has attended have given her wonderful community and been places of grace and fire.
Well, this Erin has this dog, Jazmine, a small-ish black whatchamacallit. Jazmine looks like a miniature Doberman pinscher (but she probably isn’t). And Erin has always thought it would be a GREAT idea to take Jazmine on a backpacking trip.
Some time ago, she bought a doggie backpack for that purpose and had been hiking the wilds near her home of Bryan, Texas in anticipation of THE TRIP.
Erin and I had been talking about THE TRIP for some months and had actually almost settled on a date in early October. That trip didn’t happen (overcome by events) and the post-Thanksgiving weekend time frame was soon set in stone as the “go to” getaway time.
Our plan was to head out to Lost Maples (a reliable site for great hiking that she and I have enjoyed in the past, backpacking there together a couple of years ago) for a night or two of fun in the woods. That proved not to be possible, though, as the Park Ranger told me the week prior to Thanksgiving that all the camping sites - including primitive backcountry sites - were reserved for the time frame we would be there.
So, we shifted fire and decided to go to the old stand-by, Hill Country State Natural Area, site of Erin’s first-ever backpacking excursion, for Jazmine’s first-ever backpacking excursion.
After gorging ourselves on a Thanksgiving feast on Thursday, we loaded up my Ranger on Friday morning for the hour long trip through Bandera to the park.
Once there, we checked in, paid the ranger, and drove to the trailhead. We would soon prove that familiarity need not breed contempt AND that epic adventure can be found in state parks if the expedition leader is willing to make map-reading errors that make Columbus’ “route to India” (aka America) look brilliant.
The day started off chilly, but was delightful for hiking. Jazmine was loaded down with her own food and blanket, our tent, our food and my portable Jacuzzi. Just kidding, of course. But she did carry more weight relative to body weight than either of her traveling companions and did great.
We were hiking toward the Hermit’s Shack, a campsite near the westerly edge of the park. Hiking to the Hermit’s Shack takes you through some of the prettier spots in the Hill Country, and it was a great hike. We stopped along the way for a lunch of Pringles, chocolate (always a staple in my camping diet), and nuts and started hiking again.
All went well until we intersected Trail #1. We weren’t supposed to hit Trail #1!
Erin’s intrepid guide had taken a wrong turn waaaay back there and took us to the wrong camping area, known as Wilderness. Without getting too mopey, we decided that the best thing to do would be to bushwhack our way from the Wilderness area to Trail #4, which would then take us to the Hermit’s Shack.
Like all shortcuts, the idea was outstanding in the abstract, difficult to accomplish in the concrete.
This particular shortcut required that we go straight up a mountainside, off-trail (elevation gain uncertain; two to three hundred feet?) through heavy underbrush. The footing was horrible, even for those in the expedition with four feet!
The climb took us around forty five minutes. Route picking was fun. Less fun was grabbing for handholds and finding agarita, cactus, and pyracantha. Jazmine performed heroically. At one spot, she launched herself up toward a rock shelf about five times before she finally made it up to the next level. Needless to say, Erin also did great. It was never clear whether she was muttering under her breath about her guide, but when we got to the top, among her first words were, “That was fun!”
Well, back on the trail we walked easily for another couple of hours to the Hermit’s shack where we found a campsite all to ourselves. It was a calm and serene, beautiful setting.
We set up the tent, gathered firewood (Note: Hill Country SNA is perhaps the only state park in Texas where fires are permitted in the backcountry - in fire rings only. Sadly, due to the drought of recent years, fires have not been allowed. Due to recent rains, though, the Ranger had told us that we could have a fire. And a delightful fire it was, too…), and prepared to fix dinner.
We had one of my favorite backpacking meals: mashed potatoes with summer sausage. According to Erin (who is exceptionally easy to please), it was quite delicious. Jazmine enjoyed her own gourmet meal of dog food + treat + one of Erin’s slices of summer sausage and seemed quite content.
It was now 5pm. Hmmm...
We both wondered how we were going to stay awake until a decent hour, since the sun would go down at 6 and neither one of us wanted to hit the sack at 6:30! Not to worry. We had the fire to keep us occupied, apple crisp dessert to enjoy, hot chocolate to savor. Most important, we had time to catch up with each other.
This, you should know, was what I had been sneakily waiting for, planning for, and hoping for. Time to do nothing but sit around a campfire and talk with my daughter. Sure, I like to hike and camp. But when I go backpacking, the dream is always to make or maintain or deepen personal connection with my camping buddies.
Well, on this trip, it was “mission accomplished.”
Erin and I talked about all sorts of stuff - mostly heart to heart stuff, God-stuff, life-stuff. She was her usual Barnabas-like encourager. We prayed together easily, at the drop of a hat, just as we have done whenever we have had the chance to talk in recent years.
Before we knew it, I looked at my watch and it was after 9pm. We were both pretty tired and decided that it would be best for her and Jazmine to get situated first, which they did. After reading for a while (camping doesn’t mean that you can’t bring your Kindle and headlamp), I turned in at about 9:45 and didn’t even wake up my camping companions.
I was up early (5:30), as usual. Sadly, my arising early also woke Jazmine, so sleeping in wasn’t an option for Erin, either. She and her dog appeared at 6:30. After re-starting the fire, we had another wonderful meal of dehydrated eggs on tortillas, pan-fried leftover summer sausage, and coffee. Jazmine was satisfied with her gourmet dog food, and, I believe, another slice of Erin’s sausage, and our leftover eggs.
By this time, the trip was mostly over. Yesterday had been a great day of hiking and climbing and eating and talking. Now it was time to hike out. We broke camp and took our time with the three mile hike back to the car. The hike out wasn’t epic in the least, but the talking was, again, rich.
As we got into the truck, I, who am not particularly adept at multi-tasking, had several thoughts swirling around in my mind. One, man my knees hurt. Two, wow, what a great trip. You really can have an epic adventure in a state park! Three, I’ve got one amazing daughter - God-loving, fun-loving, intelligent and articulate, sensitive and beautiful. Four, thank You, Lord, for allowing me the privilege of staying connected with her as I’ve watched her become the woman she is today.
And away we drove, another roaringly successful trip to the great outdoors.
This post details a trip to the same spot, a sweet sixteen years later. This time, rather than enjoying the company of her brothers, we enjoyed the company of her dog of ten years, Jazmine.
Erin has always loved the outdoors and has always had a heart for adventure. A “study abroad” program that took her to England for a semester of college was filled with travel, adventuring with friends, mountain-climbing in Wales, and, so she tells me, a bit of study here and there.
Her first post-graduation job of nearly two years had her serving a family with four extreme preemies from birth through several near death valleys, to stability, to thriving. Again, high adventure.
Erin’s heart for people and for God has been a consistent encouragement and thrill to me, most especially in recent years, as the churches she has attended have given her wonderful community and been places of grace and fire.
Well, this Erin has this dog, Jazmine, a small-ish black whatchamacallit. Jazmine looks like a miniature Doberman pinscher (but she probably isn’t). And Erin has always thought it would be a GREAT idea to take Jazmine on a backpacking trip.
Some time ago, she bought a doggie backpack for that purpose and had been hiking the wilds near her home of Bryan, Texas in anticipation of THE TRIP.
Erin and I had been talking about THE TRIP for some months and had actually almost settled on a date in early October. That trip didn’t happen (overcome by events) and the post-Thanksgiving weekend time frame was soon set in stone as the “go to” getaway time.
Our plan was to head out to Lost Maples (a reliable site for great hiking that she and I have enjoyed in the past, backpacking there together a couple of years ago) for a night or two of fun in the woods. That proved not to be possible, though, as the Park Ranger told me the week prior to Thanksgiving that all the camping sites - including primitive backcountry sites - were reserved for the time frame we would be there.
So, we shifted fire and decided to go to the old stand-by, Hill Country State Natural Area, site of Erin’s first-ever backpacking excursion, for Jazmine’s first-ever backpacking excursion.
After gorging ourselves on a Thanksgiving feast on Thursday, we loaded up my Ranger on Friday morning for the hour long trip through Bandera to the park.
Once there, we checked in, paid the ranger, and drove to the trailhead. We would soon prove that familiarity need not breed contempt AND that epic adventure can be found in state parks if the expedition leader is willing to make map-reading errors that make Columbus’ “route to India” (aka America) look brilliant.
The day started off chilly, but was delightful for hiking. Jazmine was loaded down with her own food and blanket, our tent, our food and my portable Jacuzzi. Just kidding, of course. But she did carry more weight relative to body weight than either of her traveling companions and did great.
We were hiking toward the Hermit’s Shack, a campsite near the westerly edge of the park. Hiking to the Hermit’s Shack takes you through some of the prettier spots in the Hill Country, and it was a great hike. We stopped along the way for a lunch of Pringles, chocolate (always a staple in my camping diet), and nuts and started hiking again.
All went well until we intersected Trail #1. We weren’t supposed to hit Trail #1!
Erin’s intrepid guide had taken a wrong turn waaaay back there and took us to the wrong camping area, known as Wilderness. Without getting too mopey, we decided that the best thing to do would be to bushwhack our way from the Wilderness area to Trail #4, which would then take us to the Hermit’s Shack.
Like all shortcuts, the idea was outstanding in the abstract, difficult to accomplish in the concrete.
This particular shortcut required that we go straight up a mountainside, off-trail (elevation gain uncertain; two to three hundred feet?) through heavy underbrush. The footing was horrible, even for those in the expedition with four feet!
The climb took us around forty five minutes. Route picking was fun. Less fun was grabbing for handholds and finding agarita, cactus, and pyracantha. Jazmine performed heroically. At one spot, she launched herself up toward a rock shelf about five times before she finally made it up to the next level. Needless to say, Erin also did great. It was never clear whether she was muttering under her breath about her guide, but when we got to the top, among her first words were, “That was fun!”
Well, back on the trail we walked easily for another couple of hours to the Hermit’s shack where we found a campsite all to ourselves. It was a calm and serene, beautiful setting.
We set up the tent, gathered firewood (Note: Hill Country SNA is perhaps the only state park in Texas where fires are permitted in the backcountry - in fire rings only. Sadly, due to the drought of recent years, fires have not been allowed. Due to recent rains, though, the Ranger had told us that we could have a fire. And a delightful fire it was, too…), and prepared to fix dinner.
We had one of my favorite backpacking meals: mashed potatoes with summer sausage. According to Erin (who is exceptionally easy to please), it was quite delicious. Jazmine enjoyed her own gourmet meal of dog food + treat + one of Erin’s slices of summer sausage and seemed quite content.
It was now 5pm. Hmmm...
We both wondered how we were going to stay awake until a decent hour, since the sun would go down at 6 and neither one of us wanted to hit the sack at 6:30! Not to worry. We had the fire to keep us occupied, apple crisp dessert to enjoy, hot chocolate to savor. Most important, we had time to catch up with each other.
This, you should know, was what I had been sneakily waiting for, planning for, and hoping for. Time to do nothing but sit around a campfire and talk with my daughter. Sure, I like to hike and camp. But when I go backpacking, the dream is always to make or maintain or deepen personal connection with my camping buddies.
Well, on this trip, it was “mission accomplished.”
Erin and I talked about all sorts of stuff - mostly heart to heart stuff, God-stuff, life-stuff. She was her usual Barnabas-like encourager. We prayed together easily, at the drop of a hat, just as we have done whenever we have had the chance to talk in recent years.
Before we knew it, I looked at my watch and it was after 9pm. We were both pretty tired and decided that it would be best for her and Jazmine to get situated first, which they did. After reading for a while (camping doesn’t mean that you can’t bring your Kindle and headlamp), I turned in at about 9:45 and didn’t even wake up my camping companions.
I was up early (5:30), as usual. Sadly, my arising early also woke Jazmine, so sleeping in wasn’t an option for Erin, either. She and her dog appeared at 6:30. After re-starting the fire, we had another wonderful meal of dehydrated eggs on tortillas, pan-fried leftover summer sausage, and coffee. Jazmine was satisfied with her gourmet dog food, and, I believe, another slice of Erin’s sausage, and our leftover eggs.
By this time, the trip was mostly over. Yesterday had been a great day of hiking and climbing and eating and talking. Now it was time to hike out. We broke camp and took our time with the three mile hike back to the car. The hike out wasn’t epic in the least, but the talking was, again, rich.
As we got into the truck, I, who am not particularly adept at multi-tasking, had several thoughts swirling around in my mind. One, man my knees hurt. Two, wow, what a great trip. You really can have an epic adventure in a state park! Three, I’ve got one amazing daughter - God-loving, fun-loving, intelligent and articulate, sensitive and beautiful. Four, thank You, Lord, for allowing me the privilege of staying connected with her as I’ve watched her become the woman she is today.
And away we drove, another roaringly successful trip to the great outdoors.
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Backpacking to the Wind River Range (August 14-20, 2013)
I have gone camping with my children since they were very young. Kathy and I took the kids when they were all little on “car camping” trips. Acting on the theory that shared misery brings people together, these camping experiences were defining connecting times for our family in the formative years (Will any of us ever forget the severe thunderstorm that blew through Enchanted Rock in the middle of breakfast?)
When the kids got a little older, backpacking (defined as camping some distance away from the car) has been the camping style of choice. I took all three kids to Hill Country State Natural Area when they were about 7, 9, and 11, respectively, and more recently took Erin to Lost Maples. Sadly, there were few mishaps, but she was gracious and allowed that we connected anyway.
For the guys, backpacking has been more of a regular occurrence. Now 30 and nearly 28, I’ve taken week-long trips to the Rockies with Ben and Zach on most summers since they were 11 and 13.
While I’ve sometimes combined these trips with others, this most recent trip with Ben was the only time I’ve ever gone backpacking with only one of my sons. While the trip was an overall success, some of the details contained in this trip report should put Zach on notice.
Most trips begin long before they start, and this one was no exception. With Zach and his wife, Courtney, enjoying a year of adventure while living in New Zealand and Southeast Asia, Ben and I thought it would be great fun to take a trip to the Wind River Range in Wyoming. The three of us had gone to this area before (2011) and had enjoyed a great week, taking in the Cirque of the Towers among other highlights. Knowing that Zach was unavailable, Ben agreed to go. Still, he meant well.
The trip planning process consists of months of poring over maps, thinking through gear lists, and perusing trip reports. For this trip, our map study pointed us to the northern Winds where the mountains are somewhat higher (as if they weren’t high enough in the southern Winds), the glaciers are very prominent (and we had exactly zero experience with glaciers) and the grizzly bears are reportedly the most populous (No. We saw no grizzlies. The largest mammal sighting on this trip was a smaller than normal marmot.)
We lifted off from San Antonio on Wednesday, August 14, having been dropped off by Kathy’s loving taxi service (Melissa being in Korea, visiting her grandmother Sadie’s country of origin). A three hour trip to Salt Lake City and a puddle-jumper to Jackson Hole, Wyoming and we were there, greeted by the obligatory arch of elk antlers outside the Jackson Hole Airport.
Driving our rented Ford Focus to Jackson Hole’s Café Genevieve, we both ordered “mac and cheese and chicken” which just happened to include the largest serving of mac and cheese I’ve ever seen and a very large half chicken. No, neither of us finished it (and yes, at least one of us had some glutenous symptoms arising from this meal).
After dinner we drove to Pinedale through the beautiful Hobach Valley, arriving at the Best Western at about 8:30 or so. At the hotel we packed and repacked and packed and repacked in eager anticipation of the adventure coming the next day.
We got the light turned off about 10:30 and set the alarm for 5:00, hoping to hit the trail as early as possible. I’m 57 years of age and slept like a six year old on Christmas Eve. However, we both got up easily, enjoyed a really good egg/bacon/sausage and gravy breakfast at the hotel, loaded up and drove to the Elkhart Trailhead (about 9300 feet elevation). It was a short trip from Pinedale (17 miles on a paved road) and we hit the trail by 7:15am - a record early start for any backpacking trip I’ve ever taken.
Day One - Elkhart Trailhead to unnamed lake above Island Lake
The weather was fine - about 40 degrees - but the skies were smoky from the Idaho fires. We had hopes that the skies would clear - which they did - but the views of the higher Winds were hidden all during that first day (as they would be on the last day, too).
The first day of hiking was really pretty. There was a steady but gentle ascent over the first few miles through pine forests, mixed with aspen. One of the trees that we saw most frequently at the lower elevations was the magnificent whitebark pine. These trees can live upwards of a thousand years. They are huge, sometimes having multiple, twisted trunks, and are currently under attack by the bark beetle.
We estimate that at least thirty people passed us on this day, heading back to the trailhead. We were encouraged as they described in glowing detail the country into which we were heading.
During this day’s hike of about thirteen miles we gained a net elevation of slightly over one thousand feet, but we gained it over and over again, as there were many ascents and descents while we passed numerous large and small lakes (Eklund, Barbara, Seneca, Little Seneca, numerous unnamed ponds, and Island Lake).
We stopped at Island Lake to have dinner on a white, sandy beach. Yes, it seemed totally out of place, but bare feet on the sand feels as good at 10,000 feet as it does at sea level. After enjoying a great dinner (both of us having meals we had dehydrated at home) and conversation with several other campers, we headed off to the next lake on the trail - an unnamed one - for our first night.
(One note about our bear canisters: We were in a decided minority of packpackers in the Winds who carried them. In fact, some folks from Wyoming asked us, “So what are those plastic jugs you have there?” Even though the Forest Service is on record as requiring them, they are almost never seen in the backcountry. Truth be told, where we were heading - above treeline - bears have no interest in going. There is nothing for a bear there and except for keeping our food stores from the truly pesky marmots, the canisters were superfluous. So, yes, it was annoying to have carried them. Doubly annoying that it was VERY hard to get the silly things open, especially with cold fingers!)
The first evening was somewhat mosquito-filled, but not enough to warrant bug spray, which we never used at all. They weren’t THAT bad and the mosquito netting worked fine. Yes. I did spit once with the mosquito net down, to Ben’s utter delight.
As always, the Sierra Design tent, Big Agnes mattress, and “Quilt by Ben” worked great. As always, I slept poorly. Sadly, my maximum time in the woods caps out at about four nights because I can’t go much longer than that without sleep.
On this first night Ben and I had our first of several wonderful talks. Fellowship was rich, it was never very cold, and we managed to stay up till well past 9 o’clock (a real accomplishment when camping!).
Day Two - Unnamed lake above Island Lake to Indian Pass and back; on to Titcomb Basin
The next morning we arose early to get going as quickly as we could over Indian Pass to the eastern side of the Continental Divide.
Our plans for this trip were quite ambitious. We intended to hike over Indian Pass and from there travel off-trail for two or three days through the Winds. Indian Pass Trail ends at the Pass, so we planned to hike down the other side to a river, then point ourselves to such major features as Blaurock Pass and Glacier Trail, Klondike Creek, and then up to Klondike Lake. We would then hike from Klondike back to the Continental Divide, cross over and then work our way down to the Titcomb Basin through Knapsack Col and head out via a long hike on the fifth day. As you might be able to tell by the subjunctive mood of the above, we did not, in any meaningful sense, do this.
The hike up to Indian Pass was a beast. While the map would indicate something shorter, the Forest Service sign says that it is six miles up. We believe it was six miles (and it felt like ten). It took us four full hours to make it to the top, and by the time we arrived, these flatlanders from San Antonio were both beat. Yes, the views were stunning, but we were greatly disheartened to look down the eastern side of the Divide and see that we would immediately lose all the elevation we had just gained - and that we would lose it by walking over large boulders and scree. To me, it looked painful, as downhill is always harder on knees than uphill. It also looked dangerous, but as we were to find out on this trip, dangerous is relative. (Reminiscent of a scene from the show “24” where a man Jack Bauer is interrogating says, “You’re hurting me” to which Bauer replies, “No I’m not.”)
Reluctantly, but completely united, we agreed that the Lord had blessed us with the wisdom we had sought before the hike began. We knew we could not make the original hike and started trudging downhill. That downhill took another three and a half hours - and it WAS painful.
When we got back to the bottom, we decided to hike a bit further up toward the Titcomb Basin, into what we had heard was one of the best features of the Winds. We were not misled.
After another hour or so of hiking we came to a small lake at the southern end of the Basin, set up camp, and ate supper. Again, the mosquitoes were annoying, but not terribly so, the food was edible, the conversation stimulating, and the views of the peaks at the northern end of the Basin were simply off the amazing chart.
Ben and I decided that we would spend the next day taking a day hike up the basin, just to see what we could see.
Day Three - Epic
The next morning broke beautiful and sunny. We arose early, ate fast, and hit the trail with day packs by 8am. We hiked alongside first Lower and then Upper Titcomb Lakes. The amount of water was simply astounding! These lakes were big and Upper flowed into Lower with a huge volume of water.
So… after about a half hour of hiking, I turned to my good hiking buddy, Ben, and said something like, “Hey, instead of taking a day hike, we could probably just climb up out of the Basin over Knapsack Col, find Highline Trail, and then wind our way back to the Elkhart Trailhead by the end of Day Five.”
Ben agreed that this sounded like a splendid idea, which at least meant that there were two [idiots] fully responsible adults making the decision to turn around, go back to camp, break camp, load up packs, re-hike the mile we had just hiked, and then go off-trail through the Titcomb Basin to find our way to a recognizable trail. Thus did the day become (in Ben’s words) “epic” and thus was my definition of “dangerous” re-defined.
By the time we were back on the trail (this time with fully loaded packs), it was well after 10:00. The sky was clear and the shadow was off the trail. On the way up Titcomb Basin we passed a group of five guys who were bathing in one of the lakes. They had been rock climbing for the previous seven days and were just washing up before heading back to the trailhead.
They were effusive in the extreme about rock climbing in the Basin. I may not have the quote exactly as they said it, but the gist was, “We have climbed in the Cirque of the Towers. The Cirque is world class. But the Cirque can’t hold a candle to this. The mountains are higher, more massive, colder.” (Note to Zach and Courtney: You guys need to see Titcomb Basin.)
After a couple more minutes of visiting, we hiked on, agreeing with their assessment, even from laymen’s viewpoints, that Titcomb Basin was impressive, with peaks rising all around, snow hidden in rock faces. We were both overwhelmed with the size of it all.
Eventually we came to the end of the Upper Titcomb Lake, noticing a large waterfall that cascaded down a cliff face on the other (western) side, which obviously helped feed the lakes. We wondered where the water was coming from, a wonder that would soon be revealed.
One of the couples we met on the trail was a fellow and (I assumed, correctly) his girlfriend who were on their way in to Titcomb Basin for a few days of rock climbing. Really nice guy. Probably about forty or so, my first impression had been that he was out of his element. He looked tired, even bored. Probably one of the great crimes of misjudgment of this century.
We had already passed this couple on Day Two. On this day (Day Three), we passed them on the trail going toward Titcomb Basin. When we told him where we were going, he immediately pulled out his Winds map and helped us orient to where we needed to go. He was, in fact, quite at home in the mountains and had a great sense of what the Winds were all about. We talked with him for a few minutes, telling him of our plan to hike up Knapsack Col, about which he seemed quite impressed. (We should have taken his being impressed as our first “red light” omen.)
We took our leave of him and his friend, and rested for a few minutes at the top of the upper lake, filling up water bottles and resting tired feet.
Once we got going again we immediately started gaining elevation, angling toward Twin Sisters glacier.
The run-off from the glacier was enormous. To cross this run-off river, Ben went barefoot and I put on the lightweight shoes I had brought along for the purpose. The stream was cascading downhill very steeply, was obviously extremely cold (yes, glacier run-off can be chilly), and the current was very strong. Both of us made it across safely. Despite being a very strong 200 pound power lifted, Ben still has the natural coordination of a cat. My natural coordination trends toward the cat’s clumsier cousins, but was sufficient to get me to the other side.
Then we crossed over a short wrinkle in the mountain and got our first look at the glacier. It was amazing! Beautiful and white and snowy looking in places, torrents of water were leaking from it to fill the Titcomb Lakes and beyond.
We looked up at the ridge and thought we saw Knapsack Col, which we assumed would look like a notch in the ridge line, and decided to try and skirt the glacier and follow some evident seams in the rock and climb to the top.
So off we went…
At first, it was just kind of tricky doing a bit of boulder hopping. Then, we realized that we were still ON the glacier. Ben described it as walking on asphalt. There was good traction because the ice was dirty and filled with rocks. It was a few minutes into this part of the hike that I started to think that we were committed to the ridge. We had to press on because I couldn’t even imagine going back down this!
So up we continued, angling back to the left. Very quickly it got to be very hard climbing. At times, it felt quite dangerous, especially challenging, too, because we both were climbing with full packs. At one point the sky darkened and we felt raindrops. Thankfully, the rain never came and the weather cleared, but we realized that time was of the essence, so we didn’t dawdle.
We were getting near the top, but each step had to be carefully thought through. We were looking for foot-holds and finger holds at every step to pull ourselves up to the next shelf.
Then, finally, after about a two hour ascent, Ben emerged at the top! It was great. We had a wonderful view of the lake at the bottom on the other side of the ridge, a lake which we assumed was Peak Lake leading to Highline Trail.
After a couple minutes of rest we started the descent, which turned out to be difficult. It was a scramble over huge boulders and ice fields, something that we didn’t expect based on the map. (Omen #2: When the sight in front of you doesn’t reflect what the map says, you’ve got a problem. Trust the map.). What with exhaustion, hurting knees and feet (and for Ben, calves and ankles), the descent was painful. But we finally made it to the bottom, having probably lost a thousand feet in elevation.
With Ben leading the way we hiked the length of the lake (still thinking that it was Peak Lake). And just a note about the lake. It was gorgeous! Not a stretch to say that it was actually turquoise, nestled among rocks. Probably nothing living in it, but as clean a lake as I’ve ever seen. We had no qualms about drinking water, untreated, from this lake.
At the end of the lake we expected to see a trail and Cube Rock Pass, but there was no trail to be seen. The lake emptied out into a broad valley with two very large lakes at the bottom - again, something that was NOT on the maps. All of a sudden we couldn’t figure out where we were. Where the lake emptied, the water flowed down a precipitous drop-off into the first of the two lakes below.
It was at about this time that Ben turned to me and said, “Dad, those are the Titcomb Lakes!”
Sure enough, we were both convinced within a couple of minutes that we had somehow circled around one mountain and were now one descent away from simply re-entering the Titcomb Basin. The run-off from the lake we had just hiked past (which was not Peak Lake, but Summer Ice Lake - gotta love that name) was, in fact, the enormous waterfall that we had seen from below. Sadly, now we were going to have to hike down the waterfall chute.
THAT turned out to be a very dicey proposition. The course was very steep. Ben went first (Thanks, son!), got about twenty feet ahead of me, turned to face me and said in about as panicky a voice as I’ve ever heard from him, “Dad, don’t come this way. Stay where you are!”
Ever the obedient father, I did as I was told and waited for him to tell me what was up. Evidently, to continue going the route Ben had hoped to follow brought him to an eighty foot cliff. Our only option now was to cross the waterfall and try going down the other side.
Crossing wasn’t that hard, as the water was flowing under the boulders at this point, but it did require a three foot drop which I was loathe to take with bad knees and a full packpack. Ben suggested that I simply slide down on my belly, which I did, leaving various anatomical parts, for the most part, intact.
From that point on, it was a scramble down to the lake. At first, it was very scary because the terrain was dirt and loose rock. We had to be very careful to not dislodge rocks and start a landslide that would have made our other disasters seem less disastrous. After a while, the terrain changed to short grass and stable terrain - but still very steep. Not sure if I have mentioned that my knees hurt, but I’ll mention it now. And with hurting knees this descent added insult to injury. Ben’s main bodily pains were still all about calves, feet, and ankles. As usual, neither of us said a word about our aches and pains, stoically and silently (except for the occasional wry comment) bearing all hardship with courage, strength, wisdom and skill. (Yeah, right!)
At any rate, we finally got to a level, grassy spot near the Upper Titcomb Lake at 7:30, the end of eleven and a half hours of travel. We saw that the weather was cratering, so set up shelter as fast as we could. The weather held off, giving us time to boil some water for dinner. Ben’s usual noodles and meat and seasoning was wonderful, as always. My chili con potatoes was equally sublime.
The wind shifted - Ben re-set his tarp - and we stayed outside talking for a bit about what we had done, amazed that we had been stupid enough to miss Knapsack Col, that we had decided to go through with the hike, that we hadn’t gotten hurt, and that we actually pulled off a pretty epic day.
(Our decision to climb up where we did was due to our total inexperience with glaciers - and to our failure to really study the map with a compass! We thought we were going up and around the glacier, but the glacier was really much larger than the snowy white stuff we could see. It continued under the rocks for a good distance, and it was over this that we walked up and over the ridge, not around the glacier, but right up through the glacier.)
Days Four and Five - the hike out
We got up early on Sunday, but didn’t try to leave in a hurry, still tired after our Epic Saturday. Still, we hit the trail a little after 9am. (It is amazing how efficient you can be when you don’t have campfires.) We had to hike down to the lake and then up river to cross over to the trail side of Titcomb Lakes, which added about an hour to our day.
Shortly after we got to the trail we encountered our rock climbing friend, whose name is Henry Bauer. He told us a bit about himself - very interesting guy - including that he has mountain-climbed in the Tibetan (Ana - something or other) Himalayas. When we told him what we had done yesterday, he seemed truly impressed, perhaps both by the lack of our route-finding skills AND (I like to think) by our ability to navigate some really nasty terrrain. Among his comments was a very emphatic, “Holy **it!”
The rest of the day was spent walking, walking, walking. About ten hours worth, with another 13 mile day, hiking past Island and Seneca and Barbara all the way to Eklund Lake where we spent the only somewhat crowded night on the trail. With a full moon rising at about 9pm, it was like trying to sleep with the bedroom light on. We didn’t. Then, when the moon went down, the fog/haze/humidity rolled it, making sleep again, unlikely.
We had a quick breakfast with smoke from the Idaho fires blotting out all good views and hit the trail, eager for our first off-trail meal in Pinedale.
The walk out was as annoying as all hikes out are. Our trip was done. We had seen the sights and been in the backcountry. Now we passed hikers who were hiking in to where we had been, telling them that they were in for a treat. We were also passed by a caravan of at least sixteen pack horses whose presence ahead of us guaranteed that we remained vigilant and sure-footed for the remainder of the trip (horses: the bane of backpackers everywhere!).
We made it to the trailhead around 11:00 am on the fifth day not having done what we set out to do, but accomplishing something we had never dreamed we would do. The physical exertion of the trek was complete (at least for me!), but so was the sense of personal connection that we had dreamed of from the beginning.
Yet once again, God proved Himself exceptionally gracious. He allowed me to enjoy one of His more impressive works of creative genius - and to enjoy it with Ben.
Over the years I’ve noted that whether with a group of high schoolers or college guys, my brother-in-law, Bob, my sons, my daughter, or my wife, camping seems to be one of the more reliable venues for establishing and maintaining deep, personal bonds. It was always been that for me and those I love, and it proved to be exactly that yet one more time. Thanks, Lord.
When the kids got a little older, backpacking (defined as camping some distance away from the car) has been the camping style of choice. I took all three kids to Hill Country State Natural Area when they were about 7, 9, and 11, respectively, and more recently took Erin to Lost Maples. Sadly, there were few mishaps, but she was gracious and allowed that we connected anyway.
For the guys, backpacking has been more of a regular occurrence. Now 30 and nearly 28, I’ve taken week-long trips to the Rockies with Ben and Zach on most summers since they were 11 and 13.
While I’ve sometimes combined these trips with others, this most recent trip with Ben was the only time I’ve ever gone backpacking with only one of my sons. While the trip was an overall success, some of the details contained in this trip report should put Zach on notice.
Most trips begin long before they start, and this one was no exception. With Zach and his wife, Courtney, enjoying a year of adventure while living in New Zealand and Southeast Asia, Ben and I thought it would be great fun to take a trip to the Wind River Range in Wyoming. The three of us had gone to this area before (2011) and had enjoyed a great week, taking in the Cirque of the Towers among other highlights. Knowing that Zach was unavailable, Ben agreed to go. Still, he meant well.
The trip planning process consists of months of poring over maps, thinking through gear lists, and perusing trip reports. For this trip, our map study pointed us to the northern Winds where the mountains are somewhat higher (as if they weren’t high enough in the southern Winds), the glaciers are very prominent (and we had exactly zero experience with glaciers) and the grizzly bears are reportedly the most populous (No. We saw no grizzlies. The largest mammal sighting on this trip was a smaller than normal marmot.)
We lifted off from San Antonio on Wednesday, August 14, having been dropped off by Kathy’s loving taxi service (Melissa being in Korea, visiting her grandmother Sadie’s country of origin). A three hour trip to Salt Lake City and a puddle-jumper to Jackson Hole, Wyoming and we were there, greeted by the obligatory arch of elk antlers outside the Jackson Hole Airport.
Driving our rented Ford Focus to Jackson Hole’s Café Genevieve, we both ordered “mac and cheese and chicken” which just happened to include the largest serving of mac and cheese I’ve ever seen and a very large half chicken. No, neither of us finished it (and yes, at least one of us had some glutenous symptoms arising from this meal).
After dinner we drove to Pinedale through the beautiful Hobach Valley, arriving at the Best Western at about 8:30 or so. At the hotel we packed and repacked and packed and repacked in eager anticipation of the adventure coming the next day.
We got the light turned off about 10:30 and set the alarm for 5:00, hoping to hit the trail as early as possible. I’m 57 years of age and slept like a six year old on Christmas Eve. However, we both got up easily, enjoyed a really good egg/bacon/sausage and gravy breakfast at the hotel, loaded up and drove to the Elkhart Trailhead (about 9300 feet elevation). It was a short trip from Pinedale (17 miles on a paved road) and we hit the trail by 7:15am - a record early start for any backpacking trip I’ve ever taken.
Day One - Elkhart Trailhead to unnamed lake above Island Lake
The weather was fine - about 40 degrees - but the skies were smoky from the Idaho fires. We had hopes that the skies would clear - which they did - but the views of the higher Winds were hidden all during that first day (as they would be on the last day, too).
The first day of hiking was really pretty. There was a steady but gentle ascent over the first few miles through pine forests, mixed with aspen. One of the trees that we saw most frequently at the lower elevations was the magnificent whitebark pine. These trees can live upwards of a thousand years. They are huge, sometimes having multiple, twisted trunks, and are currently under attack by the bark beetle.
We estimate that at least thirty people passed us on this day, heading back to the trailhead. We were encouraged as they described in glowing detail the country into which we were heading.
During this day’s hike of about thirteen miles we gained a net elevation of slightly over one thousand feet, but we gained it over and over again, as there were many ascents and descents while we passed numerous large and small lakes (Eklund, Barbara, Seneca, Little Seneca, numerous unnamed ponds, and Island Lake).
We stopped at Island Lake to have dinner on a white, sandy beach. Yes, it seemed totally out of place, but bare feet on the sand feels as good at 10,000 feet as it does at sea level. After enjoying a great dinner (both of us having meals we had dehydrated at home) and conversation with several other campers, we headed off to the next lake on the trail - an unnamed one - for our first night.
(One note about our bear canisters: We were in a decided minority of packpackers in the Winds who carried them. In fact, some folks from Wyoming asked us, “So what are those plastic jugs you have there?” Even though the Forest Service is on record as requiring them, they are almost never seen in the backcountry. Truth be told, where we were heading - above treeline - bears have no interest in going. There is nothing for a bear there and except for keeping our food stores from the truly pesky marmots, the canisters were superfluous. So, yes, it was annoying to have carried them. Doubly annoying that it was VERY hard to get the silly things open, especially with cold fingers!)
The first evening was somewhat mosquito-filled, but not enough to warrant bug spray, which we never used at all. They weren’t THAT bad and the mosquito netting worked fine. Yes. I did spit once with the mosquito net down, to Ben’s utter delight.
As always, the Sierra Design tent, Big Agnes mattress, and “Quilt by Ben” worked great. As always, I slept poorly. Sadly, my maximum time in the woods caps out at about four nights because I can’t go much longer than that without sleep.
On this first night Ben and I had our first of several wonderful talks. Fellowship was rich, it was never very cold, and we managed to stay up till well past 9 o’clock (a real accomplishment when camping!).
Day Two - Unnamed lake above Island Lake to Indian Pass and back; on to Titcomb Basin
The next morning we arose early to get going as quickly as we could over Indian Pass to the eastern side of the Continental Divide.
Our plans for this trip were quite ambitious. We intended to hike over Indian Pass and from there travel off-trail for two or three days through the Winds. Indian Pass Trail ends at the Pass, so we planned to hike down the other side to a river, then point ourselves to such major features as Blaurock Pass and Glacier Trail, Klondike Creek, and then up to Klondike Lake. We would then hike from Klondike back to the Continental Divide, cross over and then work our way down to the Titcomb Basin through Knapsack Col and head out via a long hike on the fifth day. As you might be able to tell by the subjunctive mood of the above, we did not, in any meaningful sense, do this.
The hike up to Indian Pass was a beast. While the map would indicate something shorter, the Forest Service sign says that it is six miles up. We believe it was six miles (and it felt like ten). It took us four full hours to make it to the top, and by the time we arrived, these flatlanders from San Antonio were both beat. Yes, the views were stunning, but we were greatly disheartened to look down the eastern side of the Divide and see that we would immediately lose all the elevation we had just gained - and that we would lose it by walking over large boulders and scree. To me, it looked painful, as downhill is always harder on knees than uphill. It also looked dangerous, but as we were to find out on this trip, dangerous is relative. (Reminiscent of a scene from the show “24” where a man Jack Bauer is interrogating says, “You’re hurting me” to which Bauer replies, “No I’m not.”)
Reluctantly, but completely united, we agreed that the Lord had blessed us with the wisdom we had sought before the hike began. We knew we could not make the original hike and started trudging downhill. That downhill took another three and a half hours - and it WAS painful.
When we got back to the bottom, we decided to hike a bit further up toward the Titcomb Basin, into what we had heard was one of the best features of the Winds. We were not misled.
After another hour or so of hiking we came to a small lake at the southern end of the Basin, set up camp, and ate supper. Again, the mosquitoes were annoying, but not terribly so, the food was edible, the conversation stimulating, and the views of the peaks at the northern end of the Basin were simply off the amazing chart.
Ben and I decided that we would spend the next day taking a day hike up the basin, just to see what we could see.
Day Three - Epic
The next morning broke beautiful and sunny. We arose early, ate fast, and hit the trail with day packs by 8am. We hiked alongside first Lower and then Upper Titcomb Lakes. The amount of water was simply astounding! These lakes were big and Upper flowed into Lower with a huge volume of water.
So… after about a half hour of hiking, I turned to my good hiking buddy, Ben, and said something like, “Hey, instead of taking a day hike, we could probably just climb up out of the Basin over Knapsack Col, find Highline Trail, and then wind our way back to the Elkhart Trailhead by the end of Day Five.”
Ben agreed that this sounded like a splendid idea, which at least meant that there were two [idiots] fully responsible adults making the decision to turn around, go back to camp, break camp, load up packs, re-hike the mile we had just hiked, and then go off-trail through the Titcomb Basin to find our way to a recognizable trail. Thus did the day become (in Ben’s words) “epic” and thus was my definition of “dangerous” re-defined.
By the time we were back on the trail (this time with fully loaded packs), it was well after 10:00. The sky was clear and the shadow was off the trail. On the way up Titcomb Basin we passed a group of five guys who were bathing in one of the lakes. They had been rock climbing for the previous seven days and were just washing up before heading back to the trailhead.
They were effusive in the extreme about rock climbing in the Basin. I may not have the quote exactly as they said it, but the gist was, “We have climbed in the Cirque of the Towers. The Cirque is world class. But the Cirque can’t hold a candle to this. The mountains are higher, more massive, colder.” (Note to Zach and Courtney: You guys need to see Titcomb Basin.)
After a couple more minutes of visiting, we hiked on, agreeing with their assessment, even from laymen’s viewpoints, that Titcomb Basin was impressive, with peaks rising all around, snow hidden in rock faces. We were both overwhelmed with the size of it all.
Eventually we came to the end of the Upper Titcomb Lake, noticing a large waterfall that cascaded down a cliff face on the other (western) side, which obviously helped feed the lakes. We wondered where the water was coming from, a wonder that would soon be revealed.
One of the couples we met on the trail was a fellow and (I assumed, correctly) his girlfriend who were on their way in to Titcomb Basin for a few days of rock climbing. Really nice guy. Probably about forty or so, my first impression had been that he was out of his element. He looked tired, even bored. Probably one of the great crimes of misjudgment of this century.
We had already passed this couple on Day Two. On this day (Day Three), we passed them on the trail going toward Titcomb Basin. When we told him where we were going, he immediately pulled out his Winds map and helped us orient to where we needed to go. He was, in fact, quite at home in the mountains and had a great sense of what the Winds were all about. We talked with him for a few minutes, telling him of our plan to hike up Knapsack Col, about which he seemed quite impressed. (We should have taken his being impressed as our first “red light” omen.)
We took our leave of him and his friend, and rested for a few minutes at the top of the upper lake, filling up water bottles and resting tired feet.
Once we got going again we immediately started gaining elevation, angling toward Twin Sisters glacier.
The run-off from the glacier was enormous. To cross this run-off river, Ben went barefoot and I put on the lightweight shoes I had brought along for the purpose. The stream was cascading downhill very steeply, was obviously extremely cold (yes, glacier run-off can be chilly), and the current was very strong. Both of us made it across safely. Despite being a very strong 200 pound power lifted, Ben still has the natural coordination of a cat. My natural coordination trends toward the cat’s clumsier cousins, but was sufficient to get me to the other side.
Then we crossed over a short wrinkle in the mountain and got our first look at the glacier. It was amazing! Beautiful and white and snowy looking in places, torrents of water were leaking from it to fill the Titcomb Lakes and beyond.
We looked up at the ridge and thought we saw Knapsack Col, which we assumed would look like a notch in the ridge line, and decided to try and skirt the glacier and follow some evident seams in the rock and climb to the top.
So off we went…
At first, it was just kind of tricky doing a bit of boulder hopping. Then, we realized that we were still ON the glacier. Ben described it as walking on asphalt. There was good traction because the ice was dirty and filled with rocks. It was a few minutes into this part of the hike that I started to think that we were committed to the ridge. We had to press on because I couldn’t even imagine going back down this!
So up we continued, angling back to the left. Very quickly it got to be very hard climbing. At times, it felt quite dangerous, especially challenging, too, because we both were climbing with full packs. At one point the sky darkened and we felt raindrops. Thankfully, the rain never came and the weather cleared, but we realized that time was of the essence, so we didn’t dawdle.
We were getting near the top, but each step had to be carefully thought through. We were looking for foot-holds and finger holds at every step to pull ourselves up to the next shelf.
Then, finally, after about a two hour ascent, Ben emerged at the top! It was great. We had a wonderful view of the lake at the bottom on the other side of the ridge, a lake which we assumed was Peak Lake leading to Highline Trail.
After a couple minutes of rest we started the descent, which turned out to be difficult. It was a scramble over huge boulders and ice fields, something that we didn’t expect based on the map. (Omen #2: When the sight in front of you doesn’t reflect what the map says, you’ve got a problem. Trust the map.). What with exhaustion, hurting knees and feet (and for Ben, calves and ankles), the descent was painful. But we finally made it to the bottom, having probably lost a thousand feet in elevation.
With Ben leading the way we hiked the length of the lake (still thinking that it was Peak Lake). And just a note about the lake. It was gorgeous! Not a stretch to say that it was actually turquoise, nestled among rocks. Probably nothing living in it, but as clean a lake as I’ve ever seen. We had no qualms about drinking water, untreated, from this lake.
At the end of the lake we expected to see a trail and Cube Rock Pass, but there was no trail to be seen. The lake emptied out into a broad valley with two very large lakes at the bottom - again, something that was NOT on the maps. All of a sudden we couldn’t figure out where we were. Where the lake emptied, the water flowed down a precipitous drop-off into the first of the two lakes below.
It was at about this time that Ben turned to me and said, “Dad, those are the Titcomb Lakes!”
Sure enough, we were both convinced within a couple of minutes that we had somehow circled around one mountain and were now one descent away from simply re-entering the Titcomb Basin. The run-off from the lake we had just hiked past (which was not Peak Lake, but Summer Ice Lake - gotta love that name) was, in fact, the enormous waterfall that we had seen from below. Sadly, now we were going to have to hike down the waterfall chute.
THAT turned out to be a very dicey proposition. The course was very steep. Ben went first (Thanks, son!), got about twenty feet ahead of me, turned to face me and said in about as panicky a voice as I’ve ever heard from him, “Dad, don’t come this way. Stay where you are!”
Ever the obedient father, I did as I was told and waited for him to tell me what was up. Evidently, to continue going the route Ben had hoped to follow brought him to an eighty foot cliff. Our only option now was to cross the waterfall and try going down the other side.
Crossing wasn’t that hard, as the water was flowing under the boulders at this point, but it did require a three foot drop which I was loathe to take with bad knees and a full packpack. Ben suggested that I simply slide down on my belly, which I did, leaving various anatomical parts, for the most part, intact.
From that point on, it was a scramble down to the lake. At first, it was very scary because the terrain was dirt and loose rock. We had to be very careful to not dislodge rocks and start a landslide that would have made our other disasters seem less disastrous. After a while, the terrain changed to short grass and stable terrain - but still very steep. Not sure if I have mentioned that my knees hurt, but I’ll mention it now. And with hurting knees this descent added insult to injury. Ben’s main bodily pains were still all about calves, feet, and ankles. As usual, neither of us said a word about our aches and pains, stoically and silently (except for the occasional wry comment) bearing all hardship with courage, strength, wisdom and skill. (Yeah, right!)
At any rate, we finally got to a level, grassy spot near the Upper Titcomb Lake at 7:30, the end of eleven and a half hours of travel. We saw that the weather was cratering, so set up shelter as fast as we could. The weather held off, giving us time to boil some water for dinner. Ben’s usual noodles and meat and seasoning was wonderful, as always. My chili con potatoes was equally sublime.
The wind shifted - Ben re-set his tarp - and we stayed outside talking for a bit about what we had done, amazed that we had been stupid enough to miss Knapsack Col, that we had decided to go through with the hike, that we hadn’t gotten hurt, and that we actually pulled off a pretty epic day.
(Our decision to climb up where we did was due to our total inexperience with glaciers - and to our failure to really study the map with a compass! We thought we were going up and around the glacier, but the glacier was really much larger than the snowy white stuff we could see. It continued under the rocks for a good distance, and it was over this that we walked up and over the ridge, not around the glacier, but right up through the glacier.)
Days Four and Five - the hike out
We got up early on Sunday, but didn’t try to leave in a hurry, still tired after our Epic Saturday. Still, we hit the trail a little after 9am. (It is amazing how efficient you can be when you don’t have campfires.) We had to hike down to the lake and then up river to cross over to the trail side of Titcomb Lakes, which added about an hour to our day.
Shortly after we got to the trail we encountered our rock climbing friend, whose name is Henry Bauer. He told us a bit about himself - very interesting guy - including that he has mountain-climbed in the Tibetan (Ana - something or other) Himalayas. When we told him what we had done yesterday, he seemed truly impressed, perhaps both by the lack of our route-finding skills AND (I like to think) by our ability to navigate some really nasty terrrain. Among his comments was a very emphatic, “Holy **it!”
The rest of the day was spent walking, walking, walking. About ten hours worth, with another 13 mile day, hiking past Island and Seneca and Barbara all the way to Eklund Lake where we spent the only somewhat crowded night on the trail. With a full moon rising at about 9pm, it was like trying to sleep with the bedroom light on. We didn’t. Then, when the moon went down, the fog/haze/humidity rolled it, making sleep again, unlikely.
We had a quick breakfast with smoke from the Idaho fires blotting out all good views and hit the trail, eager for our first off-trail meal in Pinedale.
The walk out was as annoying as all hikes out are. Our trip was done. We had seen the sights and been in the backcountry. Now we passed hikers who were hiking in to where we had been, telling them that they were in for a treat. We were also passed by a caravan of at least sixteen pack horses whose presence ahead of us guaranteed that we remained vigilant and sure-footed for the remainder of the trip (horses: the bane of backpackers everywhere!).
We made it to the trailhead around 11:00 am on the fifth day not having done what we set out to do, but accomplishing something we had never dreamed we would do. The physical exertion of the trek was complete (at least for me!), but so was the sense of personal connection that we had dreamed of from the beginning.
Yet once again, God proved Himself exceptionally gracious. He allowed me to enjoy one of His more impressive works of creative genius - and to enjoy it with Ben.
Over the years I’ve noted that whether with a group of high schoolers or college guys, my brother-in-law, Bob, my sons, my daughter, or my wife, camping seems to be one of the more reliable venues for establishing and maintaining deep, personal bonds. It was always been that for me and those I love, and it proved to be exactly that yet one more time. Thanks, Lord.
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Thanksgiving musing
As we catch up to Jesus, He was making His final trip to Jerusalem. He was, in fact, on His way to die. Thoughts of Peter’s denials, Judas’ betrayal, a crown of thorns and nail-pierced hands may have been coursing through His mind as He walked, but they didn’t derail Him from gifting a group of very needy men with an impressive display of mercy.
As He was making his way from Galilee to Jerusalem, He came across a group of ten lepers who had located themselves on the border between Galilee and Samaria.
These men cried out to Jesus for mercy. Interesting. Mercy.
Did they mean mercy from God to forgive them of their sin? Or did they mean mercy from God to cleanse them from their leprosy? Maybe both - definitely the latter.
Leprosy was the ancient world’s equivalent to the worst contagious disease we can think of. HIV, avian flu, bubonic plague, dengue fever, malaria and Ebola all wrapped up in one hideous deforming plague. To be afflicted with leprosy meant instant expulsion from the community. To be a leper was to live with a death sentence, separated from family and friends.
The lepers Jesus encountered just outside a small village begged Him for mercy - and He told them to go back to the village and to present themselves to the priest.
THAT would have been one confusing assignment! It had been the priest who had declared the men leprous and unclean and was responsible for banishing them from the community. Now, still leprous, Jesus sends them back to the priest.
What would have been going through your mind had you been one of those ten? “Is Jesus making fun of us?” “Does He not realize that we are STILL lepers?” “Is He playing a joke on us?”
The priest was the one who would declare people clean or unclean, fit or unfit for life in the community. To go back to the priest was to simply hear him say, again, “Unclean.”
Impressively, however, the ten lepers did what Jesus told them to do and started walking toward the priest. The Bible tells us (Luke 17) that as they were walking, they were cleansed of their leprosy. Trusting Jesus and obeying His command, they received the mercy they had needed!
This is where the story takes a remarkable turn. Nine of the ten continued on to the priest to be declared “clean” and to be restored to their families. One, however, stopped in his tracks, reversed course, and went running back to the Man who showed him mercy.
This man was the lone Samaritan of the bunch (the Jews generally despised Samaritans and considered them “unclean” even without leprosy). He dropped to his knees before Jesus, fell prostrate before Him and worshiped in gratitude for his cleansing.
Jesus was deeply touched and commended him for his thankful heart. The Lord’s words make clear that it was his faith (going to the priest while still leprous) that made him well. The other nine showed the same faith and were also, thus, made well. But they neglected to add to their faith the adornment of gratitude.
No doubt they were profoundly thankful THAT they were no lepers. But only the Samaritan expressed gratitude TO Jesus for his cleansing.
Happy Thanksgiving, friends. We have here a model of gratitude. A doubly unclean man (a Samaritan leper) shows us the way to bring a smile to God’s face. As thankful as we all are FOR our many blessings, let’s all run back to Jesus, fall at His feet and express our gratitude TO Him for His mercy.
As He was making his way from Galilee to Jerusalem, He came across a group of ten lepers who had located themselves on the border between Galilee and Samaria.
These men cried out to Jesus for mercy. Interesting. Mercy.
Did they mean mercy from God to forgive them of their sin? Or did they mean mercy from God to cleanse them from their leprosy? Maybe both - definitely the latter.
Leprosy was the ancient world’s equivalent to the worst contagious disease we can think of. HIV, avian flu, bubonic plague, dengue fever, malaria and Ebola all wrapped up in one hideous deforming plague. To be afflicted with leprosy meant instant expulsion from the community. To be a leper was to live with a death sentence, separated from family and friends.
The lepers Jesus encountered just outside a small village begged Him for mercy - and He told them to go back to the village and to present themselves to the priest.
THAT would have been one confusing assignment! It had been the priest who had declared the men leprous and unclean and was responsible for banishing them from the community. Now, still leprous, Jesus sends them back to the priest.
What would have been going through your mind had you been one of those ten? “Is Jesus making fun of us?” “Does He not realize that we are STILL lepers?” “Is He playing a joke on us?”
The priest was the one who would declare people clean or unclean, fit or unfit for life in the community. To go back to the priest was to simply hear him say, again, “Unclean.”
Impressively, however, the ten lepers did what Jesus told them to do and started walking toward the priest. The Bible tells us (Luke 17) that as they were walking, they were cleansed of their leprosy. Trusting Jesus and obeying His command, they received the mercy they had needed!
This is where the story takes a remarkable turn. Nine of the ten continued on to the priest to be declared “clean” and to be restored to their families. One, however, stopped in his tracks, reversed course, and went running back to the Man who showed him mercy.
This man was the lone Samaritan of the bunch (the Jews generally despised Samaritans and considered them “unclean” even without leprosy). He dropped to his knees before Jesus, fell prostrate before Him and worshiped in gratitude for his cleansing.
Jesus was deeply touched and commended him for his thankful heart. The Lord’s words make clear that it was his faith (going to the priest while still leprous) that made him well. The other nine showed the same faith and were also, thus, made well. But they neglected to add to their faith the adornment of gratitude.
No doubt they were profoundly thankful THAT they were no lepers. But only the Samaritan expressed gratitude TO Jesus for his cleansing.
Happy Thanksgiving, friends. We have here a model of gratitude. A doubly unclean man (a Samaritan leper) shows us the way to bring a smile to God’s face. As thankful as we all are FOR our many blessings, let’s all run back to Jesus, fall at His feet and express our gratitude TO Him for His mercy.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
The "Why" of Pleasing God
1 Thessalonians 4:1] Finally, then, brethren, we request and exhort you in the Lord Jesus, that as you received from us instruction as to how you ought to walk and please God (just as you actually do walk), that you excel still more.
The aim of the child of God is to walk (i.e. - live) in such a way that God is pleased. The implication, by omission, is that it is perfectly possible to live in such a way that God is NOT pleased.
Paul makes some specific applications to that exhortation in the verses that follow, mentioning sexual purity, loving fellow-Christians, and working hard so as to not be a burden to others.
So, for instance, having sex with someone to whom you are not married, being unkind or unforgiving to your brothers and sisters in Christ, and refusing to work hard are all ways to displease God
And those don’t exhaust the possibilities for pleasing or displeasing God. We could expand the list to include every area of human conduct.
Here’s the thing. A believer in Jesus will choose to conduct himself in ways that either please or displease God - and the Apostle Paul urges us to excel in the fine art of pleasing God. Well and good. Not a problem. We "get" that the Bible urges us to please God. But, why? Why does it matter? And what will move us to say “No!” to temptation when the heat is on?
The theme for today is motivation. Why choose to obey God? What is the motive driving us to obey God? What is the motive (or what are the motives) that SHOULD drive us to please God?
Motives are a tricky theme and examining motives can be messy. There are lots of reasons for that messiness, chief among them being that there are usually lots of reasons for doing what we do.
The Bible recognizes this complexity. For Exhibit A, I present Paul’s short note to his friend, Philemon. This note was included in the New Testament and is among the shortest of the epistles. Paul wrote to convince Philemon to welcome back his runaway slave, Onesimus, AND to urge Philemon to grant Onesimus his freedom. It is crystal clear that these are Paul’s aims in writing.
A survey of this 25 verse letter reveals that the tactics he uses to convince Philemon to free Onesimus are many and varied.
For instance, there is:
(1). the veiled threat of an apostolic order (v. 8);
(2). the tender appeal of a good friend to a good friend (v. 10);
(3). the “Christian-family” argument that such treatment makes sense, given that Onesimus is now a fellow-Christian (vv. 10-11);
(4). the reminder of a debt owed by Philemon to Paul (v. 19);
(5). an appeal to Philemon’s good and loving and generous heart (v. 21); and
(6). the power of peer pressure - Epaphras, Mark, Aristarchus, Demas, and Luke are all with Paul as he writes and are all watching to see what Philemon will do. (vv. 23-24)
Clearly, Paul appeals to many possible motivations to convince Philemon to do that which is proper. A closer examination of this letter might reveal even more appropriate motives for “pleasing God.” Even a cursory overview, though, shows that there are lots of motives to which we can resort to urge obedience to God.
To bring today’s musings to a close, we'll note that the Bible makes it clear that there is only one way of living that makes sense, and that is to live in such a way that brings a smile to God’s face. Further, there is not one, catch-all reason/motive for choosing that kind of a life. No, there are lots and lots of reasons to do so!
So…
Are there illegitimate motives for obeying God? Are some motives better and more God-honoring than others?
If you’ve ever wrestled with the whole idea of why you do what you do, I hope the next several posts will be helpful as we consider the “why’s” of obedience.
The aim of the child of God is to walk (i.e. - live) in such a way that God is pleased. The implication, by omission, is that it is perfectly possible to live in such a way that God is NOT pleased.
Paul makes some specific applications to that exhortation in the verses that follow, mentioning sexual purity, loving fellow-Christians, and working hard so as to not be a burden to others.
So, for instance, having sex with someone to whom you are not married, being unkind or unforgiving to your brothers and sisters in Christ, and refusing to work hard are all ways to displease God
And those don’t exhaust the possibilities for pleasing or displeasing God. We could expand the list to include every area of human conduct.
Here’s the thing. A believer in Jesus will choose to conduct himself in ways that either please or displease God - and the Apostle Paul urges us to excel in the fine art of pleasing God. Well and good. Not a problem. We "get" that the Bible urges us to please God. But, why? Why does it matter? And what will move us to say “No!” to temptation when the heat is on?
The theme for today is motivation. Why choose to obey God? What is the motive driving us to obey God? What is the motive (or what are the motives) that SHOULD drive us to please God?
Motives are a tricky theme and examining motives can be messy. There are lots of reasons for that messiness, chief among them being that there are usually lots of reasons for doing what we do.
The Bible recognizes this complexity. For Exhibit A, I present Paul’s short note to his friend, Philemon. This note was included in the New Testament and is among the shortest of the epistles. Paul wrote to convince Philemon to welcome back his runaway slave, Onesimus, AND to urge Philemon to grant Onesimus his freedom. It is crystal clear that these are Paul’s aims in writing.
A survey of this 25 verse letter reveals that the tactics he uses to convince Philemon to free Onesimus are many and varied.
For instance, there is:
(1). the veiled threat of an apostolic order (v. 8);
(2). the tender appeal of a good friend to a good friend (v. 10);
(3). the “Christian-family” argument that such treatment makes sense, given that Onesimus is now a fellow-Christian (vv. 10-11);
(4). the reminder of a debt owed by Philemon to Paul (v. 19);
(5). an appeal to Philemon’s good and loving and generous heart (v. 21); and
(6). the power of peer pressure - Epaphras, Mark, Aristarchus, Demas, and Luke are all with Paul as he writes and are all watching to see what Philemon will do. (vv. 23-24)
Clearly, Paul appeals to many possible motivations to convince Philemon to do that which is proper. A closer examination of this letter might reveal even more appropriate motives for “pleasing God.” Even a cursory overview, though, shows that there are lots of motives to which we can resort to urge obedience to God.
To bring today’s musings to a close, we'll note that the Bible makes it clear that there is only one way of living that makes sense, and that is to live in such a way that brings a smile to God’s face. Further, there is not one, catch-all reason/motive for choosing that kind of a life. No, there are lots and lots of reasons to do so!
So…
Are there illegitimate motives for obeying God? Are some motives better and more God-honoring than others?
If you’ve ever wrestled with the whole idea of why you do what you do, I hope the next several posts will be helpful as we consider the “why’s” of obedience.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Telescoping Spiritual Gifts
I was just reading in 1 Corinthians 12 this morning about the varieties of gifts that God has given to His people to accomplish His work. That reading prompted me to think about the other major sections of the New Testament where “spiritual gifts” are the theme. (Romans 12; Ephesians 4; 1 Peter 4).
Taken together, these are amazing lists, running the gamut from the relatively ordinary (giving and leading) to the extraordinary (speaking in tongues and miracles). Some are best accomplished working behind those who work behind the scenes (serving), while others, of necessity, are rather public (prophecy and teaching). Theologians have bisected and dissected these lists ‘til the world looks level. Bible scholars have studied these passages ad infinitum, usually in hopes of discovering God’s truth; sometimes, to grind a theological axe or to prove a sectarian point, ad nauseum.
Relative to spiritual gifts, the thoughts now rolling around in my head have little to do with parsing verbs or detailed exegesis, with theological systems or with the intricacies of sentence diagramming. (Not that such is unimportant. Careful exegesis is crucial and I’ve given the better part of my life to parsing verbs and to the exegetical study of Scripture so as to be able to bring messages to a church that reflect what the text really says.) No, my current concern is to back away from the Bible study microscope and take out the telescope to look at the overall purpose of spiritual gifts.
Again, I’m not saying that the individual gifts are unimportant or that the details don’t matter. The gift lists are important in the particular. Each gift is very important and very strategic in allowing the church to carry out its mission from God. But it is possible that we might focus so much on the trees of this or that gift that we miss the forest of God’s overall mission.
I have wondered if it is possible that Paul’s and Peter’s lists are not encyclopedic, but are of the “fer instance” variety. Have the apostles, in all four gift lists, given us every gift that God might ever give to Christians for all time? Maybe.
More likely, I suspect that they have, by giving us terrifically different kinds of lists, said, “Here are some of the
ways in which God gifts His people to do His work. You have received a gifting from God. Now, go do His work.”
Could the message of spiritual gifts be that simple? Might it be that through the writings of Paul and Peter, God’s message to you is that you are a chosen vessel, a servant of God on the pointy end of the spear, to take His love to a love-starved world? Try this on for size: The Holy Spirit has gifted you. Jesus promises to provide a setting in which you can exercise that gift. God the Father will produce some God-honoring fruit from the exercise of that gift. Now, go!
Taken together, these are amazing lists, running the gamut from the relatively ordinary (giving and leading) to the extraordinary (speaking in tongues and miracles). Some are best accomplished working behind those who work behind the scenes (serving), while others, of necessity, are rather public (prophecy and teaching). Theologians have bisected and dissected these lists ‘til the world looks level. Bible scholars have studied these passages ad infinitum, usually in hopes of discovering God’s truth; sometimes, to grind a theological axe or to prove a sectarian point, ad nauseum.
Relative to spiritual gifts, the thoughts now rolling around in my head have little to do with parsing verbs or detailed exegesis, with theological systems or with the intricacies of sentence diagramming. (Not that such is unimportant. Careful exegesis is crucial and I’ve given the better part of my life to parsing verbs and to the exegetical study of Scripture so as to be able to bring messages to a church that reflect what the text really says.) No, my current concern is to back away from the Bible study microscope and take out the telescope to look at the overall purpose of spiritual gifts.
Again, I’m not saying that the individual gifts are unimportant or that the details don’t matter. The gift lists are important in the particular. Each gift is very important and very strategic in allowing the church to carry out its mission from God. But it is possible that we might focus so much on the trees of this or that gift that we miss the forest of God’s overall mission.
I have wondered if it is possible that Paul’s and Peter’s lists are not encyclopedic, but are of the “fer instance” variety. Have the apostles, in all four gift lists, given us every gift that God might ever give to Christians for all time? Maybe.
More likely, I suspect that they have, by giving us terrifically different kinds of lists, said, “Here are some of the
ways in which God gifts His people to do His work. You have received a gifting from God. Now, go do His work.”
Could the message of spiritual gifts be that simple? Might it be that through the writings of Paul and Peter, God’s message to you is that you are a chosen vessel, a servant of God on the pointy end of the spear, to take His love to a love-starved world? Try this on for size: The Holy Spirit has gifted you. Jesus promises to provide a setting in which you can exercise that gift. God the Father will produce some God-honoring fruit from the exercise of that gift. Now, go!
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