The Rewards of the "Summit" – The Mountain Chronicles IV

27 August 2008
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“God will take care of us.” – Keith, with perfect calm, to his son Zach as we watched the dark afternoon clouds threaten us at our mountain “summit”
 
We all slept much better our 2nd night on the mountain. For me, I think it was a combination of the flatter ground we were laying on and my altitude headache being gone.
 
We got up the next cold morning, had our precious cup of hot chocolate, some breakfast, then packed our day packs for our “summit” climb.
 
I put “summit” in quotation marks because we did not have our sites set on actually climbing Windom, Sunlight, or Eulos…the three 14ers surrounding the basin we were staying in. They are some challenging climbs, with some parts being borderline technical…so we weren’t going to take our kids up there at this young age. Our primary search was for the “cave” – an old gold mine that I had found an antique chisel in over a decade ago (I found it twice, actually, and you can read that story in my piece entitled “The Mountain” in my blog archives at http://brianmashburn.blogspot.com/2008_05_01_archive.html). And our secondary goal was the Twin Lakes, well up over the treeline (12,000+), and the staging point for anyone going to any of the three 14,000 foot summits.
 
Keith had no real personal attachment to finding the old gold mine aside from wanting me to find it, so inwardly I was hoping my memory was serving me correctly that we found that thing on or near the route that leads to the Twin Lakes. All I could remember is that it was just to the left of a waterfall, and that the first 20 feet or so were full of 1 to 2 feet of ice cold water. And I was not looking forward to wading through it, drenching my socks and shoes. But I was willing to, and already preparing myself to ferry Shade, Zach and Keith through it on my back, just so that their socks and shoes stayed dry. 
 
A couple of our hours into our hike, after we started gaining some serious elevation, a man who was on a seriously fast pace hiked by. We visited with him for a minute. He had come from the other side of a mountain ridge over the Columbine Pass. You could see the path across the basin, which was a mountain climb in and of itself, and looked miles away (cuz it was!). He had gotten up VERY early this morning, leaving his wife and son camping on the other side, to try to get one of the 14ers on our side of the basin. It humbled me to compare his day’s hike to mine, and it also explained his fast pace. We all started walking, and Shade with his energetic 5 million questions decided to hike with our new friend.
 
Shade flew ahead of us with him, talking to him the whole time with all kinds of conversation: “How far is the Twin Lakes? That’s where we’re going. Do you know there’s a mine where my dad found a spike? We’re lookin’ for it. He has the spike in his prayer room. It’s heavy! Rusty, too. We’re gonna go in it and look around. It’s real dark in there. Have you been in any mines this trip? How old is your son? Why didn’t he come with you today? I came with my dad. Where are you from? We’re from Amarillo. I hike in the Canyon like this all the time. Have you been to the Canyon? The Palo Duro Canyon? You want to sometime? Your son and you can stay in our basement if you want and we’ll take you. That’s my friend Zach, and his dad…they stayed in our basement before. Does your son like Pokémon cards? Which cards does he have? Does he have any Charizards? Those are my favorites. Zach has a Charizard EX!”
 
The man was very kind.
 
Eventually, we got to a very tall and powerful waterfall that looked very familiar to me. I wasn’t sure, but this might be it. From our vantage point, however, we couldn’t see whether there was  a mine to it’s left. We had to make a choice. Either go ahead and cross the waterfall here, making our way up the mountain on the other side of the falls, where we would eventually get up high enough to see whether there was a mine or not, risking that if it is, we would either have to come all the way back down here to get up to it, or try to cross back over the falls up there (which is more dangerous), OR we could go ahead and start climbing up the left side of this fall here, risking that it’s not there at all, and either having to come all the way back down, or try to cross the falls up higher (which would be much more difficult).
 
The air was feeling thinner and thinner all of the sudden.
 
As I looked back and forth at our choices, I saw that Shade’s friend was way up the path on the other side of the river. The falls were loud by him, but I yelled as loud as I could anyway. Somehow he heard me, stopped and looked down at us. I pointed up and yelled, “Is there a mine right there?” I don’t know if he could really hear me, or if he just knew what we were looking for thanks to Shade, but he looked where I was pointing, pointed and nodded real big. YES! We headed up…
 
It was a respectable tough climb, and a very satisfying feeling came over me as we navigated the rubble and descended into that old familiar cave. While there was still water in the mouth of the cave, it was low enough and short enough that we could sort of scale the left side and all jump across without getting our shoes drenched. We busted out our flashlights and disappeared into the moist and pitch black cave, going all the way to the end (maybe 200 feet?).
 
At this point, I wish there was some climactic event that happened to tell you: A burning bush would’ve been nice, or archangel Michael with a message from God for Shade sitting in the back, or some old Hebrew script etched out on the cave walls by the finger of God. Shoot, I’d be good with finding another old chisel for Shade to have! But there was nothing like that. We did the echo thing, and the turn-off-the-flashlight-to-experience-the-pitch-black thing, but it’s kinda creepy in there and it didn’t take long for our boys to do the “I’m-ready-to-go” thing. I was too.
 
Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t disappointed. The rewards for me are legion: the journey here (my 3rd time), being with my son in a challenging environment, the forging of brotherhood between the four of us here, the memories it brought back from fellowships past, the beauty to behold, the cost to behold it, the anticipation of success, the satisfaction of success, the thoughts of home…just to name a few.
 
When we were done, we decided to stay at our current elevation and attempt to cross the waterfall…which at this height was actually FOUR separate waterfalls, all wider, and more difficult than what we had to do below, and with no trail. It was challenging, and we made it with celebration. Shade, of course, always wanted to go first and blaze the way, and oftentimes (here and elsewhere) would be-bop back and forth over the streams, hopping from rock to rock, all in the name of showing us how to do it, but mostly because he just loves it (such unnecessary and risky fun would have been quite nerve-racking for his mom).
 
Many hours, mountain-goats, marmots, and rest-stops later (and after I dropped my water bottle down a cliff of the mountain (amazingly, we found it on the way down)), we made it to the beautiful Twin Lakes. One of the lakes was almost totally covered in snow, but the other one was mirror-still and vast. We stayed here for quite a while, ate lunch, skipped rocks, Shade danced with a playful marmot, explored, took pictures, visited with the occasional hiker on their way back from the peaks. It was beautiful in every way for our group: between us, around us, within us, below us, above us.
 
Boy the clouds were threatening. We’d been rained/hailed on every day and it was getting about that time in the afternoon. Zach voiced what I was thinking to his dad by saying, “We better get going, we don’t want to have to go down in that rain. Let’s get back to camp.”
 
That’s when Keith responded with the calm and confident quote from above. I relaxed with his words, knowing them to be true. We enjoyed our time without any rain. When we were ready, we packed up and made the long (but not near as long) trek down to our camp. And to put an exclamation point on Keith’s prophetic and confident words, we got back late afternoon, right in time to get all of us in the tent, totally dry, with a deck of cards just as the rain came down. We had some sweet fellowship in there.
 
“Life is about fully experiencing “right now” to the fullest, bringing all of who you are to the moment right before you and to the other people who you truly care about, knowing that there are no guarantees of next week or next year or when they get their act together, and it is all good for you in the end, surrendering all resistance to that fact in the fire of your own redemption.  What fire, you might ask:  “Life is not the wick, or the candle, but the burning.”” – Jim Spivey, my friend, mentor, and fellow “burner”

Unstoppable Energy – The Mountain Chronicles III

26 August 2008
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(I unintentionally sent this one out before I had finished it a little over a week ago…here is the final product. Sorry about that!)
 
“This is what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immoveable object.” – The Joker, in the movie The Dark Knight
 
One of the things I really enjoyed about this trip was being with my son Shade 24-7. We did everything together (I mean everything…eat, sleep, hike, move, rest, poop, pee, drive, explore, collapse…everything) every single day. We got tired of each other, served each other, joked with each other, listened to each other, got sick, frustrated, and angry with each other, and survived each other.
 
So that was cool, but also cool for me was experiencing some of the unique qualities that are Shade so clearly and constantly.
 
Shade has energy. Even when he is tired and worn out, he can’t seem to not exhibit energy. 
 
When we would take breaks that involved taking our packs off, Shade would be running down to the water, exploring an old miners cabin, or throwing rocks.
When we would be hiking in his toughest moments, his complaints and ailings would be expressed with profound energy.
When we were at camp, he was non-stop energy.
When he wanted to talk about Pokémon Cards with his buddy Zach, he was overwhelming energy.
When we were going to sleep, he always had the last word…and yes, you guessed it, it was said with energy – even if his audience was asleep!
 
I shared in Mountain Chronicles II how tough the long hike up the mountain was for Shade, but whenever he didn’t have a pack on, he was desiring non-stop action.
 
Nowhere was this better expressed than on Day 2. Day 1 ended with us hiking about 4.5 miles, finding an adequate temporary campsite for the night, setting up our tent in a threatening sprinkle but before the hard rain, eating our first hot meal (mac and cheese), and settling into our sleeping bags. We were on a respectable incline, and slid towards our feet constantly, and I slept horribly, with a lingering headache irritating me all night (this has always happened to me my first day in high altitude, only to disappear with my giving in to nausea (which happened the next morning) and then I’m fine the rest of the trip). It was a less than ideal night, but boy was it good to not be walking.
 
On day 2, we had our precious daily hot chocolate, ate some breakfast, packed up, and kept hiking. We went another mile and half or so and found a beautiful spot to set up our base camp. After we set up, we decided to pack our day packs and go exploring up into the basin…maybe hit an old gold mine or two. This, of course, pumped Shade up. We started hiking, and Zach started getting a headache…but courageously decided to keep going. We were probably about 3/4 mile up from our camp when the clouds came swooping in and it started pouring a drenching rain. We got our raingear on in the nick of time, and spotted an old abandoned campsite thick with trees up ahead. As we headed there, the heavens seem to turn the water up a bit more, and then opened the ice-box as it turned to hail! I’m smiling as we rush under the trees with nothing to do but get drenched and wait it out. I wasn’t smiling for Zach though, who squats down under one of the thick pines and huddles up in his raingear…I felt horrible for him sitting there quite miserable. Keith was smiling too with what I interpreted as that “What did we get ourselves into” look…a look echoing his statement when we crossed the bridge on day 1. All things considered, I felt like we were in a pretty good place to wait out the storm.
 
But Shade…Shade was wondering why we were stopped! “Let’s go!” he kept saying. I was the “immovable object” here, totally resolute in my decision to stay right here until it let up. And Shade was the “unstoppable force,” trying in dozens and dozens of ways to try to change my decision.
 
One time, it was, “Okay, lets go,” in an assuming tone that was pretending this was just a short breather/break that had nothing to do with the weather.
Another time, it was, “Look…it’s letting up!” Which wasn’t true, but maybe I’d fall for it.
Yet again, he switched to the logical approach: “Dad, let’s get to the cave. It will protect us way better than these trees!” (A really good point, actually)
Several times they were of the “Are we gonna just stand here all day?” family: “We’re losing daylight, dad.” “Okay, fine. We’ll wait. How many more minutes?” “Did we come all the way up here just to stand under these trees?”
 
I’m cracking up out loud on the plane just replaying them in my mind. Shade is an unstoppable force of energy!
 
But I’m not budging. Everything…EVERYTHING…except Shade’s energy…says stay right where you are until it lets up. So…I’m pulling out all my different flavors of trying to get him to realize the parameters of what is not going to change.
 
I used the detailed explanation approach: “Shade, it’s raining and hailing. We are going to stay here until it stops.”
I used the “did-you-hear-me?” approach: “Shade, do you remember when I said we will move? When it stops.“
The “make-your-kid-say-it-back-to-you” approach: “Shade, when did I say we will go?” “When the hail stops,” he said, “So when does that mean we’ll move?” “When the hail stops,” he confirmed.
The “point-out-his-persistence-as-futile” approach: “Shade, what did I say last time you asked to go?” “No,” he said. “So in 30 seconds, when you ask again, what am I gonna say?” “No,” he said. “So do you need to ask again?” “No,” he conceded.
 
But of course, he would anyway. I can’t even remember all the different ways he and I went back and forth. It reminds me of a wild horse that just will not to be broken, and the cowboys trying every horse-breaking strategy known to man, and then just looking bewildered and in awe at the beautiful animal in the pen, refusing to agree with them that he belongs there behind a fence with a saddle and bridle.
 
My favorite expression of his energy, and his creativity, had a touché’ sort of flair to it when he said, “Dad…what are we supposed to do when it gets hard?” (You’ll have to back up and read Mountain Chronicles II to appreciate the genius of that one).
 
But I wasn’t budging…I thought. Alas, just like the strong rock eventually gives way to and is shaped by the relentless, non-stop dripping of (seemingly) weaker water, I suddenly found myself making a case for why it actually might be good to keep going.
 
Everything…EVERYTHING…except Shade’s energy said stay right there until it lets up. But something about Shade’s energy is compelling. I do it sometimes, but I don’t think I was just “giving in” to his persistence here, as if tired of being “immovable”. I think it was 1/3rd my desire to give him what he wants, 1/3rd agreement with him that mere weather shouldn’t stop us from pressing on, and 1/3rd my utter respect for his “unbreakableness” (I always root for the horse in those movies that depict the battle between it’s wild spirit and then men trying to break ’em…wishing I could open the corral gate and let it free before it’s too late). I know the math doesn’t add up, but there might have been another 1/3 of me wishing it was me saying “let’s keep going!”
 
The water was coming down so thick and fast, that the ground above us couldn’t saturate it fast enough, so we watched as the water started inching its way on top of the ground, infringing on our feet. This was the straw that I was waiting for to break the camels back, so I looked at Keith and said we were gonna keep going…knowing that he needed to stay there with brave Zach who was in pain. 
 
So…to the question of “what happens when an unstoppable force meets and immovable object?” I don’t know, really, but when the unstoppable force is Shade’s energy, and the immoveable object in my will, I know for sure what happens. We find out the immovable object isn’t really immovable!
 
Long story short, we started cutting through some meadows that were drenched with water, saw a quickly rising river ahead that we were going to have to ford, and all of this with no signs of the hail letting up. After giving it a go, Shade yelled through the hammering of hail, “Okay, dad…let’s go back.”
 
It was a wise choice…and probably the wisest choice would’ve been to not waste the energy trying what we were trying in the first place. But for some reason, I didn’t feel any kind of “I told you so.” On the contrary, I found myself exhilarated and energized because we tried. 
 
And for that, I’m so thankful for Shade’s energy. Because I wouldn’t have had the exhilaration and energy if he wasn’t there as the lone voice saying let’s go…when everything, EVERYTHING else said to stay put.  
 
So that was cool…experiencing so clearly and constantly some of the unique qualities that are Shade.
 
Can’t wait to do something like this with Callie and Jakin, too.

Unstoppable Energy – The Mountain Chronicles III

10 August 2008
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“This is what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immoveable object.” – The Joker, in the movie The Dark Knight
 
One of the things I really enjoyed about this trip was being with my son Shade 24-7. We did everything together (I mean everything…eat, sleep, hike, move, rest, poop, pee, drive, explore, collapse…everything) every single day. We got tired of each other, served each other, joked with each other, listened to each other, got sick, frustrated, and angry with each other, and survived each other.
 
So that was cool, but also cool for me was experiencing some of the unique qualities that are Shade so clearly and constantly.
 
Shade has energy. Even when he is tired and worn out, he can’t seem to not exhibit energy. 
 
When we would take breaks that involved taking our packs off, Shade would be running down to the water, exploring an old miners cabin, or throwing rocks.
When we would be hiking in his toughest moments, his complaints and ailings would be expressed with profound energy.
When we were at camp, he was non-stop energy.
When he wanted to talk about Pokémon Cards with his buddy Zach, he was non-stop energy.
When we were going to sleep, he always had the last word…yes, you guessed it, said with energy even if his audience was asleep.
 
I shared in Mountain Chronicles II how tough the long hike up the mountain was for Shade, but whenever he didn’t have a pack on, he was desiring non-stop action.
 
Nowhere was this better expressed than on Day 2. Day 1 ended with us hiking about 4.5 miles, finding an adequate temporary campsite for the night, setting up our tent in a threatening sprinkle but before the hard rain, eating our first hot meal (mac and cheese), and settling into our sleeping bags. We were at a respectable angle, and slid towards our feet constantly, and I slept horribly, with a lingering headache irritating me all night (this has always happened to me my first day in high altitude, only to disappear with my giving in to nausea (which happened the next morning) and then I’m fine the rest of the trip). But boy was it good to not be walking.
 
On day 2, we had our precious daily hot chocolate, at some breakfast, packed up and kept hiking. We went another mile and half or so and found a beautiful spot to set up our base camp. After we set up, we decided to pack our day packs and go exploring up into the basin…maybe hit an old gold mine or two. This, of course, pumped Shade up. We started hiking, and Zach started getting a headache…but courageously decided to keep going. We were probably about 3/4 mile up from our camp when the clouds come swooping in and it starts pouring a drenching rain. We got our raingear on in the nick of time, and spotted an old abandoned campsite thick with trees up ahead. As we headed there, the heavens seem to turn the water up a bit more, and it also turns to hail! I’m smiling as we rush under the trees with nothing to do but get drenched and wait it out. Zach squats down under one of the tick pines and huddles up in his raingear…I felt horrible for him sitting there quite miserable. Keith was smiling too with what interpreted as that “What did we get ourselves into” look…a look echoing his statement when we crossed the bridge on day 1. All things considered, I felt like we were in a pretty good place to wait out the storm.
 
But Shade…Shade was wondering why we were stopped! “Let’s go!” he kept saying. And Shade said this in dozens and dozens of ways to try to change my decision to wait until this stuff lets up before we move.
 
One time, it was, “Okay, lets go,” in a tone that was pretending this was just a short breather/break that had nothing to do with the weather.
Another time, it was, “Look…it’s not so hard!” Which wasn’t true, but maybe I’d fall for it.
Several times they were of the “Are we gonna just stand here all day?” family: “We’re losing daylight, dad.” “Okay, how many more minutes?” “Did we come all the way up here just to stand under these trees?”
 
I’m cracking up out loud on the plane just replaying them in my mind. Shade is an unstoppable force of energy!
 
But I’m not budging. I’m pulling out all my different flavors of trying to get him to realize the parameters of what is not going to change.
 
I used the detailed explanation approach: “Shade, it’s raining and hailing. We are going to stay here until it stops.”
I used the “did-you-hear-me?” approach: “Shade, do you remember when I said we will move?”
The “make-him-say-it” approach: “Shade, when did I say we will go?” “When the hail stops,” he said, “So when does that mean we’ll move?” “When the hail stops,” he confirmed.
The “point-out-his-persistence-as-futile” approach: “Shade, what did I say last time you asked to go?” “No,” he said. “So in 30 seconds, do you need to ask me again?” “No,” he said (but he would anyway)
 
 
 
 
 
My favorite expression of his energy, and his creativity, had a touché’ sort of flair to it when he said, “Dad…what are we supposed to do when it gets hard?”   

It’s On You – Mountain Chronicles II

8 August 2008
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“Strength.” – Shade’s answer to the pre-trip question, “What are we going to the mountain to learn?”
 
“Push through.” – Shade’s answer to the question, “What are you going to do when it gets hard?”
 
 “I will cheer for you, I’ll encourage you, I’ll go with you, I’ll lead you, I’ll serve you, I’ll take some of your load, but the largest part of this climb is yours…and I can’t help you with it.” – Yours Truly, with some coaching from my friend Keith, to my son, Shade, on our first day’s hike 
 
Something in me is crying as I begin writing this one…I’m not sure why.
 
Maybe it’s because the lesson from this part of the trip is so good, but scary. So necessary, so true, but sometimes I just wish it wasn’t.
 
Maybe it’s because I still haven’t totally learned this one, and don’t want to.
 
Let me start by saying that sometimes it is my good heart that hurts my kids. It is my deep love…my willingness to do anything for them…that could end up handicapping them. Limiting them. Holding them back in a childhood that is not supposed to last forever. I don’t mean to do this. I have full intentions of intentionally helping my kids grow up. I’m not pushing it, mind you. On the contrary, I love them as children, but sometimes I can feel myself loving them as children so much that I wouldn’t mind them staying there. Or, at least, my desire to be a “good and loving dad” makes me help them (or bail them out) a little too much.
 
Okay, moving on…
 
Shade crossed the bridge over the wide and fast-moving Upper Animas River with enthusiasm and a bounce in his step. We had a half-mile hike back down river to a trail that started going up (and up and up) that followed along the beautiful Needle Creek (one of those “whoa…look at that!” creeks that tempts you to stop around every corner and gaze on it’s flow, it’s waterfalls, its nooks and crannies). We began this trek at over 7000 feet, and were going to go steadily up (meaning, less oxygen in the air) and far (meaning, we will spend all day doing this). Within the first mile, the glamour, excitement, and romanticism of this trip was quickly overcome by the harsh realities around us, and the plan before us.
 
Shade didn’t blatantly want out, but he sure wanted it easier than it was.
 
He started complaining about his feet, and his knees, and how “he can’t breathe” and that his pack was too heavy. We took regular breaks, which quickly became his favorite part of the climb (can’t blame him there, it was quickly becoming mine too!). I was right with him every step, and started feeling like I might have been a little over-zealous about how much weight he was carrying. He’s a 60 pound kid and he was carrying about 19 pounds. Keith and I split about 9 pounds of that (thinking about the idea that none of us were carrying 1/3rd of our body weight). But still, despite all my pre-trip warnings and preparations about the difficulty of this first day, Shade was struggling with having to endure it. Where is the fun in this?
 
Pause. A few weeks earlier, my wife had a bunch of girls over in our living room late one Wednesday night. Shade and I were in there enjoying their company when he pulled a first. He said, “Dad, can I talk with you privately?”
 
“Sure,” I said, as I went with him into the other room. He was wanting to confess something, and as it came out of him, I could see he was looking for reassurance, motivation, and courage.
 
He began…”I’m real excited about our trip to the mountain. Except for one part of it that is making me nervous. That first day that you say is going to be so hard.”
 
I nodded. “Yeah, me too, Shade. It’s going to be a tough day. But you remember when we were praying together, asking God about why He had us going on this trip? About what He wanted you to learn? What gift He wanted to give you?”
 
“Strength,” Shade replied.
 
“Yeah…strength,” I said. “And I think that’s why He’s sending us to this mountain. Because He needs us to have that first day. A day that’s hard, that will make you need strength in order to succeed.”
 
I filled with pride that this was enough for Shade. He nodded, and said with a snap of optimism and acceptance in his voice, “yeah…okay.” Then he went on back to socializing.
 
Before I get back to the story, it’s probably important for me to tell you that, while I would not have been able to identify this at the time, I believe that I was secretly thinking that if worse came to worse, I would be able to be Shade’s strength…which now I know was really cheapening what God was setting up, not to mention vastly overestimating the strength I would have on this trip.
 
Okay…so Keith and Zach are plodding along really consistently and strong, and Shade and I are moving really slow because of Shade’s complaints and pain, and our way-to-frequent stops. It was getting tough on both of us, but praise God I wasn’t getting impatient, crystal clear on the fact that this is why we were there. So I asked Shade to look at me in the eyes, and mustering my best loving-but-firm-and-confident look, I said, “Buddy…we are going all the way. We are going to hike all day until we get to our campsite. And you are going to carry that (I pointed at it) backpack. So you can decide if you want to use your energy trying to change that, or use your energy accomplishing that.”
 
I loved him as he looked in my eyes and measured what I was saying. I loved him. My love exploded for him (and I already love him so much, I didn’t think that was possible). I wanted to take back what I said out of love. I wanted to attach his pack to mine. I wanted to say, “If you can’t make it all the way on your own, don’t worry, I’ll carry you.” But I didn’t. I just looked at him in the eyes as he was deciding whether he could adjust to what I was saying as the unchangeable truth. And I loved him. And I would love him no matter what he decided in that moment.
 
Pause again. It really, REALLY helped me knowing that God told me to bring Shade to this mountain. See, there are other mountains we could’ve climbed that didn’t require such a long hike, nor such a steep ascent. If it were on me, I would’ve chosen a much different place…less challenging. I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to relieve his pain (and mine) by changing the plan, taking care of him, going down early, etc… But I kept going back to that other mountain months ago, where I heard God say, “Go back. Take Shade.” Seriously…if I weren’t convicted that this was from God, I wouldn’t have had the strength myself to demand that he push through.
 
So just like back in the living room, only this time with much more difficulty (because he was in the midst of his pain), Shade said, “yeah…okay”. Then he went back to climbing.
 
From this point on (for the rest of this hike, but also for the rest of the week), Shade got better and better. And by that, I mean that he accepted the difficulties inherent in this trip more and more readily. He got stronger and stronger. My son pushed through.
 
I can write that now, but I wouldn’t really acknowledge this on the trip…too afraid that I was just being a little too optimistic about this, just seeing what I wanted to see so desperately. But without any prompting from me, as we were driving home, Keith busted out with the statement, “I feel like Shade just kept getting better and better as the week went on. He started out struggling, but just kept doing better.” This was one of the many gifts that I feel like God gave to me by having Keith and Zach join us on this trip (there were countless). I contained it in the car, but my heart leapt right through the roof! I wanted to blow up with a freakin’ excited, glad-to-be-affirmed yell of victory, “I DID TOO!!!!!”  
 
Shade didn’t have to get better and better for this trip to have been excellent. Shade didn’t have to exhibit strength, stop complaining, or make it through the hike that day without more help from me for me to love him.I just love him. And I love helping him. And I love him feeling helped.
 
But I loved helping him in this way, too. In this way where he seems to be learning that he has a reservoir of strength to pull from when things get hard. Strength that will help him achieve things that he starts out thinking might be too hard. Strength, not from me, but from God.
 
About a month or two before our trip, a real special friend named Pam called me having had a recurring dream that she felt like she was supposed to tell me about. She said, “I could see you and Shade going up on that mountain you’re going to. It had some sort of relation to Abraham and Isaac. It was the identical dream two nights in a row. And I had the distinct feeling that Shade is going to get something from God up there that has nothing to do with you.“
 
I smiled huge when she told me this. This would be my dream, I thought, and I instantly prayed that God would please make it so. I thought of all the students I’ve known and loved as they were trying to “attain their own faith” (rather than feel like it was just their parent’s idea for them) for over 14 years (not to mention remembering my own transition into my own faith). And so for Shade to be getting special “things” from the Father, at such a young age, that had nothing to do with his dad on earth would be worth the world to me.
 
Dear Father…In the name of Christ, give my kids a relationship with You that has nothing to do with me. The sooner the better, Father. Thank You for letting me be in their lives.

Witnesses – The Mountain Chronicles I

1 August 2008
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“Then the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain where Jesus had told them to go. When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted.” – Matthew 28:16-17

“What have we gotten ourselves into?” – Keith, as we crossed the suspended bridge over the raging Animas River with our young sons, to the the trailhead leading into the wild

For those just picking up on the story, I just returned from a much anticipated backpacking trip with my 8-year-old son Shade in the Weminuche Wilderness just Northeast of Durango, Colorado. This whole trip was in response to what I felt was God’s invitation and direction to go on it…so the journey was full of all the excitement and doubt, anticipation and fear that comes along with the idea that you are “following God”. We had a difficult and great time.

Our fellow father-son duo, Keith & Zach (9) from Houston, arrived in Amarillo on Saturday, and after attending church with us Sunday morning, we all four packed into Keith’s Corolla, drove 8-9 hours to Durango, Colorado, checked into the Holiday Inn Express that my wife booked for us through Priceline, and got our last night of sleep in a bed.

We were up early the next morning, and after breakfast, went down by the lower Animas River (that our hotel was settled next to). We had explored it briefly the night before, so we revisited a hole in the large fence along the riverwalk that allowed us right down by the water (where we found the raw material for some perfect hiking staffs for our boys, by the way). We began this long-awaited morning by sharing with the boys a story from the Bible in Exodus — about Moses meeting God on a mountain, calling him to take a dangerous, difficult journey — one that Moses saw as too difficult and gave God several excuses as to why Moses shouldn’t do it. All of them boiled down to Moses thinking this journey was going to be too hard for him.

“What should Moses do here, and on his journey, when it gets hard?” we asked our boys.

“Push through,” they said. We’ve all been talking about this trip for a few months now…ever since Keith and I were together on that other mountain in Colorado and felt like God called us to take our sons to this one…so they both knew the “right answer”. They said it like they were in Bible class, knowing that the Sunday School Teacher wanted them to answer correctly, satisfied and proud that they did, but sortof unattached to it’s implications, unaware of how personally it would apply to them in just a few hours.

And so now, we delivered our brief words of guidance, and warning. “When we get off that train (the Durango Silverton Narrow Gauge Steam Engine that would deliver us to our trailhead in the wilderness), we are going to have a long, uphill journey with heavy packs. It’s going to get hard…so all day long, we want you to be asking yourself, each other, and God…’what will I do when it gets hard?'”

We prayed and headed for the station. It was very exciting. There are mostly tourists on this train (the ride alone is worth the trip) and it was sort of cool being decked out in our mountain gear, hoisting our packs onto the freight car, and finding our seats while looking a tad less civilized than the rest of the hundreds of passengers.

The train trip was beautiful and fantastic, like a step back in time. This train has been used in dozens of movies because of it’s age (over 100 years old) and it’s setting (right through the mountains along the Animas River). After exploring every train car multiple times, Shade came back and settled down with me in our seats, and we entered into an anxious silence, staring at the beauty out the window, knowing that our time in this comfortable seat with the access to cushions, bathrooms, and concession cars was about to be over.

2-1/2 hours later, as we approached our stop where we would be left behind in the wilderness with only our packs and each other, we all took advantage of the on-train facilities to have one last sit down on an actual toilet…since our next experience would be on the edge of a rock or squatting over a hole we dug. (Excuse my being graphic, but this is a major part of multiple-day backpacking. Scores and scores of people (not just women) will never lay eyes on what my 8-year-old son saw because they are unwilling to endure this very thing.)

The conductor came and retrieved us. We were about to stop.

As we walked from the back of the train to the front, past all the people in each train car, we heard whispers and utterances of astonishment and wonder: “They’re getting off!”. Keith pointed out the whispering and stares of awe by saying, “This is cool,” and I smiled…I couldn’t help but think of the pride that might be swelling up in our sons as they experienced the “stares of respect” as they walked into their mixture of excitement and fear preparing to finally get off the train and don their loads and start the brutal 3000 ft ascent over 6 miles.

I think every boy (and man) needs moments like this. Moments where he walks courageously into fear, into some sort of danger or adventure, into the wild, if you will, where he will be without all of his “climate controls” and totally exposed “to the elements”…but to have WITNESSES of it, well that is something special. Something gets cemented into the masculine heart when this happens…when you walk away from the herd, and they watch…sometimes in awe, sometimes thinking your crazy, sometimes inspiring someone to do the same, some scoffing at the sincerity with which you do so, or maybe something else, but they do watch. I think this cementing in a boy’s heart needs to happen repeatedly (and dad’s do well to both set this up for, invite, and be witnesses of it for their boys). Part of being a man, I’m convinced, is being a pioneer of some sort. Bold, brave, courageous…not without fear, of course…but capable of facing it, walking into it, come what may. Of course, we need to be able to do it without witnesses, as a matter of our integrity and inner character…but when there are witnesses, something gets cemented. Developed.

Just another thing convincing me of our need for community in this life.

Charles Mackay said: “Men, it has been well said, think and operate in herds; it will be seen that they go totally mad and even commit suicide in herds, while they only recover their senses slowly, and one by one.”

There is so much more to say, but this quote resonated with me after I got home…I felt a sense of clarity again after this experience. A “recovering of my senses.” It was good that we were leaving the herd on the train, and it was good that my 8 year old was learning to do it so early. I pray God cements it into him, and allows him to develop the character that enables him to do so in every relationship, every circumstance, every opportunity and every challenge in life.

And I hope God does the same in Shade’s dad.

More to come.

The Nations cry out…as do my Neighbors

18 July 2008
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In India, there is a 40 year old native minister of a church of about 120 people, who has a ministry team of 4, and is training at least a dozen young men in a preacher school he is running…who wants to understand, comprehend, and teach the difference between church-focused thinking and Christ-focused thinking.

In Zimbabwe, there are dozens of located, local, native ministers trying to love people in the most horrific of national, political, health, and humanitarian situations who are hungry for and desperately in need of understanding the difference between getting the people to meet together on Sundays for a worship service to praise Christ and getting the people to come into intimate friendship with and become more like Christ.

In Russia, there is a small group of Christians that decided to accept Christ shortly after Russia opened it’s doors to outsiders, and they are good people who love Christ, but because of internal issues and external fears have forced them to stop meeting together in the building they were using and need desperately to understand that just because they aren’t meeting in a building does not mean that they cease being a group of disciples that are in relationship with each other, and by so doing they are still the church.

In Australia, there is a faithful and influential minister of the gospel of Christ who grasps the difference between trying to change the world for the Kingdom by making disciples of Jesus Christ through intentional relationships or by maintaining a certain worship service structure among existing churches…but the churches that he loves and serves among need to open their minds to the idea that zeal for Christ means to love people like Christ did, not win arguments against other denominations about certain doctrines.

I have been invited, recently, to each of these places by these people and the people who love them in order to love and teach and share and fellowship around the idea of teaching the heart, mission, character and priorities of Christ. Each place and people could and would accept as much or as little time as I would invest in them…and I would be lying if I said my heart didn’t want to go…to each and every place and people. My desire borders on a feeling of need.

“I need to go to Russia.”
“I need to go to India.”
“I need to go to Australia.”
“I need to go to Zimbabwe.”

These feelings and stirrings grow out of a combination of my relationships with people there or here who love the people there, the message they are asking for being the message I carry, and my great and growing love for the world. But, alas, each sentence, each desire, seems to call out for my whole life…and I only have one.

And in the one that I am living…my neighbors seem to be in equal need, and I have been invited into their worlds as well. Trying to list them all would take all week.

How important is it then, that the whole global church be activated? That each and every follower, as a functioning part of the Kingdom, identify and utilize their spiritual role to play so that the world may know that Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life?

I’m preaching this Sunday on the desperate plea of Paul in Eph 4 where he says, “I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received.” He goes on to say that Christ has deposited in each one of his children a gift of grace…some are apostles, some prophets, evangelists, teachers, or pastors. And we need every single one to function.

That the nations and our neighbors may be loved with the life-giving love of Christ.

God help us.

Counting Down to our Ascent Up

15 July 2008
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My 8-year-old son Shade and I will be leaving this Sunday with our buddies Keith and Zach for Durango, CO to spend the night in a bed for the last time Sunday night before boarding the Durango-Silverton Train only to be dropped off at a wilderness trailhead where we will backpack 6-7 miles into the beautiful Chicago Basin, a valley full of waterfalls and surrounded by 14,000 ft. mountains.
 
There are at least two reasons that God has made crystal clear for why Shade and I are going on this trip.
 
1. For me to pick something up that my heart loves that I let go of long ago (mountainclimbing).
2. For Shade to have an experience that is difficult and requires “strength” to push through.
 
It promises to be an incredible trip for all four of us. Full of beauty, fun, life, challenge, and adventure on all fronts. Thank you for praying for our safety and growth, which even though they don’t often come together, we are eager for both.
 
And thank you to everyone who bid on, bought, or passed the word about my book-selling, fund-raising effort for this trip. Shade and I went shopping for our gear yesterday and are almost finished. I have put four more cool books up for auction towards this end…
 
This one is a very cool, old Bible published in the USA within a generation of our country’s birth!
 
This one will interest Church of Christ/Restoration history buffs, a collection of 12 sermons from NB Hardeman (yes, the founder of Freed-Hardeman college)…
 
This one is cool, too. A century by century, concise history of the church since the 1st century…
 
And finally, another sweet, old, leather Bible…
 
I love you all and will report back when we return with some pictures!

FW: (gracEmail) why serve among Churches of Christ?

9 July 2008
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Edward Fudge wrote the following article about why he serves among Churches of Christ that would be included among the reasons I serve in the Churches of Christ. I wanted to share them with you, but also share Ed with you, because he is a follower, scholar and friend that has blessed me so much with his writings, teachings, and (way too few) personal interactions.
 
He has a blog/distribution list called gracEmail that I highly recommend and you can subscribe at http://www.injesus.com/index.php?module=group&task=subscribe&GroupID=DA007Q4Q
 
For those who are keeping up…my son Shade and I leave for our mountain climbing trip out of Durango, CO with our good friends Keith and Zach in less than two weeks!
 
Pray for our strength.

gracEmail®
Edward Fudge

WHY SERVE AMONG CHURCHES OF CHRIST?

Various gracEmail subscribers ask why I am connected with the Churches of Christ instead of some other Christian tribe or movement. They ask for different reasons, depending on their own experience and perspective.

* * *

My home base is with the Churches of Christ because that is where God has placed me for now. If I ever sense that God is leading me to a different subdivision on the Christian map, I will not hesitate to move. The truth is that I am at home wherever believers worship God, proclaim Jesus Christ, teach the Bible, live in the Spirit and love each other. The spiritual address is irrelevant.

I also remain in this nondenominational movement of my youth because I have complete freedom of understanding and conscience. I have a congenial home congregation, the Bering Drive Church of Christ in Houston, Texas, in which I have served as a teacher and an elder since 1982. A new generation of Churches of Christ is coming on the scene: one focused on Jesus Christ rather than on a church system, that proclaims justification by grace through faith rather than salvation through human effort or doctrinal conformity, and that enjoys fellowship with other believers based on commitment to Jesus rather than on sectarian allegiance or denomiinational membership.

I also reside among the Churches of Christ because I appreciate their founding ideals. The 19th-century Stone-Campbell Restoration Movement from which it sprang began with the goal of uniting Christians under the leadership of King Jesus without regard to human traditions or creeds. Its founders’ vision was to be “Christians only, but not the only Christians.” It adopted the more ancient slogan, “In matters of faith, unity; in matters of opinion, liberty; in all things, charity.” It professed to “speak where the Bible speaks and to be silent where the Bible is silent.” It offered freedom of conscience to individuals and autonomy to congregations. I find these ideals to be biblical in origin, refreshing in theory and hospitable for daily living on the ground.

Not everyone in Churches of Christ enjoys the freedom of which I speak, or encouragement in their local fellowship, or healthy gospel preaching from the pulpit. I encourage them to work for such results as God gives opportunity. If the doors are slammed shut in their face, these individuals must sometimes leave the “home-folks,” as the Apostle Paul was required to do, and go where God is leading. When that happens, I confidently commend them to his tender care. I deeply regret that some among these churches have been brainwashed to believe that they have no other spiritual option. Those who are responsible for such nonsense will one day answer to God.

For more on the Churches of Christ, click here.
____________

Copyright 2008 by Edward Fudge.

On Jumping in All It’s Various Forms…

27 June 2008
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This past Tuesday night, I went with my church out to Lake McKenzie near Silverton, TX. It’s a respectable, but smaller, size lake with a very cool cove that has different levels of cliffs that you can jump from.
 
The six of us parked and hiked down the grass and dirt path that leads to the bottom. I was hobbling down carefully, trying not to irritate my slowly healing sprained ankle. My buddy Shane was the first down and into the water, which he said was freezing as he swam across the cove to the rope that helps you get up to some of the lower cliffs. 
 
There was a couple fishing in there, and they said the deepest spot they could find was 13 feet (the water was WAY down). Shane was already up on one of the cliffs ready to jump, but the group decided it would be wise to check the depth before he jumped (even though we’ve done this before). I was next in the water, so I swam over to the landing area and down I went. I didn’t hit bottom, but kept hitting branches attached to some immoveable tree under there, so Shane turned to his left to the clear water I found and let her fly! 
 
All sense said for me to just stay in the water and not jump at all this time, with my ankle and all. But almost like I was on remote control, even as my mouth is saying I just need to stay in the water, I climbed the rope and jumped (make that dove…to avoid impact to my ankle). I was fine. But I still came out of the water half glad I did it, half shaking my head out how lacking I am in self-control regarding things like this.
 
At any rate, Josh, Orand, and Chris S. were making there way into the water (it wasn’t near as cold as Shane said) and across the cove. Shane went a few more times from the lower and higher cliffs, and Josh joined him. Chris N. is still sitting on the bank with no intention of even getting in the water, let alone jumping, taking pictures.
 
Now Chris S. headed up the rope and over to the cliff’s edge, with Orand close behind him. His intent was to go right up to the edge and jump, but instead what began was an much more significant internal battle within himself about his need for control that would last over an hour.
 
Pause. My friend Chris is a very cool fellow. He’s an economist. Yeah, an economist. The first and only one I’ve ever known. He told me once that the title is a bit of a smoke screen…but I’m cool with it…I just like being friends with an economist.
 
We’ve been developing a friendship over the past few months. We’ve had several lunches, and he has ventured into my basement where a bunch of us go to “keep it real” and intentionally try to let Christ conform us to his image. So because of the context of our friendship, we’ve become friends very quickly.
 
Anyway, I’m pausing here because Chris and I had gone to lunch THAT DAY, and while there, he said he had something to talk to me about. Suffice it to say that he was letting me know that he ready to venture out of the comfort zone of his current controlled life, which isn’t going as well as he pretends anyway, but knows that to do so would require him moving into new unknown territory…yes with God, but he knew he needed more…he needs God’s community in the flesh. It was my favorite thing that happened that day.
 
Until that is, his standing on the cliff became a living, breathing, incarnated analogy to what we talked about at lunch. He stood on that cliff for a good 15 minutes, I guess, bewildered at himself for how hard it was to let go of the tree next to him and jump. He kept asking Orand, waiting patiently behind him, if he wanted to go first, which he didn’t…but eventually did (now, Orand had to face his fear to jump, too, but he did it pretty quickly). This was Chris’ first easy opt-out…he’s already away from the cliff, back by the rope, but he went back over to the cliff after Orand to take another look.
 
I took a spot down in the water under him, dog-paddling near the direction of where he would land (not too close), as a show of support. Of course, I really wanted him to experience the breakthrough feeling of doing something in spite of your fear, reason, and logic, so I joined right in what was going on in him by speaking out loud the analogy this was to what he proclaimed at lunch. He listened, but it wasn’t lost on him. He was already thinking everything I’m saying…so I went forward trying to motivate him to jump.
 
I told him about my first cliff jump…I sat for 4 hours looking over thinking it might look easier in a minute.
“The view WILL NOT change by waiting.”
“It is a decision of the will to trust you will be okay.”
“This is over in half a second as soon as you lean forward.”
“The feelings you face here are the same feelings you will face when ‘jumping’ into your new life…so you might as well know what it feels like”
“Your first step is to resolve that you are jumping. If you are jumping, then it’s just a matter of when.”
 
We dialogued deeply about what was going on inside of him, way more than can be recorded here. But my favorite exchange began when Chris had again walked away from the cliff and was sitting next to the rope.
 
“I don’t want to climb down, and I don’t want to jump,” Chris said, perfectly describing so many of us in so many things. Then he asked, “If I don’t jump, what does that mean about conquering the stuff we talked about at lunch?”
 
“Nothing,” I replied, “this is nothing but a silly cliff jump. You are going to conquer that other stuff whether you jump or not. You are free to climb down or to jump down. What do you want to do? You don’t have to jump.”
 
Now feeling unconstrained by ego, pride, machoism, or letting this cliff jump too seriously represent his capacity to trust God, you might think he’d come on down. Instead, Chris looked back over to the cliff, with that same little fire of intent in his eyes…but with this obstacle on his mind…
 
“If I go back over there, I will hit that same split second moment of fear that I have this last hour that has stopped me.”
 
I merged with that thought, “…so you have no need of being surprised when you walk over there and face that moment. You only have to decide whether you want to go over there and push through it or not.”
 
Off he went to the edge of the cliff, and perched himself in the same spot holding on to the same branch, looking down with the same holy stare. He didn’t jump right away, and we had been here for at least an hour, and I had pretty much exhausted all my best material. So, really wanting to see him jump and overcome whatever was going on inside of him, I asked God, “Father, is there anything I can do to help him?”
 
“Pray.”
 
Duh! I’ve been speeching to this poor guy for an hour and hadn’t prayed. So I looked down at the water and prayed…“Father, be with Chris. And in the name of Jesus Christ, I command anything that hinders Chris from getting whatever it is you want for him, away.”
 
Off he went…with a Braveheart type yell forcing it’s way out of his mouth as he did.
 
Josh and Chris had left. Orand had climbed to the top, and would later tell Chris that he had given up on him, thinking there was no way he would go. Shane was still across the cove on the shore, patiently waiting and witnessing.
 
And Chris said it was the scariest thing he’s ever done. Shane said that it was exciting, and that Chris made the trip! Orand wouldn’t stop smiling, and encouraging Chris with the idea that even when others stop believing in you, you can do it. 
 
I think I will just leave it at that. It was a great trip…great fellowship…and we got to see another brother, in another way, jump through his fear and find out what faith looks and feels like. It’s risky, dangerous, requires letting go, giving up control, and trust. And that’s what the church I attend on Tuesday nights is all about. Life-changing faith.
 
Way to go, Chris!
 
Here is one of my pictures from a place called Bluff Hole in Letona, AR. The first and primary cliff where I have learned this lesson many times (yes, it was winter, and yes it was too cold to jump).
 

Joy Paint

24 June 2008
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“My heart is full of joy paint.” – My daughter Callie, on a walk home from the store together yesterday
 
I needed to go to the store to pick up some stuff, and I decided to walk (to exercise my sprained ankle), when my daughter Callie looked up with fire in her eyes and said, “I wanna go!”
 
“You can go, ” I told her.
 
I had a ball cap on, and she asked, “Are you wearing that hat?” I told her yes, and off she went, finding one of her cute hats and put it over her long, but somewhat tangled (from swimming) red hair. Dog-gone-it, this girl is so cute.
 
So we walked out the front door and headed for the store. I knew that Callie would be a super-great conversationalist for our walk (she always is), but her first words as we crossed the street were, “Can we get some flowers for mom?”
 
As we walked, she spoke of things ranging from the great trip to Houston we just returned from, the beautiful weather, the landscaping of a house we walked by, how she likes the color pink, her sadness about the loss of Dixie (the dog of her friend Kacy we stayed with in Houston), the picture she drew on a post-it honoring Dixie that she placed on the grave, how pleased she was that we were together on this walk, and many, many other subjects.
 
After we bought the things we needed, Callie insisted on carrying half the load all the way home, even though I offered to do so. She wanted to be “fair” to me. 
 
So as we walked home and I watched my daughter lug what was quite a respectable load for her when she didn’t have to, and I thought about how she regularly draws pictures for people, how quick she is to serve, how deeply she feels, how much she smiles, how excited she gets about people and simple pleasures, and I just had to tell her…
 
“Callie, you know, you spread lots and lots of joy. Everywhere you go, you notice good things and give good gifts.”
 
And here is my favorite part. Her answer was instant, matter of fact, and self-aware. There was no ego, no false pretense, no fake humility, nor any boastful intentions. What she said, she said as if she knows it as a deep and objective reality, and as something she taps into all the time…
 
“Yeah, my heart is full of joy paint.”
 
Yes, it is Callie. And I bask gratefully in the privilege it is for me to observe you dipping your paintbrush in it constantly and using it so liberally, with such freedom and confidence, blessing the world as you go with your very full heart of joy paint. 
 
And I am so blessed to be the regular and constant recipient of it’s masterpieces. 
 
Callie starts Art Camp today, and she promises to come home with one piece of art each day. And I have no doubt that each one will be delivered with a huge smile, an excited voice, and a story about how it came about.
 
And splattered abundantly with joy paint.
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