Blog Archive

Sunday, May 13, 2018

Happy Mother's Day!

This is a day we celebrate the women in our lives who fed and clothed us, stayed up late worrying about us and prayed over us.  We honor your courage, conviction and devotion.  We look back at the discipline you gave us, whether that was with sideways glances of “what did you do this time”, rolling eyes, threats of a wooden spoon on our behinds, or just words that we still hold fast in our memories. We are grateful that you didn’t give up on us.

This is not just for those Mom’s who gave birth to us, but for those who took us in when we were homeless, who took us into their hearts when we were heartbroken, and for those who came into our lives and gave us direction when we had no clue what to do.

It is also for those women who became our sister’s and friends.  Who shared the burden and joys of their motherhood. Those who gave us recipes for food, sleep, and a plethora of other advice that we could never have survived without.

I had lots of “Mom’s” in my life and I am grateful for every one of them.  I hope you will stop to remember them, whether or not they are in heaven or still on earth.  You would not be who you are without them.

My own mother went to be with the Lord when she was only 36, but before she left she made sure that I had a place where I was safe and cared for.  My Grandmother Linn was my next mom, and she taught me that what it means to be a “proper” lady goes much deeper than hair and makeup.  My step-mother taught me how to sew and cook, but most of all she taught me that there is some behavior that one does not have to put up with. My Grandma B taught me that loving someone is not all about flowers and romance, but about being there for them, no matter what.

And then there are all the other mom’s in my life.  Those who took me in when I had nowhere to go, who counseled me and loved me even when the choices I made were not good.

If it were not for all of these women, I would probably not still be on this earth.  My only hope is that, in some way, I honored them with my life. 

To all of the Mother’s out there I want to wish you a Happy Mother’s day! 

Saturday, August 5, 2017



There are things in our life that loom larger than life.  Problems that overwhelm us.  Tough days when it seems we just can’t do anything right.  Weeks, Months, Years when it seems that Lady Luck has left us on her back door step for the trashman. Decades of loneliness, and lifetimes of regret.  I think sometimes there are things that are meant to loom larger than life at us, to show us perspective too.  Sometimes we have to face down our fears and smack ‘em.

When I first came to Arizona and set up housekeeping, I discovered bugs.  Now that does not mean we don’t have bugs in Colorado. It means that in Arizona, where everything grows year round, the bugs were supersized and had an attitude.  Now I am a country girl, and not afraid of bugs much, in fact I find some of them quite interesting.  But spiders.  Now that is something I can live without.  Let me clarify that I consider ANYTHING with eight legs to be a spider.   This includes spiders, scorpions, and something that the Hispanic population down here calls an Alacran.   An Alacran is a strange mixture of spider/scorpion, with claws like a scorpion and an attitude.   I met up with one I will call Mr. Big one day in my kitchen.  It was not a pretty sight.

He apparently had come in to get a bite of food that my kids had dropped on the kitchen floor.  I was just happily be-bopping around the corner from the hall, when I spotted him.  Larger than anything I had ever seen.  I screamed.  I ran. 

The neighbors around here are all Arizona natives and find it quite hilarious that I have a habit of doing that.  They knew right away that there was a spider in my house as soon as they saw my entire family evacuate the premises in a screaming mass.  Then we stood outside looking at each other, like who is gonna go handle this.  I saw the neighbors setting up lawn chairs to watch the festivities.  They were cracking open some beer and settling back for some entertainment.  Huh.  Fine.  I decided that I WAS GOING TO BE BRAVE.  And I took my shoe off to go handle Mr. Big. 

I sneaked into the kitchen and eyed him from around the corner. He was busy sitting in the middle of the kitchen.  Not doing anything, just sitting.  I sneaked up on him and raised my shoe, and about that time, He turned, raised his front loaders (claws, somehow make these things look like a tractor) and ATTACKED.  I ran for my life.  Out the door with a blood curdling scream.  The neighbors clapped, hee hawwed and gave me a 10.   It was now my son’s turn.  He came in looking around, didn’t see anything and quickly retreated.  My daughter just peeked around the corner.  They looked at me like, hey you are the parent HANDLE THIS so we can get back to our video games.

I steeled my nerves.  Shoe in hand I came in, eyes alert for any movement, hair standing up on the back of my neck.  I felt like I was fighting Satan and he was using guerilla warfare and winning.   I strained my eyes all around, looking to all sides of me, and finally peeked back in the kitchen.  There he was again, just enjoying a snack and kicking back.  I raised my shoe, I charged.  He raised his claws and charged. I closed my eyes and I smacked him. 

Now I want you to know this is not just some ordinary creature here. These things have been known to flatten themselves out so much they can fit in-between the pages of a book and pop up when you open it.  Sort of like one of those artsy pop up books.  And they can use this dubious talent whenever they choose.  Mr. Big chose to utilize his at the moment of impact from my shoe.  When I pulled the shoe back, He just popped up like HA!  You missed me!  And then raised those claws and came after me.  Eight-legged freak probably would have taken my shoe away and smacked me with it if he could have.  And then he came at me.  Running full tilt, all of his big hairy legs running in tandem.  But I didn’t run, I just stood my ground.  I had armed myself, and I wasn’t giving up.  I smacked him again with the shoe.  He did the pop up thing.  Again.

I went into a frenzy then.  I ran to the kitchen sink grabbed the Raid and began to spray.  He just laughed (if spiders laugh) and chased me all around the kitchen.  I ran to my room for a boot.  This was it. Now I was fighting for my life, and I was determined not to lose.  He raised his claws, glared at me with those thousand eyes, and charged.  Only I was smarter this time.  I hit him so hard it sent him flying through the air out into the hall way and skidding across the floor back into the kitchen.  Then I chased him down.  I must have smacked that thing a hundred times, the entire time crying hysterical tears, until my oldest son came in and said, “ Mom.  I think he is dead, you can quit now.”   And then I collapsed in a heap and cried real tears.

I looked at Mr. Big.  Real hard, cause you can never be sure with an enemy that large and aggressive that they won’t somehow resurrect and come after you again.  What I saw, although gross, was amazing.  He was all of three and a half inches long.  I was 5’6”.  I must have scared him to death.  The shoe had nothing to do with it, after all.

Like I said, sometimes we have problems, heartache, loneliness that just loom larger than life.  If we are courageous and take a stand, we can face down these problems, and live to tell about it.  Had I backed down from Mr. Big, we would be living elsewhere, and he would be bigger than real life by now.  But I didn’t.  I faced my fear, head on with a shoe. 

In all fairness, I have to say, had God not been with me, I would be not living here, in Arizona, in this house.  It would have long ago been taken over by spiders, and I would long ago have moved somewhere a little more bug free.  But this is the key to my story.   God  IS always with me.  Holding my hand, comforting me, and telling me that if I need to,  go get a bigger shoe.

Tuesday, January 17, 2017

Finding True Treasures

We often think how wonderful it would be to discover treasure.  The word evinces images in our mind of piles of gold coins and vessels from days gone by.  But real treasure cannot be measured by how much money it will bring.  True treasure can only be found in the heart. 

I spent two days with my youngest brother going through stuff of my dad’s that he has had in storage for over 15 years.  Boxes of books, scraps of paper, and lots of really old dust.  After the first day, I was covered in dust and overwhelmed by exhaustion.  I must have looked much like treasure hunters of old had when they were digging in the earth for their expected finds.  Only I wasn’t really expecting anything except maybe a few documents for the family genealogy or a couple of my old favorites in reading.  

The next day, God decided to surprise me.  Let me back track a bit.  Well, maybe a few years.  Well maybe 49 years to be precise.  But first I will back track to two months ago. 

Back in November I was thinking about what other books I could download onto my Kindle so I would have sufficient bed-time reading, and I ran across the name of an author of some of the books I used to read at my Grandad’s house.  The name Florence L. Barclay jumped out at me, and I remembered reading a book called “The Rosary”.  So I downloaded it and spent the next few nights reading it.  For some reason the poem in the book was stuck in my head.  I had no clue why.  Sometimes Time hides important treasures.

Page forward to last Saturday. As my brother and I were going through the books, there at the bottom of a forlorn box was a book that looked oh so familiar, and I dived in to grab it.  As I pulled it up to read the title, there it was!  “The Rosary” by Florence L. Barclay!   I eagerly opened it and did I ever find a treasure.

There, written on the opening page, under my grandparent’s name, was my own handwriting.  The poem from page 51 and 52 written out.  And as I read it, memories flooded back and tears filled my eyes.

Now page back 49 years.  I was 15 years old.  My Grandad had died just weeks before and I was alone in the house in the dark.  The loneliness was nearly unbearable, so I got up, turned on the light and began searching through the bookcase for something, anything to read to take my mind off of my sorrow.  My grandparents had both been teachers and avid readers so there was plenty to go through, but my eye landed on something that I had never seen before.  A green book with a simple title, “The Rosary” by Florence L. Barclay. 

I took it with me to bed and read myself to sleep for a few nights, until I ran across the poem that the book was titled after.  As I read it, tears and memories flooded my eyes and my heart.

The hours I spent with thee, dear heart,
Are as a string of pearls to me;
I count them over, every one apart,
My Rosary, My Rosary!
Each hour a pearl, each pearl a prayer
To still a heart in absence wrung;
I tell each bead unto the end, and there-
A cross is hung! 
Oh memories that bless and burn!
Oh, barren gain, and bitter loss!
I kiss each bead and strive at last to learn
To kiss the cross…to kiss the cross.

Memories.   My grandmother reading the Bible to me.  Sitting on my Grandad’s lap and listening to him sing his silly songs.  Listening to his endless tales that kept us entertained while we did the farm work.  Laughing at the little jig dance he did when he was feeling silly.  Listening to his quotes from the book of Proverbs and questioning him because I really didn’t understand how any of it applied to planting trees or scooping cow poop.  Endless memories, each one a pearl!  

The poem hit the mark that God intended.  I missed Grandad so, but I knew in that moment all he had taught me was true.  And I knew one other thing.  I knew I was lacking something or someone in my life.  I got up and looked for another, more familiar book, one that my Grandad had read to me a million times, about Jesus Christ dying on the cross for my sins.  And I could hear his explanation of how to be “saved.”  I never before felt that I needed that, except to save me from my crazy sister, or if my dad happened to be on a rampage. But that night I knew what he had meant.  I knew I needed the Lord in my life.  And because of that old man’s faithful teaching, I knew exactly how to go about this. 

I knelt by my bed, weeping, and asking God to forgive me for anything and everything I had ever done, and I asked Jesus to come into my heart.  Oh how I needed Him so!  Not for any specific sins, but to be my companion!  I needed Him to fill that empty space that was left when Grandad died!

And then I sat down with a pen, and did the thing my grandmother would never have approved of while she was here on earth; I wrote the poem down in the front of the book as a reminder to myself of the commitment I had made that very night.  

The very next Sunday, when I went to church, while they were giving the call to the altar, I went right down to the front and dedicated my life to the Lord.  What happened after that is for another story, and I can tell you that there were times when I did not keep that promise.  But He has always kept His.  I have never been alone since then.

He who is always faithful, brought to my remembrance that promise I made so long ago, alone in the dark with Him, when He brought the most glorious light of Himself into my darkest place, and has walked with me to this very day.   Yes, I discovered a treasure, hidden deep within my heart.

Friday, December 16, 2016

Love Conquers all.. Even the Bad Stuff!

People come and go in our lives. God has a purpose for each of them in our lives.  Some are there to encourage, provide and mentor us, and then there are THOSE ones.   You know, the ones who hate you for no reason, who torment and bully you, the ones who use you and abuse you. THOSE ones.  The deal is this:  We get to choose how we respond to them and the effects they have on our lives.  That is all a part of free will, and HOW we respond to THOSE ones makes all the difference in our lives. 

I sat down and attempted to classify all of these people and the effects they had on my life, according to American Grading standards, from A to F.  Initially, as I was thinking about this A would be those that had the most positive effect in my life and F would be those who were epic failures.  However, in looking back and seeing the actual effects, I had to rethink this.  Let me explain.

There were those in my life I classified as “A”.  Those were the people who rescued me from dire circumstances, who mentored me and sheltered me.  At first I thought that they were the ones who had the greatest effect on my life.  And to be truthful, they did have the most positive effects, however, then I looked at the “F’s”.  These were the people who plotted to ruin my life, who I allowed to stumble in and destroy everything, and who viciously continued to plot against me.  These were the ones who hated me for no reason.  But in looking back, what I see is that there was One great “A”, the Lord Himself.  He mentored, sheltered, provided and picked me back up when I had ruined everything or allowed someone else to do the work for me.

The story of David and Saul in the Bible comes to mind.  At first, Saul loved David, mostly because he loved the comfort his music brought him, and then because of his slaying of the giant, Goliath, and how it encouraged Israel to rally to fight the Philistines.  It didn’t take long for all that worldly love that Saul had to turn to jealousy, then hatred.  He went so far as to attempt to kill David. Many times.   
And David’s response?  He would not talk bad about Saul, or allow anyone else to.  He loved him so much that when he heard that Saul had died, that he mourned and fasted.  In spite of the death threats and trials Saul had put him through, David loved him.  And because David honored Saul, because he guarded his own integrity, and because he kept believing that the Lord would protect him, God upheld him as long as he lived.  He grew strong and wise through the trials that Saul put him through.  

As I looked back, the pieces of my life fell into line and I realized I had made a dire mistake in the classifications.  For those I had classified as “F’s”, the ones who had plotted my destruction by cruelty, by abandonment, by their ignorance, really had the biggest effect on my life.  For it was in those ‘valley” seasons, my spirit grew.  It was under the stress of hatred and abuse, difficulties and sorrows, that God allowed me to see that I was His, and He would never abandon me.  In good times and bad, through sorrow, struggles and shame, He has always been there, even when I could not see it.  And it was in these times, as my faith grew, I grew stronger.  And I even learned to LOVE THOSE who hated me.

Because of God’s great love, how I responded to those times helped me more than anything.  When some attempted to plant bitterness in my heart, the Lord showed me how it would affect me just as it had them.  For some who abandoned me in my time of need, the Lord showed me that He would never abandon me.  And for those ones who hated me with no reason, the Lord showed me that Love, His love, would cover all my hurt and shame.  Some of those were even brought back by that same great Love. 

So I want to thank the “F’s”, for it was through your actions I grew.  It was through your lack of love, I learned to love, no matter what.  It was through your abandonment, I learned never to give up on someone, no matter what.  And as you plotted for my destruction, I learned to pray for your redemption. 
And for the “A’s”, I watched your example, I saw your love, that it was real and true.  You gave me a compass to guide my life, and empowered me with the one thing that would cover all the “F’s”.
That one thing is Love.  
Because Love never fails. 

1 Corinthians 13
The Way of Love
If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.  And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.  If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned but have not love, I gain nothing.
 Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth.  Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things.
So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

Romans 8:28
 And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.

Sunday, September 4, 2016

“Have you LOST your marbles?”

The statement listed above did not mean we were incapable of clear thinking.  It did not mean that we were stupid, so to speak, or that somehow we had obtained a special level of idiocy.  I will explain by example.

The first clearest memory I have of this saying being applied to my behavior, was when I decided that I could ride the neighbor’s bull.  No bull about it, I really thought that he was just a big cow and that large creatures were meant to be ridden.  So I led him up to the corral fence, swung my leg over him, and the rest is all a jumble of flailing arms and the distinct taste of cow manure in my mouth.  When I was rescued by my dad, the first thing out of his mouth was, “Have you lost your marbles?”  And the first thing I remember thinking was, “Well, no, actually they are in a sack in the house.”

The second memory I have of this, was when my brother John and I, as was our custom, decided that flood waters were a great place to swim.  There was a “gully” that ran through the middle of our property and the water ran swiftest there.  We hightailed ourselves up to the road, and without a thought, jumped into the water on the far side of the road.  The biggest problem with that was that there was a culvert that ran UNDER the road and the gully washed right through it in such a rush that it spewed 10 feet up in the air on the other side.  Think of it as a great water park, only deadly. Yes, we got sucked through the culvert, yes we flew 10 feet in the air, sputtering and coughing and laughing, and yes (obviously because I am still here) we survived to pull ourselves out on the bank of the gully.  But when I looked down, there on my leg was a centipede, at least an inch across, firmly attached to my leg from my hip down to my knee. I screamed like a girl (oh wait, I was a girl.)  And then I ran. As if that was going to dislodge him.  My brother caught up to me and said, “Hold still and I will get him off.” And just like that he grabbed the bugger and unzipped him from my leg, leaving a hundred holes that burned like fire.   We retreated to the parent’s home, and there they examined my wounds.  And then the expected, “Have you lost your marbles?” 

There are so many incidents of this type that I won’t bore you with any of the details.  My parents used the usual Marbles statement, but my grandad always asked “What were you thinking?” 
As in the time when John and I attempted launching off of the two story barn roof down into the hay stack, thinking we could fly.  And when we went into the flooding Fountain River and nearly drowned.  And when we found some quicksand and tested it to see if you really could float in it.  Each time he rescued us, he would say, “What were you thinking?” 

But to the parents, it was quite clear we were bonkers.  They kept asking if we had lost our marbles, and we kept telling them, “No, they are in a sack in my room.”   In the meantime, while we were grounded in between death defying feats, we actually played with our marbles. There were cat’s eyes and solid ones, all different colors, “Biggies” and one we called a “Steely” which was actually a ball bearing from the wheel of one of our tractors.  In this game, we would make a circle, place our marbles inside the circle, and get our best “shooter”.  The intention of the game was to see how many of your opponent’s marbles you could knock out of the circle, and then it became yours.  My brother maintained ownership of the “Steely” which would actually not only knock them out, but in some cases, because he had a thumb that was like an automatic rifle, would actually crack them in half. 

Needless to say, we did survive well past our stupid years, although I cannot with honesty say we did not do more really stupid things, which I later would nix as forbidden to my own children.  I never used the lost marbles statement on them, because it never worked on me, mostly because I did not understand how someone could compare a human brain to a bag of marbles.  But it did finally occur to me during one of my children’s attempts at self-annihilation that it had nothing to do with “thinking” and everything to do with “reasoning.”  

My parents feeble attempt at making us think, only made us think of marbles, but my grandad's patient questioning came into play when I became a parent, and I began to understand the “thinking” part, and the “marbles” part. 

Here is the difference.  “Thinking” requires logic and a careful thought as to the consequence of your actions.  “Marbles” applies to judgement, which, without logic applied, is just a bag of stones rolling around in your head, and when you lose them, you lose your ability to make good decisions or “Think”. 

Sometime in our much later years, my brother and I “grew up”, although I objected to that, and still do.  I started to maintain the thought that we have nothing to fear but fear itself, oh and stupid actions.  I had to make a lot of those stupid actions before my thinking allowed my marbles to kick in. 

About 20 years ago, I made a trip home and was visiting John.  He said he had a surprise for me, and asked me to close my eyes.  When I opened them, there was the sack of marbles laying in my lap, along with the famed “Steely”.  I laughed and then I cried.  All those marbles I had lost, I had now regained. When I got back to Arizona from Colorado, I carefully tucked them away.  So carefully that over three moves, I was unable to find them.  But today in going through stacks of old letters, old pictures, and just taking a walk down memory lane, there they were at the bottom of the bin! 

My brother went to his great reward in December of 2013.  But he left me his marbles, and mine, and as I take a trip back down the memories of my life, I hold them and cherish each one.  I think about how over the years we discussed our childish ways, and just how much fun they were, and about how we began to see that actions have consequences.  It may have taken many long years, Brother, but I have finally “Found my marbles.”   

Sunday, May 8, 2016

The Trademark of Motherhood.


1 Corinthians 13    The Way of Love
If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.  And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.  If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing.
 Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things.
Love never ends. As for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away.  For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away.  When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways. For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.
 So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.”

When I think of the mother’s I have had in my life, my mind brings me back to this verse, the heart of motherhood.  True, it is not all about just women, it applies to all of us, but especially to those who choose to parent a child, even if that child is not their own.  This was the blessing most of my life.
My beautiful mother passed in 1959, just after I had turned 7.  She was so ill that for the last 4 months of her life, I had to go live with my grandparents.  But I still remember her soft voice, her heart of love, her selflessness.  The way she calmly handled all my childish ways.  Like when I determined to run away from home, so she helped me pack.  (Then watched out the window to see what I would do, which was go three doors down, sit on my little suitcase, and cry. My grandfather, sent I am sure by a phone call from Mama, retrieved me, and she welcomed me back, and offered me a snack.) 
I started to tell the story of each of them, but there is not enough room to tell of women who showed their love by smacking the sense into me while simultaneously binding up my wounds. Those who never complained no matter what happened to them, but went to bat for me when it was my own stupidity that got me into the mess. Women (and some men) who gave me words of wisdom at just the right time, when my ears were open and my mouth was shut.  Those who put up with all of my shenanigans, even when it would seem that everyone had given up on me, and still loved me.    
For those mother’s I have lost to eternity, I know I will see them again.  No I do not believe they are angels in heaven now, for angels have unending work ahead of them that they were created for and these mother’s now have rest.  But in a sense, they were angels here on earth with what seemed like unending work ahead of them, sent by God to guide me and show me the way to go. 
Overall, all I can say this; the trademark of any true mother is love.  It is about being patient and kind, putting up with all kinds of nonsense and heartbreak, yet still believing that, no matter what, it will all turn out for the best.  Yes, it is about wiping two pounds of peanut butter off of your youngest child because the oldest believed he could “paint” him.  Yes, it is about waiting up for what seems an eternity for your offspring to show up in the middle of the night, having been who-knows-where.  Yes, it is about answering questions that have no answers, repeatedly until you want to scream.  But it is also about snuggling the little ones, being amazed by the teens, and finally watching as they go through their own struggles, and succeed.  Yes, it is all about giving love, possibly never to receive it back until doomsday, but it is also about planting the fruit of love, and watching it grow in beauty. 
Ah, the heart of motherhood!! Love. Unfailing, determined love, that never gives up, never gives in, and keeps on going.  I hope today for all those mother’s, that there will be one moment of peace and knowing that this is the biggest part of God’s plan for your life; to guide your children to Him. 

Friday, May 6, 2016

The Best Mother’s day gift ever.

(Please take a moment to listen to the song by For King and Country) 
My son text me this morning the usual “Whatcha doin’”, and of course, I was “Doin’ nuffin.”  Then he asked if I would like to go for a “hike” with him and my granddaughter, Hannah, at the park.  Of course, I don’t consider the park a “hike” per se, more like a meaningless stroll, but I agreed just to spend time with him.  I asked if it was ok to bring along my friend, Charles, and he agreed.  Charles and I had been planning to go work out at the gym, but being outdoors sounded so much more fulfilling.

So off we went to the park, and all the way to the back of it.  This park borders the Rillito River.  For my own purposes I call it a “wash” since it rarely has any water in it, and aren’t rivers supposed to have water?  However, as many times as I have been at this park in the past 40 years, I never knew that the river could be accessed from the park. So I thought, this could be an adventure.  My heart has been miserably in need of an adventure.

At first, when I saw the steep incline that led down to the river bottom, I was scared.  I have broken my leg twice, injured my back, dislocated my shoulder, all on the left side, and I tend to be a little off balance, you might say. At 63 years old, I have been told to “be careful” so many times, it feels like at any moment I am sure to injure myself again.  But my strong son had an answer for this.  He said, “Just put your hands on my shoulders and I will lead you down. “  And so I did, setting off on what would be a most beautiful adventure.

Once we got down the incline, I saw that some kids had been playing there, and had made a maze.  Also Hannah, having arrived there before us, had drawn two huge feet, indicating that Big Foot was around somewhere.  Something that had been dead inside me forever began to stir. 

Hannah said we should follow the tracks, my son said we should go the opposite way, and indicated where a nice well-travelled trail led.  We went the trail at first, but then the child inside me woke up.  The men were behind Hannah and I, having a deep discussion about theories of evolution and the countering theological debate that ensued lasted the entire time we were there.  That left Hannah and I to pick our own path.  And pick it we did!  Off through the brush to find the bamboo we could see growing in the distance, and down the sandy wash toward what appeared to be a campsite.  Then as we were weaving back and forth through the brush, we came upon a fort.  That special kind of fort built by ten year old minds with the only tools available, sticks and a dead tree. Hannah and I made our way up to it, and went inside, in spite of the “NO TRESPASSING” sign that was crudely stuck on the branches.  There, within the circle of the fort walls was a fire pit.  Now I was really on a roll. But it was time to head back to the car. 

Hannah and I headed off our own way, through the brush, down a fence line, wondering what we would find and laughing.  The debate continued on behind us, as we picked the path, through stickers, brush, dead branches and sand.   I found a marble and gave it to Hannah.  We found some old sticks.  And I found something else.

Over the course of the hour and a half that we were there, I was 12 again.  Running wild in the best of two worlds, with my brother John in the Fountain River and with Hannah on the Rillito river, with no boundaries.  In that brief time, I found a part of me that I thought had died.  The part that is still a child and wants to explore and find adventure in life.   

I am sure my doctor will have a hissy fit when I tell him about it. So maybe I won’t.  Or maybe, just maybe, I will tell him that the most important part of being human is what is inside, and then tell him to go find someone else to plague with restrictions and medication.   After all, God made me to Run Wild, Live free, and Love strong.  And I can’t do that cooped up in some box.   

Next is the Zip line!