Between a Bear and a Hard Place

On a sunny, blue sky day in July 2020, my husband, Brent, and I decided we would take an overnight hike to a beautiful waterfall we had read about but never seen. We carefully planned our route, packed our backpacks, and started walking from our ranch in northwest Wyoming towards the adjoining Shoshone National Forest. Out the door before sunrise and feeling strong, we chose to climb Jim Mountain–elevation 10,430 ft–on the way. In retrospect, this rigorous climb was probably a bad idea since the afternoon heat was stifling, and the additional distance to our chosen destination was turning out to be farther than we had planned. What started off as cheerful banter between us had deteriorated into irritated grumbling. Then in the far mountains we saw it–only the faintest white ribbon descending–and the promise of beauty drew us across the grassy valley towards our waterfall. Gaining ground, I saw something dark moving in the distance and remarked to my husband, “Hey, what’s that animal up there?” Brent, focused and barely looking up, replied, “Probably a mule deer.” 

As we got closer to the animal, I saw that it was actually two animals. Closer yet and I saw the telltale hump between the shoulder blades of the larger Grizzly Bear! A mama and a baby bear were out for their evening meal which presently consisted of grass. As mama lifted her head to sniff, I could tell she was hoping to add some meat to her menu. By this time, I had been quietly yelling, “Those are Grizzly Bears!” and other panicked exclamations while Brent kept telling me that our trail was “just past the bears”. When my husband has a goal, changing plans is a very hard sell.

This is the point in the story where things get a little ugly. Brent insisted we keep going and quietly sneak past the beasts. I sadly envisioned our kids telling the story about Mom being eaten by a wild animal. The distance between Brent and I widened as he pushed toward the trail, and I moved in the opposite direction. Suddenly, with the wind whipping wildly, I noticed I was approaching an immense cavern. Here were my present options: Go left and fall to my death off a cliff; go right and become supper for a bear. Overwhelmed, I slumped down to the ground, holding onto a boulder so I wouldn’t blow away. I cried with loud and miserable sobs. Brent eventually turned around, told me gently to get up, and took my hand. Discarding his waterfall hopes, he led me to solid ground–in the opposite direction of the waterfall and the bears.

My recent journey through menopause, midlife, and empty-nest marriage has often made me think of this waterfall-hunting misadventure. Already tired from the strenuous job of raising four humans, I was trekking on to get to my beautiful waterfall years, which I envisioned to be filled with sunshine and gorgeous wildflowers. Instead, my path led me to some unfamiliar manifestations of the layered life transitions I was experiencing. 

Menopause seen from a distance seemed harmless, part of the natural order of things. But up close, it threatened to eat my confidence. Midlife offered new freedoms, but I was unprepared for the anxiety produced by standing on the edge of an unknown precipice. And marriage after the kids left our home was often so confounding that I just wanted to hold onto a rock and cry my eyes out. 

But here is where the story gets better–beautiful even. When I was all of these things, trying to withstand the winds of change by my own power and will, crying with loud and miserable sobs, I became overwhelmed by all the changes in this midlife time. Finally, and with a little help from my friends, I ran to God. Not immediately. Not always willingly. But eventually. I got to the limits of my abilities to cope, and I went to the safest place I knew: The Rock of Ages, my only solid ground.

Sometimes we think navigating life’s tough passes requires great personal strength and fortitude, but in my midlife journey, I have found the opposite to be true. Peace during times of change requires a surrender of control, not a white-knuckled grasp for it. If we humbly accept the path God has us on during major life transitions, we can trust that he will take us by the hand and pull us up. But unlike an exasperated Brent, God will not lead us away from the goal; he has equipped us for this very journey. By hiking the scary path in our place many many years ago, he secured safe passage for us. Now, by his Spirit, we can walk right past the bears and alongside the canyon without fear of falling in. And if we keep faithfully following his steps, he will lovingly lead us into the awesome waterfall of his grace. 

Trust in the Lord forever,

    for the Lord, the Lord himself, is the Rock eternal.

~Isaiah 26:4

The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer;

    my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge,

    my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.

~Psalm 18:2

Creative Constipation--a top-of-mind musing

 This year, I wanted to improve my writing rhythms so I decided to restart my blog. I did well for the first few months of the year, but then things got busy, especially in my writing life, and as with all intentioned New Year's resolutions, the posts began to wane. So now I am just checking in to say I haven't forgotten you blog. I am here to write.

Sometimes writing is wonderful, but sometimes writing is hard. Some folks call it writer's block; I call it creative constipation. I can tell it is in there, but I can't seem to get it out. It takes a lot to produce it, and when it appears it is a bit clunky, not smooth. Lately I am creatively constipated. There is no Metamucil for my creative efforts, but continuing to sit down to do the work seems to move things along. 

In the recent past, the whole writing process seemed to come easier for me and insight seemed more accessible, but lately, putting my thoughts to paper and forming a cohesive essay takes much more concentration. Because I am a worrier, I tell myself that this is how things will always be: I think I must be losing my mind because writing has lost all its joy. But in reality, here's what I know to be true. God wants me to write for him. And if I write, I am being obedient. Sometimes this writing is easy and sometimes it takes more effort. But I will do it because it is what he has placed before me right now. If he wants me to do it, he will give me the power to achieve it. My worrying only makes me tense. When I am tense, nothing comes out.

I don't always enjoy writing, but I am always glad to have written--even when it feels like I have waded through Molasses to complete my task. As a writer, I can't always wait until I feel like writing or until inspiration hits. To be a good writer, I have to sit down and do the work whether the words flow out of my fingers or not. Obedience in my writing life looks like getting to work when I have no idea what to say. Discipline in my writing life means I continue to write one true sentence over and over again, trusting that God is truly in control and will give me what I need. And joy in my writing life looks like relaxing my creative sphincters and trusting that I truly have what it takes to drop words on the page. 

God is pleased with my effort--even in my straining--so I will keep working and waiting till my writing becomes more regular again. 💩