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

No Worry Required

In the past, I have written about my guilty conscience and the ways I try to quiet it. Some things for which I used to feel guilty have resolved themselves because they involved parenting duties I have now relegated to my adult children themselves, ie: cutting their own fingernails and brushing their teeth. When they were small, I didn’t do these things for them and barely did them for myself because I was simply trying to survive and those things seemed superfluous. Now that I sleep and have large chunks of time at my disposal, most of the things I once felt guilty about no longer plague me. In fact, I don’t struggle as much with guilt now as I used to, maybe because I realized many of the things I struggled with were actually false guilt. What I struggle now with is worry. 

I worry about my kids. I worry about my grandkids; I tell myself to stop because it is their parents' job to worry about them and I already did– and am doing–that for my kids. If I keep worry tabs open for each grandchild–we are up to eight now–I would freeze, and my mind would become the spinning ball of death–the same ball that appears on my Mac when I give it too much to do. I worry about my husband, and I worry about both of us when we fly in his airplane. I worry about my dog which I left with friends in Wyoming because I didn’t want to fly him home and because he is epileptic and I worry about his seizures. As a writer and a non-rusher and a bit of a dawdler, I worry about productivity. So when I get into a good routine of writing or living or eating, I worry about stopping it because maybe I will never get into a good routine again. I worry about writing because it doesn’t come as easily and cleanly as it used to, and I have to work harder to make myself do it even though I love it. I worry that I might be stupid because even though I understand words and feelings, numbers and money confuse me. I worry about my hermit-like tendencies and wonder if maybe I should try to be around people more even though I really like staying home by myself. I worry about exercising, and then when I exercise too much I worry that I am not recovering well and that maybe I have permanently injured myself. I worry about having too much stuff. I am OCD with this and need to know where everything is so I can feel in control. If I have too much, I can’t keep track of it all and it is stressful for me. When we moved recently, I got rid of nearly half of my possessions and keepsakes and it felt very clean and controlled. Now I worry about buying things because that clean feeling might go away. I worry about everything happening in the world today and that things are spinning wildly out of control and nothing will ever be beautiful again.

But mostly, I worry about worrying because I know that it accomplishes ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. So why do I do it, and why do I keep letting myself get into the mental space where everything feels threatening and life seems oppressive and ugly? I do it because I don’t really truly believe that God is sovereign and good. If you asked me this, I would say that I do believe he is those things, but I am realizing now that I don't. But I want to.

If I truly, with all my worrying heart, believed that God was holding onto everything and that nothing happened that wasn’t sifted through his holy hands, I could relax. I mean really relax. And I could enjoy the life he has assigned me in the time and place he has put me. If I truly trusted that he is good and that he is doing good for me, I could live the simple life of a child–God’s child. I wouldn’t worry because my Heavenly Father is in control. He is all-powerful. He is omniscient. And nothing ever surprises him. He is allowing history to unfold in the exact manner that he planned, and he is not shocked by the brokenness of the people he has made. If I really believed that I was praying to my Father–to my FATHER–in Heaven when I pray the Lord’s prayer or any prayer, I could shed my propensity to worry about everything as fast as my granddaughter sheds her clothes at the mention of a bath. 

Because really, what is worry? It accomplishes nothing except fear. It makes me distrustful and sometimes bitter because if nothing bad ever happened, I would never have to do it. The only time I find myself at ease and not worrying is when everything is going my way and no one is sick and no one is sad and all of my possessions are tidy and in order. 

But this is no way to live, because then I am always worrying that the perfectness is just about to end, and then I will be back to worrying again. I try to mitigate all of this by telling my kids to drive carefully and to stay healthy. I put up gates in my new house so no one will fall down the stairs and break themselves although I am still worried that they will stand on the bench that sits by the stairs and catapult themselves overboard and land lifeless in the basement. These thoughts create panic in my brain, not peace. So how do I stop? How do I get to a place of peace?

I get to peace by giving it all up–all the worry. I get to peace by trusting that God has my best life planned, even if it’s not the way I may think best, it will be the very best to make me more like him. I get to peace by praying and telling him that I am worrying again, and that I know that I am not supposed to worry about anything. I get to peace by reviewing his faithfulness in my life in the past. I get to peace by reading the Bible and seeing things that God already did and things he has already worked out behind the scenes when no one even knew he was doing it. I get to peace by truly believing that God has already won the battle over Satan. That he sent Jesus to live perfectly in my place so I have nothing to prove. That everything sad will one day become untrue. 

I get to peace by realizing that when I focus on my little ever-changing life, I am uncomfortable and insecure. And by realizing that when I focus on God and his unchanging nature, I can be still and know that he is God. When I look at his sovereignty rather than my fickleness, I see that worry is silly because we have no control over anything. But God does. 

And he is a master at making everything beautiful in its time.

God has a beautiful worry-free life planned for me. I just need to believe it and give up my perceived control. I need to remind myself daily of his goodness. I need to stop worrying, look for the peace he has promised, and learn to trust him more.

Because he really is sovereign and good.

 Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.

Philippians 4:6-7 (NLT)

A Quiet Confession

I have a confession: I hardly ever had a Quiet Time when my kids were little. 

I capitalize “Quiet Time” (as opposed to quiet time which I never had then, but now have in abundance) because it is a practice the western world has crafted and created, calling it, essentially though not actually, a requirement of a good Christian’s life. 

Please hear me: I do think that Christians need to quiet their souls so they can hear the still small voice of God, and I do think that can often happen more easily in a regimented time of Bible reading and prayer. But I also think that the Western evangelical formula for how this time should look is creating false guilt in the minds of many–especially young mamas. 

When I was a mom of four young kids, I loved (and still love) God and wanted to learn more about him by spending time in his presence, but my practical life made achieving time alone–for anything– nearly impossible (even showering alone was a luxury; most days, at least one child would lay on the bath mat right outside of the clear glass shower door). I knew this Christian “requirement” of a Quiet Time wasn’t really a rule, but it felt like one to me, and I felt ashamed that I had so much trouble making it happen. I added this shame onto the other guilt I felt about my exhaustion and my impatience with my children’s excessively long bedtime prayers.

The familiar evangelical term, Quiet Time, is a relatively new idea that gained traction in the last hundred years or so–with good intention. For millennia, the masses were illiterate, only hearing scripture read out loud to them.The centuries-long labor pains of illiteracy and inaccessibility made personal Bible reading impossible, but with the advent of the printing press and wide-spread literacy, a more individualistic and regimented Christian faith was born. 

The freedom that we now have to read God’s Word on our own is an unbelievable privilege of the present modern era. And the idea of having a solitary time in prayer and Bible study is a thrilling prospect attainable for all over the course of our lives as spiritual pilgrims. This arc of our hopefully-long lives will include more focused times of devotion (as I had in college as a hungry new believer), and very busy times–like young motherhood–where consistent Quiet Times may be difficult to achieve, and the “slower-mornings” seasons of the empty nest and  retirement. 

As modern evangelical believers who want to walk the way of Jesus, I think we can reformulate the rigid prescription of Quiet Time and lighten the burden of guilt for many. By creating a “system” for meeting with God, we have removed some of the spontaneity of our faith–which is to be child-like and awe-inspiring. How can we get that back? By removing some of the “rules.” If we can learn to commune with God by singing hymns in the shower (even–and especially– if littles are watching), by thanking him for the red birds in the blue sky as we absorb the beauty of the morning, by reading his Word out loud while babies blow bubbles in the bathtub, or by listening to the gospels as we exercise our bodies, then even when our seasons are busy, we can create rhythms in our lives that reverberate with joy, not guilt. 

In my present season of empty-nesting, I absolutely adore my consistent time with the Lord nearly every morning (and I can enjoy a long, hot, and completely private, shower whenever I desire). I don’t love the term Quiet Time, but in reality that is what I do when I meet with the Lord in the mornings over hot coffee and my Bible–I quiet my heart and mind before him so he can become greater and I can become less. My daily Quiet Time is not a requirement. God doesn’t love me any more because I followed a formula for meeting with him. God has always loved all of his children–even before they could read or have solitary time in his Word. Our disciplines don’t change God’s attitude towards us, but sometimes they can change our attitude towards him. And sometimes God can change us just as well when we look to him in desperation in busy seasons and unpredictable circumstances in our lives. 

The Bible doesn’t tell us how much time to spend reading it or how many hours we must accrue to be “holy,” but it does tell us to “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.” (Mark 12:30) So instead of focusing on achieving the perfect Quiet Time in every season of our lives, let’s make our ordinary days–right now–into a loud time of celebrating how much we love him.

Mother, behold your son. Son, behold your mother--a Good Friday Meditation

Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother, his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother there, and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to her, “Woman, here is your son,” and to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” From that time on, this disciple took her into his home.  John 19:25-27

What was it like?  To see your firstborn on a cross? Making plans for your care with the last of his breath?  30 years ago, I had a baby boy, my firstborn.  Instantly, I loved him.  Did Mary feel that too?  What was she feeling as her son, just a little older than mine is now, died a horrific death as she watched, helpless? Reflecting on this passage, I put myself in her spot; I see the Lord Jesus as if he were my child. My baby. My heart.

I Carried You. I remember the night the angel told me I would carry the Son of God.  I was confused, scared... but satisfied.  What the angel said would happen.  I carried you in my womb and felt your kicks in my belly.  My body gave you life.

O God, my son, my precious one, hangs there naked, moaning. Do you hear him?  Are you carrying him now?

I Saw You Breathe. When you arrived on that starlit night, you took your first breath and let out a cry. Many nights after that, I would go in quietly just to see you breathe--your little chest rising and falling.  Then I would silently creep out, comforted by your abundant life.

O Lord, He is crying! His chest heaves as his life, my life, creeps out of him. Will he really breathe again?

I Held Your Hand. As a toddler, you would reach for me, chubby hands would hold my face.  I basked in your soft tenderness. After you played, I washed the dust out of the creases of those velvet hands. Oh that I might hold those bleeding hands now; that my kiss would make all well.

When they pierced his hands, Holy Father, the hammer resounded as if in victory. This is your son too, Lord. Why could it not be me?  

Your Hands Heal My Soul. But, it is with those same hands, now broken, that MY SOUL is tenderly healed.  My son, whose hands I held, bears the wrath of God for ME!.  It’s YOUR blood that washes away the dusty creases of my sin.

"My God, My God, why have you forsaken your Son? His suffering, his separation -- will bring salvation? But this way... this pain?"

Your Breath Gives Me Life. It is your body that breathes its last so that I will never die.  The warm breath I felt on my cheek now makes my chest rise and fall. When you silently creep out of this world, I gain abundant life. 

God, is this the sorrow you spoke of at first?  The sorrow I couldn’t see through the joy?  Please remind me that this is not the end.  He lived a life of perfection for you so he could die a death of ransom for me.

You Will Carry Me Home. It is You who carries me now.  What the angel said would happen.  When you were small I carried you, snuggled up close to my heart. Now I kick and cry but I cling to the hope of Shalom; I am confused and scared...but satisfied.  Your body gives me life.

I long to see you Lord, to join my son in forever. He will rise again, my Savior!  Bring shalom to greet us Lord; bring heaven to this broken place and peace to my broken heart. 

 

Make all things new!

Make all things new!

Make all things new!