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

Why I Focused on Calvary this Christmas

During Advent this year I read through the book of Luke. But rather than stop and focus on Luke 2 where the birth of Jesus is celebrated, I slowed my pace as I reached Luke 22 and 23, where the suffering and the death of Jesus is recorded. 

In the movie Talladega Nights (which I am NOT endorsing), the main character, Ricky, prays over the family meal the evening before he competes in a car race: “Dear Tiny Jesus, in your golden fleece diapers with your tiny, little fat balled up fists...Look, I like the baby version the best, do you hear me?”

Although Ricky’s prayer to baby Jesus is hilarious, I think the words actually encapsulate the way so many of us think. We love to focus on Christ’s birth with all the excitement and joy of that moment, but we must remember, baby Jesus grew up. His infant sweetness was swallowed up in his agonizing surrender. His newborn cries for his mother were drowned out by a desperate cry for his Father not to forsake him. His soft baby skin, once pink and perfect, was torn and pierced for our transgressions. The breath, which caused his small chest to rise and fall, ceased on a cross at Calvary.

It is good and right that we celebrate the birth of Jesus. God broke into history, clothed himself with flesh and laid down his crown for a cradle. Jesus lived in our world! He loved his mama, played with his siblings, worked with his earthly father until his back hurt from bending over the workbench. He felt and dreamed and laughed and cried. He was human in all of its essence and God in all of his glory. 

When we celebrate Christmas only by looking at Advent, we miss the unbelievable reality that Christ lived–for 33 years–perfectly in righteousness so he could die perfectly for our sin. The “baby version Jesus” started his life being laid in a manger of hay but ended it being laid in a tomb of stone. But he didn’t stay there. He defeated death so we could have life.

If we focus on Jesus' birth without pondering Jesus' death, and resurrection, we miss the gut punch of the gospel: “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16). Jesus was a baby. Jesus was a man. And Jesus is a Savior who willingly died in our place. When we believe in him, we get the gift of life eternal! It’s free! 

But it wasn’t free for him: the sweet baby in the manger at Christmas grew to be the suffering Savior on the cross at Calvary. Thank God for his wonderful Gift. 

Red Bird Devotions #15

Broken

Two years ago, I fell on the ice and broke my wrist. I was rushing down a hill in our backyard that I had rushed down hundreds of times, but this time there was snow. And the snow had turned into ice as it sometimes does in our strange cold-warm-then cold again Iowa winters. I had dashed out coatless and shoeless (I was wearing slippers--maybe that is why they are called that) to feed the hungry dog.  All of a sudden, my feet slipped out from under me, and I caught myself with my left hand.  Being cold and in a hurry, I quickly jumped up, grabbed my watch, which had snapped off of my wrist, and proceeded down the hill and into the dog’s kennel.  When I got to the concrete below, I noticed that my arm was throbbing, and I looked down to see my left hand sitting atop my left arm in the place where my wrist had been (I have graciously spared you the picture.). Needless to say, all was not well.  I went ahead and fed the dog and then walked back up the hill and went inside. Then I called Brent on the phone and said, “I did something bad to my arm.  It looks really deformed.”  Within 20 minutes, he had arrived, and we were heading to the Emergency Room.  When I presented my deformation to the girl at the desk, she gagged slightly and then got me into a doctor ASAP.  When the doctor saw my misshapen limb, he proceeded to send me to X-ray.  The X-rays showed that I had broken my very first bone at age 50. 

After a few weeks in a huge cast from my armpit to my hand, my bones were not healing correctly, so surgery was scheduled.  My body wasn’t able to align my bones itself, so a surgeon--with a mask and power tools (I heard them in my twilight sleep)-- had to place a plate and some screws inside my arm to hold my wrist in the right position.

What would have happened if I refused surgery and let my bones heal on their own?  If I left the cast on, took extra vitamins and visualized it as “all better” ?  My bones actually would have healed, but incorrectly; the structure wouldn’t be the same as before and I would have probably lost some use of my wrist--maybe even my entire arm.  I couldn’t properly fix my wrist all by myself.  I needed a physician’s help. My wrist is nearly perfect now (though I can see the embedded plate move when I wiggle my fingers back and forth; ask me to demonstrate sometime)…because I sought help from without.  Relying on my own methods or practices would never have fixed the effects of my fall. 

Sometimes, I treat my feelings the way I was tempted to treat my wrist; I try to manage them on my own because giving the control of them up to “Someone else” seems too scary.  But it is only when I submit to this Someone--this God who made me, weak wrists and all--that I can truly use my emotions correctly.  You see, my emotions are also broken because of the Fall; in my natural responses to life, I want to nurse my grudges, elevate my opinions, and play the victim when things don't go my way. When I react with my default mechanism (which for me is self-pity over submission), I am unable to use my feelings the way that God designed me to do. 

 As my wrist healed from the surgery--an actual event in time--the doctor prescribed certain exercises to strengthen the surrounding muscles and help them adjust to this new way of moving.  When Jesus places his Spirit within us--an actual event in time--we can practice certain disciplines to help us learn to walk in step with him.  These disciplines don’t give us salvation--only Jesus can do that--but they train our hearts and our minds to think like a child of God; we practice spiritual disciplines, like reading our Bibles, praying, and meditating on the goodness of our Father, to strengthen our spiritual “muscles.” 

It takes deliberation and practice to walk as a child of God.  And falling is inevitable.  But faith in the Great Physician strengthens our resolve and keeps us on solid ground. 

Amen and amen.

“Do not be conformed to the pattern of this world but be transformed by the renewing of your mind; then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is--his good, pleasing and perfect will.” Romans 12:2

Red Bird Devotions #4

God's Mirrors

As I was meeting with a friend today to study God's truths, she said something very profound (and I paraphrase because I can't remember the exact words). It was this:

"Until you have experienced God's glory, you don't know that it is worth reflecting."

The truth pouring from this statement can only be learned from experience...experience learned from living in a world that is unkind to our souls.

When our lives twist and turn and we stumble and fall, we learn that God never fails us.

When people disappoint us and we feel alone, we learn that God will never leave us.

When normality is shattered and each day brings pain, we learn that God will strengthen us.

When everything is screaming and demanding attention, we learn that God's peace will quiet us.

When we think we can't go on, but we are able to persevere, we learn that God's presence is within us.

When we see all that He is to us... and all He has done for us... and all He is doing in us, shouldn't we yearn to give him the glory He is due? And when we finally understand the immense value of that glory, why would we not reflect it to others?

I want to be a child, so enamored with becoming like my Abba, that people will say, "I can see her Father in her."

May the reflection of His Glory be seen in my life...and in my friend's life.

It is SO worth it.

Christ does not exist to make much of us. We exist in order to enjoy making much of Him.

John Piper

"...God has chosen to make known among the Gentiles the glorious riches of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory."

Colossians 1:27