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

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.

A Very Long Walk in May, the Final Chapter

Our first day out and yet unaware of all the things God would teach us on our very long walk.

Amnesia
God often teaches me with metaphors.  And, as I write this last chapter of A Long Walk in May, I will relate to you the lessons that God revealed to me in the months following my trip.

Let’s start at the beginning.  Less than a year before I agreed to hike with Tess, Brent and I had become empty nesters.  Empty nesting promised frivolity and freedom from many of the responsibilities that I had fulfilled for the last 25 years. “It will be fun,” everyone said, and in my wish for “the good life,” I believed them.

Mothering my four kids had been the most fulfilling thing I had ever done in my nearly 50 years; it was a role I was made to play; a role that used my creative imagination and nurturing tendencies to their full capacity.  I enjoyed being needed (most of the time!) and loved guiding these little people to live their lives for Jesus.  So, when this era ended, even though I thought I had prepared, I struggled greatly with the transition.  I looked around to see other empty nesters reveling in their newfound freedom and gliding into this new phase with purpose and energy. I wasn’t gliding. Discontentment with my lot became a heavy burden; I was unhappy with who I was and couldn’t figure out who I was supposed to become.  I had identity amnesia. This amnesia took away confidence in the skills I actually did possess and the successes I was able to achieve, and replaced it with self-doubt about my value.  Emotionally, I was in a pretty tenuous spot.

Salvation?
When Tess asked me to hike with her, I saw it as a sort of “salvation.”  It was an opportunity to escape from this new life and do something familiar while spending time with my daughter.  I viewed our upcoming thru hike as a fun and refreshing getaway.  But, as we trudged through our cold and muddy journey, I found myself struggling with the same feelings I had been battling beforehand; the hiking was harder than expected; my pack seemed overly heavy; and though I thought I had prepared well, I was still slogging along.  Tess, and eventually Brent and Cole, seemed to be having no problem with this physical adjustment; in fact they were happy for the challenge. And here I was, tripping over my mud-encrusted sneakers.  Why did I even call myself a backpacker?  As with empty nesting, the journey was different than I had envisioned, and I was on uneven ground—emotionally and physically.  This gap between the ideal and the real left me sullen and self-focused.  I was mad because I wanted  “my best life now” and was failing miserably at finding it.  I was choosing to let my circumstances control how I perceived my present situation; I was choosing to be unhappy.

Epiphany
After the trip was over and we returned home, I was relaying my frustration about my backpacking performance to my ever wise husband; “I made Tess’ goal unachievable,” and “I can’t believe I couldn’t keep up with you guys!” were met with Brent’s counter statements of “Aren’t you glad you got to spend all of that time with Tess?” and “Wow!  You completed 250 miles!” and finally, the clincher, “You should be grateful and look for the good.”

That was it! I had not been grateful for the freedom of schedule that my empty nesting had provided.  I had not appreciated the amazing opportunities that lay before me now that the biggest and most important job of my life was complete. I had chosen sullenness over satiety because my feelings lied to me.  And, in the same way, I had not looked for the good on my backpacking trip; no, it wasn’t what I envisioned it to be, but God had been faithful and had kept us safe.  Even during the scary storm, God had allowed our tent to hold and our faith to outweigh our fear.  He had brought to mind hymns that we could sing and Scripture we could repeat so we could carry on.  I mean, who else gets to take three weeks off of regular life to go hang out in the woods with their daughter?  Me, that’s who. I am blessed beyond measure! If I could have a re-do, I would choose joy. Though my best life isn’t actually NOW, I can choose contentment in what I have been given; instead of complaining about my lack, I can proclaim the wonders of God’s sweet provision.

Truth
Isn’t it the same with the gospel?  We enter into the Kingdom of God with all sorts of preconceived notions: Now our lives will make sense!  Now we will be happy!  Now our hearts will be at peace!  But then we get stuck in the mud and mire of normal lives, and the gap between the ideal and the real widens.  We become so jaded by the reality of living in a broken world that our prayers become feeble requests for comfort. Our focus becomes our ease rather than our eternity.  But God promises something more.  He says in John 16:33, “In this world YOU WILL HAVE TROUBLE. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”  We shouldn’t base our satisfaction on what we have in the here and now; we should put our confidence in the One who has overcome this unfulfilling world and has prepared a perfect place for us!  If we choose to think about what awaits us in our Heavenly home, many of our heavy burdens will become what Paul labels “light and momentary afflictions.”

And so ends my thru hiking story. When I started it, I thought I was supposed to relay the perspective I had gained on the value of perseverance, and grit (the things I didn't possess), but when I finally completed the journey, I found it was not about any of that.  It was not about my weakness when I should have been strong, or about my cowardice in danger; it was about a great God who gives me the freedom to choose life or death, hope or fear, joy or bitterness. So, from this day forward, whether empty or filled, muddy or clean, skilled or inept, I purpose to choose joy as I remember that my best life ISN'T now. It's promised to me in the future when I finish this very long walk on the earth and run into the arms of my Savior. He is waiting for me, and for you too. Keep walking.

When we all get to heaven,
What a day of rejoicing that will be!
When we all see Jesus,
We’ll sing and shout the victory!

While we walk the pilgrim pathway,
Clouds will overspread the sky;
But when trav’ling days are over,
Not a shadow, not a sigh.

Let us then be true and faithful,
Trusting, serving every day;
Just one glimpse of Him in glory
Will the toils of life repay.

Onward to the prize before us!
Soon His beauty we’ll behold;
Soon the pearly gates will open;
We shall tread the streets of gold.

When We All Get to Heaven~E.E. Hewitt

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A Very Long Walk in May, Chapter 8

Much of this entry is dedicated to any innocent persons whom I may have offended with my last post when asked, "What do you do all day?"  In reality, we do more than hike (if we didn't, I know I would go crazy. Tess would probably be okay.)  See below for a less-sassy description of our hiking activities...

Thursday May 25th, 2017  Day 11. Slow start today because Tess felt a little sick, so we ate at our campsite and left around 8 a.m. Fairly easy morning, but seemingly long afternoon for only 12 miles total. Met some other thru-hikers today going NOBO (northbound): women, 65 and 70!  Hope I am still hiking at 70!  Staying at North Cross River tonight. Beautiful but a little crowded with early Memorial Day hikers and campers. Jet is very admired on the trail and is learning to meet and greet a bit better. I feel mentally worn out from the long miles and Tess seems down this afternoon.  Learning to lower expectations and enjoy the trip. Give us joy, Lord!

Tess felt better after her delicious oatmeal breakfast

Hiking Alone

After the “excitement” at Lutsen and our exposure to the Wolf Man, Tess and I were glad for a couple of normal (a.k.a. not overly frightening or depressing) days. On these days, we would do some hiking together and some hiking separately. Although Tess really liked being alone for a portion of each day, I struggled to enjoy my solitude. Normally, I love to walk in the woods by myself, taking time to contemplate the wonders of nature; but, for some reason, on backpacking trips, I really like companionship.  This was especially true of this trip. Though I was able to complete our mileage each day, the exertion required took so much of my energy that I felt mentally drained.  I expected this at first, but I thought my weariness would abate as our trip progressed; it didn’t. In fact, it seemed to get worse.

I don’t know why the hiking was so hard for me, or why I felt like such a loser for not being able to keep up.  Maybe, it was because I was carrying emotional baggage along with my backpack; I think that, unconsciously, the trip represented to me a kind of laborious metaphor: that of my entire last year--one of the hardest in my life. 

In the year previous to our very long walk, I had sent my oldest son and his wife off to live in China, and our youngest son, Cole, moved away from home to attend college. With all my children now grown, I felt forced out of the most satisfying role in my life. Right or wrong, I had placed much of my identity into motherhood, and the absence of this daily reality deeply saddened me. I spent my hiking alone time grieving. I was so unaccustomed to this “new era” that my thoughts became increasingly self-focused; I racked my brain for a new description of "Tori Haverkamp" and came up blank.  I desperately wanted to find fulfillment in something new, since my "mothering days" were over, something I was good at...and it most certainly wasn't hiking.  

Hold onto that thought; I will continue the theme in a future post.

Hiking Together

I was able to escape from my unhealthy self-absorption when Tess and I hiked together. Sometimes, we played little thought experiment games where she would ask a question like: “If you were Brian (in The Hatchet), or Robby Cru (our nickname for Robinson Crusoe--also the name of the book), how would you survive in the northern Minnesota wilderness/deserted tropical island? (Luckily, I was fairly successful in the former game since I had been keeping myself alive in the very cold northern Minnesota wilderness for the last two weeks, but Tess was more adept at the latter since she is somewhat hippie-like and has chased down wayward pigs on an organic farm and regularly makes kombucha). We then talked for hours about the kind of shelter we would need, how we would create it out of a fallen and hollowed-out tree or under the projection of an enormous sheltered rock, and how we would sterilize/desalinate our water.  We wondered if the berries on the prickly bushes that caught our legs were edible or poisonous (and hypothesized as to how we would determine this), and how Robby Cru raised enough grapes to make raisins. This discussion led us to a conversation of the book, Into the Wild, and the main character, Alexander Supertramp’s, unfortunate demise from misidentifying something called “wild potato”.  As we talked about this misfortune, we discussed a movie I had recently watched where two people survive a plane crash in the mountains (which was a really bad thing for us to dwell upon since we arrived in an airplane and would soon be flying home in one), and if it was realistic or not.  Sometimes, we strayed from the “survival in the wilderness” theme and asked each other “If you could only have 5 pieces of clothing to wear, what would they be?”  In normal life, these questions might take a few minutes to answer, but because we were trying to pass the many moments of the many miles, they took hours...and many revisions.  I liked playing the game, “Would You Rather…” where we queried each other about alarming and impossible things like “Would you rather be paralyzed and in a wheelchair for the rest of your life, but have no pain OR have constant chronic pain but have control of all of your limbs?” Or, “Would you rather be a poor kid with attentive parents or a rich kid with distracted parents but tons of opportunities in your life?”  Tess thought my game was depressing.  

When we ran out of thought experiments, we created individual “podcasts”; Tess spent an afternoon recounting the different types of memory that our brains are capable of recording, and I helped her to understand the main themes in the book of Ephesians. We memorized most of the first chapter of Philippians and repeated it over and over to one another. We talked about the years’ highs and lows, our goals for the future, our favorite childhood memories--our own childhoods and my memories of her as a little girl-- and the “Three Most Epic Moments” of our lives.  She asked me to give advice to my “20-something self” and I asked her to tell me what God had taught her in the last few months.  At no other time, and in no other way, would we have set aside this much precious time to quiz and ponder and reflect and play. I wouldn’t trade these times for the endless days of sun that I thought I wanted.   

Moral of the Story: When you are feeling bad about yourself, don't hike alone.  Grab a friend (preferably one with survival skills) and have long conversations while walking TOGETHER in the woods.  

Licorice also helps.  

Happy together

Friday May 26th 2017, Day 12. Woke up to rain again, but it stopped soon after we started around 8 a.m. Better day today, seems shorter even though we did 13 plus miles. Sun!! as we came into camp this afternoon. Sat on the warm rocks with Tess and sunned ourselves. Finally some lasting warmth! Staying at a beautiful campsite tonight. Thanks for your provisions, God!

Ode to the Lonely Swingset

Ode to the Lonely Swing Set…

That sits in the yard forlorn

Wondering why the children won’t come out to play.

Weathered and in disrepair,

It remembers the golden years

When, strong and vibrant, it provided happiness and freedom

To little legs that reached for sky

And little hands holding on tight to childhood.

Now, splintered, ignored, abandoned

It longs to love again.

But instead, sits quietly remembering; waiting.

Dreaming of summer and sun

And barefooted children

Who have loosened their grip on the swing

And jumped into the future.

Grace Year

The year 2016 was a bit of a roller coaster for me with my oldest child moving to the other side of the globe and my youngest leaving home, but I prepared for it and gave myself extra grace.  For me, this grace looked like coffee with lots of half and half, salted almonds, and massively huge bags of tortilla chips.  It also looked like me being a little nicer to myself. 

At one point (actually, most of my existence previous to this year) in my life, I forced myself to do lots of things and I was very disciplined—mostly because I thought that was how I was supposed to be.  It seemed to be the mode of operation for all the women I admired. So I chose to work hard at working out, eating right, and being diligent with a mostly-regular quiet time.  I got up early, made lots of food from scratch, and kept a clean house. 

Now, however, as I am nearing the half-century mark (and am a novice empty-nester), I am starting to find out who I really am…and that I don’t enjoy all that structure so much and that I really prefer slowness to speed.  I have discovered I am a nicer person if I don’t try to be someone that YOU want me to be, but, instead, tap into the person that God made ME to be; He’s the only One that needs to approve anyway, amiright? 

And you know what?  I’m not really the tough girl I used to strive to be, nor am I very brave; I only look that way sometimes because I hang out with my adventurous family.  I’m actually the one that cries like a baby when the hiking gets hard and hyperventilates when I have to climb mountains.   I’m just a normal, sometimes fragile, middle-aged (wow, I have never used that adjective to describe myself) gal who resists change like the plague and who happens to like cute things that look like animals (you know, like the cow-shaped cream pitcher that allows you to dispense milk while simultaneously pretending the animal is vomiting) and flannel sheets with rabbits on them (not actual rabbits, though that would be cozy). 

I have taken to walking in the sunrise with my exuberant pup most days rather than performing exercises that make me want a four-hour nap by 9 a.m.  I let myself eat a cookie with my coffee and have no guilt about it; I even bought a cookie jar shaped like a fox to put them in.  Brent and I have been doing a Bible read-through in the mornings where we read a passage and then talk about it, and I haven’t been as rigid about spending my own time in the Word, nor have I been journaling regularly. But I am gaining a depth of knowledge from listening to Scripture being read to me.  In fact, each night when I go to bed, I am anxious for morning to come so we can have our coffee/Bible time all over again.

Since my kids are out of the house and my morning schedule is much more lenient, I am allowing myself to sleep in occasionally (but not if it makes me miss my coffee date) and enjoying the coziness of my flannel sheets and the deliciousness of slumber. I occasionally purchase convenience products as part of my meals and have chosen to not look at the labels but instead, to enjoy my reduced stress level.  Also, I often just consume tortilla chips from a giant bag for an entire meal, and I’m okay with that. 

My house is easier to keep clean now, with less people inhabiting it, but it still gathers dust and pet hair and cobwebs.  Uncharacteristically, or maybe not really (who am I anyway?), lately those things haven’t really bothered me.  Occasionally, if someone is coming over, I will pull my sweater sleeve over my hand and do a quick dusting of the china cabinet.

And, instead of feeling a loss of control by giving some of these former “necessary things” up and loosening my grip on some of the others, I have felt a new freedom and a deep-seated joy in my paradigm shift. I am not suggesting that these changes are all positive, nor necessarily permanent, but switching things up a bit has helped me successfully navigate formerly unchartered territory.  I am also learning that spending more time on what I enjoy actually fuels my mind and body to complete the drudgery  important things that all card-carrying adults must do (ie: laundry, unloading the dishwasher, and buying actual food).

Lately, though, I am hankering for a bit more structure and will likely pick up some of the dropped balls; others, however, will continue to sit on a lower shelf; they don’t need nearly as much attention as I formerly gave them.  And like the “chips for supper” decision, I’m okay with that. 

In this year, the grace year of 2016, the year I lowered my expectations for who I am and what I should accomplish, I am much more content with who God made me to be.  In conclusion, I guess I write all of these to convince myself that even in a time of great transition, I’m still okay.  Life is still good.  And the liberties I have given myself to “grieve” and adjust—to be more childlike and less hardcore--have made me feel less frantic and frazzled.  That’s what we all want, isn’t it?  Just a little sanity mixed in with our craziness?  We always think we are in control; we really never have been.  However, being nice to myself in my year of transition has leveled out the bumps of this wild ride and made the bruises not nearly so bad.  At least nothing a Hello Kitty band-aid and a few tortilla chips can’t fix.

This is real life folks, not dress-rehearsal.  I am planning on enjoying it fully. 

How about you?

Happy 2017!

“In my anguish I cried to the LORD, and He answered by setting me free.”

~ Psalm 118:5