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. 💩

I Like Order

I like order. When everything is very orderly, I feel in control. I don’t always like structure– rules and prescriptive ways of doing things–but even when I prefer to fly by the seat of my pants, my flying, and my pants for that matter, are very orderly. 

God has indulged me in this little proclivity: I have four kids, two girls and two boys. All the children are two years apart, the first two in September, the next two in March. We celebrate birthdays two times per year, six months apart. My children' s names all consist of four letters, one syllable. We (almost–coming soon!) have eight grandchildren, four boys and four girls. Each of my adult children has one boy and one girl. 

If you come to my house and remove your shoes and set them so the right is on the left and the left is on the right, this drives me crazy and I will switch them for you, even in front of you, so that they are properly aligned. I also cannot tolerate anything inside-out, especially if it is hanging on a hook where I can see it, or a coat with the sleeves partially pulled inside. I have a compulsion to make things right and orderly–like my dishes, my silverware, and my towels which are all the same color–dark gray (just the towels, not the dishes which are all green and identical and stacked neatly in the cupboard). I make my bed every single day not because I have to but because I want to. It creates order in my house. Obviously, this was all much harder to achieve when I had four sticky children running around, but now that I have the opportunity, I like keeping things perfect.

I like order so much that I rely on it to feel secure. When things fly out of order, which they often do, I feel panicky because they might never become orderly again. 

But here’s the question I need to consider: Am I relying more on my ability to keep things perfectly ordered or on the God who sovereignly allows disorder so that we will run to him? 

Although God does, indeed, like order–look at the creation account or the animals two-by-two, or the instructions for the tabernacle, or the Levitical laws– but because he allowed us free will, disorder now reigns in our world. Because of this disorder, I try to control my little world so I don’t have to worry. But should I really put my trust in my perception of what feels safe? 

I’ve heard people say, “The safest place you can be is in the center of God’s will,” but I am wondering if maybe that’s not really true. Because when I surrender to God’s will, I must give up my own will; giving up my own will feels like losing control. Losing control means that I won’t be able to keep everything in perfect order. Is that where God wants me to be–at the end of myself but at the beginning of him? If we could see the future and were able to control all the variables so we felt at ease with what was ahead, we wouldn’t feel our need for a Savior. But we need a Savior because we have no ability to see around the corner. If what comes next makes my well-controlled house of cards fall to pieces, what will I put my trust in then?

So, even though God is sweet to me by allowing me a great sense of order in my life, if I put my security only in those things–in the things that feel clean and clear and ordered, I lose the opportunity to sit at his feet, to rely on him and not my well-ordered life. When I rely on my own tenacity to keep things well-aligned, I am not truly surrendering my will or my wants. If I only have peace when things are controlled, I’m not really trusting in the One who will sustain me when everything flies out of place (or when the grandchildren all visit at once).

Here’s where I have landed in this meandering thought experiment: If I only feel happy when my physical world is perfect, I am forgetting that Christ did, indeed, give me a little peek around the corner; this peek should give me peace. Christ lived, died, and was RESURRECTED so that I could see that all the chaos of this world will eventually be made beautiful and right. So I don’t need to panic. I need to look farther ahead and see what awaits me when God resurrects and restores Heaven and Earth. Confidence in that future promise is what should give me peace.

So in the meantime, when things get messy, I will be arranging my silverware into neat little piles and thinking thoughts of Heaven.

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)