An Afterthought

God leaves us traces of truth in the world. It is our duty to look for His truth. We can be assured that God will reveal His truth to us. I am looking and God is showing me His truth through new perspectives even after leaving Grand Teton National Park.

Over the course of the summer, I thought a lot about humans and our limited perspective on life. We tend to think we are more important than in reality. Yet, our entire understanding of human experience exists within a small slice of perspective: the human perspective. On one hand, we are composed of tiny, almost invisible particles but, at the same time, there is a massive universe outside of us that is so vast we cannot begin to grasp its size. We view everything through the perspective that we are the ones bridging the gap between the tiny particles and the entire universe. We are merely resting in between the large and small. Our perspective is not large or small. Our perspective is not all encompassing. Unlike God, our perspective is limited. To us, the life of a mosquito seems infinitesimally insignificant. Meanwhile, the little insect has a goal that it is trying to reach. Like the mosquito's life, it is so easy for us to ignore whatever is not seemingly relevant to ourselves, but we must be vigilant of God's truth and look for it in places beyond ourselves; even in the life of a mosquito. Next time you get bit by a tiny winged insect, take a step back from your gut reaction to squash it and observe God's creative power; how every creature is carrying out its duty. Think about life from a different perspective and, while you are thinking about that, thank God His perspective is not like ours.

If God is large enough to have created the universe; a universe in which we can barely grasp its size, shouldn't we seem so infinitesimally insignificant to God? But God is not limited by perspective. Unlike our failure to understand the mosquito's perspective, God can understand our tiny perspective. In fact, because God has an unlimited perspective, He is able to understand the large and small; he is able to understand us and love us.

So much of life is wasted because we fail to see it from a different point of view. We fail to recognize something amazing because we are so bogged down with the routine of life. Have you ever been talking with someone and noticed how they see beauty in something you were never able to notice beauty in before? There is a certain truth that can be found in trying to walk in someone else's shoes.

If God decided to walk in our shoes, shouldn't we try to walk life in other's shoes and see what they see? Shouldn't we try to think outside of our own box? God has given humans the ability to think about things logically and we should use this gift He has endowed us with to think about life from a different perspective. If we do this, we are destined to find a truth we have never seen from our own perspective; we are destined to find truth in a new perspective.

When Camping Goes Wrong (Part 3)

The sky was a bucket perched above us, just beyond our grasp. Inside sat many things, but we below could not see and could not know.

Having awoken to an expanse of cool blue skies, the air felt brisk like a typical fall morning. Hints of golden warmth glistened when I looked up to the sky, occasionally dripping from the bucket above us. As I stretched first thing that morning, my mouth wide like a lion and my fists to the sun, I let out a mighty yawn but did not see that I had bumped the bucket with my outstretched arm. To and fro the bucket swayed until gleams of sunlight shimmered as they rolled and pour over the edge, spilling onto the basin floor. Kayla and I were quickly enveloped in a wave of warm air while we ate our "leftovers" breakfast and recovered from the bears that found our food.

As morning grew late, we cut our losses and left the bears behind. With force we hit the trail. Somewhere up in the sky, the rocking of the bucket above us had ceased, cutting off the spill of golden warmth that poured from above. Cool air began to seep back in and replace the warm air.

Leaving the low-lying basin with plans to climb a peak later in the day, Kayla and I followed the trail as it meandered through the Teton Creek. The water shifted from a gentle flow to a flux of cascades coming down the incline we were going to ascend. It was the last day of our journey and we were slated for our highest elevation yet, before having to return all the way down to the car by nightfall. Today we hoped to make it to 11,000 feet.
Heading uphill, my load felt easier to carry. The actual weight of my pack was not much lighter, despite the food that had been eaten/stolen. We still had all of our gear and clothing. What made my load seem lighter and what I was no longer carrying was a pressure. Gone was the pressure of making it to the next campsite before dark. This brought ill seated relief for we would still have to make it up and over an entire mountain before the day's end.

As we climbed higher along the trail, we approached many ominous clouds varying in color from a metallic blue to a stone gray. Each cloud that came pushed aside the the amber waves of warmth that had fallen from the bucket earlier.

By the time we had hiked our way up to a pass dividing two mountains, a cold and hard wind was throwing gusts at us that nearly blew us over. Stopping at an elevation sign, we flipped out the map to check our progress but promptly realized we needed to keep moving. Being sheltered from the cold winds while hiking up the side of the mountain kept us from noticing how cold and cloudy the atmosphere had become. Now, we stood exposed in open air to an erosion of heat as we hiked the saddle between two mountains.

Checking the weather on a frequent basis, we noticed the clouds had grown thick over the past couple hours. As we walked from the saddle onto the edge of our mountain, we occasionally found a lone snowflake dropping from the bucket. The infrequency of these flakes even made us question whether it could even be snow or not. The infrequency begged another substance: dust, dirt, feathers, seeds...anything but snow. But as we continued, precipitation intermittently fell in a state that was mixed with rain. There was no escaping the truth, it was snowing in September. Now aware of the bucket above us, we could tell that we were close. With each step we took higher, we bumped the bucket into splashing cold water, stretching storm clouds across the sky.


Finally, the moment came when we reached the highest point of the trail. At 10,500 feet we rested and took our lunch behind the shelter of a boulder. The wind was still whipping at thrashing speeds and curled around the boulder, keeping us from enjoying any warmth at lunch. Looking up behind us, we noticed that the peak still stood above us. An additional 500 vertical feet would need to be ascended before we could claim to have made it to the top. So we stashed our packs behind the boulder and set out, leaving the trail behind in order to conquer the remaining zenith of our hike, the final ascent to Static Peak.

After a couple steps Kayla asked me, in a half-joking tone of voice, "Do you think it could thunderstorm?" I instantly and ignorantly answered, "I don't think so. I don't think its possible to have thunderstorms when it is snowing." And with that, I continued walking up the peak. Then, it hit me; I had read it before: Static Peak gets its name from its frequent lightning strikes. Kayla's question punched me in the face with a new found significance. Her question was no longer a joke; it was real. I told Kayla of my realization and she confirmed that this was the reason behind her asking it. "Oh," I thought, "I better hope that I'm right about lighting not being able to strike in these conditions..." In the best case scenario I wouldn't have to eat my words later that day. However, we had bigger things to worry about; if I was wrong and lighting did start to strike in these conditions, we would be sitting in the wrong place at the wrong time to find out.

The wind continued to blow as we hiked closer to the top. We stepped over rocks and walked around boulders, continuing up an incline that need not be climbed. It would be a walk up to the top, but it was a steep walk. Rest was taken on multiple occasions in order to prevent sweating underneath the layers of clothing. A sweat right now would saturate our clothing and cause the winds to steal all of our warmth. It was imperative that we stay dry with gusts at thirty miles an hour.

Then it came time to finally reach the top, a moment of accomplishment I have never experienced before. There were unadulterated views to almost every direction. We could see for miles across the flatland and could even see pockets of precipitation falling out of the clouds in several different directions. But, it was not five minutes into our photographic commemoration of the experience at the top of peak that the situation took a turn for the worse. I stood on two rocks and was almost blown over by a heavy wind and poor footing. I quickly realized my life was fragile and precautions must be taken. I moved away from the edge and took Kayla's photo. Together, we saw clouds moving across the sky like cars on a freeway. We were close to that freeway now, closer than ever before, and a sense of speed could be easily noticed when looking up.












Silence was unattainable because of the wind, but there was no noise except for it. Our ears grew accustomed to this and it began to seem like silence. Down below was life carrying on like normal, but up here life was different; life was simple: just rocks and wind was all that existed. Simpleness and silence. A steady unchanging. Then, it hit. Something in the distance. My senses were immediately aware. The bucket! We had hit the bucket! A rumble from the clouds threatened in the distance and I told Kayla urgently we had to leave. Time to go. Time to get off this peak. The wind was coming from the direction of the rumble and I knew there was little time. I began the descent walking at a pace that risked unstable footing. I looked back. Kayla, having hurt her ankle twice already on the hike was not putting herself at the same risk again. I, however, reasoned I would rather risk re-tearing my ACL than risk an encounter with the lightning on this strange elctro-attractive peak.

Moments passed. I imagined and weighed outcomes as I stepped down the peak. My pace grew hurried and I took my chances with each step. Some steps I slid. Like a car exceeding the speed limit and drifting a corner, I tried to hold a controlled slide until I regained traction. Glancing back I could see Kayla was still moving on cruise control, safely under the speed limit.

A second crack of thunder ripped through the sky and my heart jumped. The storm was here and lighting had struck within a distance that left no room for comfort. The strike was so close it could have just as well been on the very peak we were fleeing from. But it wasn't. Kayla and I were still alive and continuing down the peak. The angle I was on was now closer to being level and my steps turned to a pace bordering on running. Scratch that, I was running. I was running down the last stretch of Static Peak and hoping my futile running would save me from lightning. I looked back and saw Kayla was moving at her same steady pace.

By the time I made it back to the trail, the snow had begun to fall again. I briskly jogged back to our backpack stash behind a boulder and caught my breath. Thankfully, Kayla and I did not get struck by lightning that day. We grabbed our bags and headed for the rest of the descent. Sadly, my cowardice of lightning upset Kayla quite profusely and we spent the rest of the hike in silence. Well, except for when we passed through an black forest with twisted trees. The trees wrapped and tangled with each other, creaking as they rubbed branches and bark. Ominous noises protruded the silence before the trail rejoined with the trail we had begun on two days prior. From there it was a hike free of exciting adventures. The sight of the gravel parking lot where we had parked looked distantly familiar, like something we had begun to forget. Refreshed and exhausted, we dumped our bags and headed for civilization.

When Camping Goes Wrong (Part 2)

The night air was an ocean of fears. Tumultuous waves of anxiety that were crashing into me earlier in the evening were now receding back into a turbulent body of water. With urgency I closed the zipper of the tent, attempting to escape any remaining waves of anxiety. I took a moment to adjust for bed.

My body became flat against the ground, but my mind was still a wind-tossed tempest. I laid in wait of peace, continually listening for anything abnormal outside the tent. As I did so, the waters of my mind began to swell less and less with time. My still body slowly slipped into a soft slumber. Hours passed before I awoke, but when I did my mind resumed a sharp investigation of all sounds surrounding the tent. I waited to hear something rummaging through our packs. Instead, I fell asleep to silence. I awoke within the hour and took account of all sounds once more. Nothing.

While I lay cocooned and motionless in my sleeping bag a few more cycles of sleeping and listening came to pass. Each time I awoke, I waited for signs of sunlight. Like a butterfly about to break free, I became restless as the darkness lingered on and cold air began to infiltrate my cocoon. I drifted in and out of sleep.

When I awoke to sounds outside the tent I knew I had get up. The sounds were not of something rummaging through our packs but of birds chirping happily in the gentle morning sun. I was ready to get up so as to become warm. I ventured out of the tent into the thirty-something degree air and surveyed the sky through a haze of pine trees. Taking in a breath of crisp morning air and hearing the busy voices of forest critters I could tell the waters of fear and anxiety had grown calm since the darkness left. I realized I was ready for some smooth sailing out on the morning waters; I was ready to hike. As I walked over to our bear-safe container of food and carried it back to the tent I felt soreness in my muscles; remnants from yesterday's hike. I grabbed our bag of extra food that hung from the cabin roof and pulled out an apple. The fresh crunch of my juicy breakfast not only brought a sweet taste to my mouth but also an eagerness to move. The only problem I saw was that Kayla did not share my eagerness. I tried to convince her to get up but it seemed to be to no avail.

Annoyingly persistent, I nagged at her until I saw she began to move and respond.

Disgruntled, I sat down on a stump and took out my map, occasionally glancing at the tent. I studied the map. I looked up when the tent began to wiggle. Kayla was getting up. Turning my eyes back to the map, I saw how far we had gone and how far we had hoped to go. Miles would need to be made up today. In increments I threw out remarks about how we needed to get going. With each remark my urgency became increasingly transparent. I thought back on the night prior and feared we would encounter storms of anxiety tonight if we did not get going. Sitting there on the stump, I realized we were set at different speeds. To me, Kayla seemed to move in slow motion and I was trying to switch her into a higher gear. When I did, she would looked at me. I should have just been quiet.

Something was moving in the corner of my eye. I turned my head as a park ranger walked down the trail. Before walking passed us, he noticed me and came over to talk. I grabbed our permit and explained why we weren't camping where we were supposed to. He continued on his way. Soon enough the tent was down and we were on our way.



Rays of late summer sun warmed the atmosphere and beat down on us while we hiked. We followed the river for several miles until coming to the end of Death Canyon. The river ran up the face of the canyon wall in front of us. Nowhere to go but up. It was past noon and I promised we would stop for lunch at the top of the canyon wall. The first step up was easy but each subsequent step was harder than the last. Our packs pulled heavily on our shoulders. It was clear to me that we had brought too many things; namely, too much food. Persevering, we hiked back and forth on the face of the canyon until we had to stop. We set our bags down and rested. After a short break we were back at it. When we finally did reach the top of the canyon we were joined by others whose pace was upsetting.

We indulged in some lunch before walking along the canyon shelf wall for several hours. The geology was different up here. The rocks on the ground looked like the ancient ruins of past civilizations. Rhythmically stopping for rest and water, we maintained an adequate pace that kept my anxiety at bay.

Before we knew it, we came to a fork in the trail. Since it would be further out of our way and more hiking for tomorrow, we decided to abandon plans of camping at a lake further down the trail. We set up the tent in a low-lying grassy meadow nearby the Teton creek. Both Kayla and I scarfed down some dinner and started to relax for the first time on the hike. Kayla took out a book and and I went to the creek for water. I walked over to the creek and followed the water up to a little waterfall, where I filled my nalgene bottle to the brim. Dropping two pills into the water, I waited for the water to become sterile. The sun began to set and I decided to place our food away from the tent, in case any bears came along looking for food.

About 200 feet away from our tent, I placed our bear-safe container on a rock that was at the base of a small cliff. I figured we would be able to see the container as soon as we opened the tent door in the morning. Since we were in a meadow with few trees and we failed to bring any rope, I looked for somewhere to hang the bag of food. I spotted a down tree overhanging the small rock cliff where the bear-safe container was. I climbed up the side of the hill and tested the dead tree. Gripping branches from a neighboring tree, I crawled out on the dead trunk and swung the bag around a limb. It caught and I secured it was a bungee cord. "Ha," I thought, "any bear that tries to climb out here to get our bag of food will surely plummet."

And with that, I settled in for the night and awaited sleep after the second day of our hike.


(I took this photo from the limb where I hung the bag)

I slept much better the second night and was prepared for the cold. When it was time to get up, I unzipped my bag and unzipped the tent door. My eyes began adjusting as I looked out. I did not see the container on the rock. I glanced up and saw that the bag was still dangling in the air. On my hands and knees, I occupied the space in the door. I searched once more with my eyes, trying to find the container. Gone. I crawled out of the tent and slowly walked towards the cliff. I blinked frequently to speed up the process of adjusting my groggy eyes. Stepping up onto the I rock where I had placed the container I looked down and saw the container. A sigh of release. I jumped down off the rock and grabbed the container. As I picked it up, I noticed something was different. There were now scratch marks defacing the cover.

One by one, thoughts came tumbling down into my head. "Curious," I thought, "I don't remember those being there." More thoughts. "I suppose it might have fallen." Moments passed. New thoughts. "But this is too heavy to have been blown by the wind." I looked up. My eyes had now fully adjusted. "Uh, oh," I muttered. The bag I had seen from the tent door was still the same bag I had put up on the limb, only with some minor adjustments I had failed to notice earlier. What now remained blowing in the wind was nothing more than torn and shredded remnants still tied with a bungee. The bits of the bag fluttered in the wind like a flag. It was clear the bag was empty. I looked underneath the limb but could see no food. I suspected rodents had made off with the food, making several joyful trips. I imagined the glee upon their tiny faces as they ran off to tell their friends; mental images of bitter contrast to my current feelings.

Scouring the landscape for happy rodents, I drew my eyes back to the bushes below the limb. I walked towards the bushes. Audibly, I began to think out loud, "I suppose it could be a bear that got the food." I tried to convince myself. "I should probably yell out warnings if it is the bear. Just in case. To warn it I am coming." I walked up the hill. "Hey bear," I said fairly loudly. I took another step towards the bushes. "Hey bear," I said again. Instantly, two black rockets shot up a tree out of the bushes. Before they even stopped scurrying I knew. I felt like a father catching his kids doing something they are not supposed to. The kids stop doing whatever it is they are not supposed to be doing and, as quick as they can, throw on a face of innocence. Well, the black rockets stopped half way up the tree and looked at me, wearing those same faces of innocence. I saw those faces but I knew...I knew we had been robbed by two bear cubs.

I watched them and they watched me. They saw my face of disapproval. I said nothing to them. I simply spoke with a stern look upon my face before walking back to the tent. The bear cubs didn't know what to do. "I had been within twenty feet of the bushes," I thought, "how come they didn't hear me earlier?" I turned to look at the bears as I walked away. They watched me back. "I'd better tell Kayla," I said to myself. I approached the tent and told Kayla. I could tell she thought I was joking. I figured she might. The cubs climbed down the tree and back into the bushes. I insisted to Kayla that bears had gotten our food. I pointed but we could see nothing. Finally, a larger mother bear came over to check on her cubs. Kayla and I both saw her from the tent.

I suggested what we should do. I suggested we wait. Wait, like the first night, for the bears to finish doing whatever it is they were doing.

We packed the tent and our bags, keeping one eye on the bears.

When the bears had eaten their fill and we had nothing left to pack, I walked over to the bushes. I yelled to make sure the bears heard me coming this time. I yelled but nothing moved. The bears had already left. I wedged myself into the thicket. Now I saw our food, or at least the wrappers to our food. In the thick bushes I could hardly move. To my astonishment, some of the food had not been eaten. I yelled out to Kayla to inform her of such great news.
Then, I saw a storm coming in my head. The waves grew larger from the approaching storm. Riding on the whipping winds of a fast-approaching storm, the waves of fear from the bears returning for the food began to crash into me. I quickly squeezed everything I found into my pockets. A Snickers bar here, a couple Goldfish there. A race had begun and I didn't care about what I was pushing into my pockets. Some of the Capri Suns weren't even empty; they simply had teeth marks all over them. I didn't take the time to notice. I mushed them into my pockets too. I tucked and dove through branches, wedging myself into places I would have never normally gone. When I had everything I could find, I burst forth from the thicket and came back to the tent. I spilled the bounty. A half eaten Slim Jim was still salvageable. I was ecstatic. We tried to remember what was still missing. An orange and some crackers were a couple of the things MIA. I would make one last rescue attempt before we left forever.

I started by retrieving the shreds of the plastic bag. As I took the bag down I imagined new thoughts, not of happy rodents but of intrigued bears-bears that just stumbled upon this strange bag. A few sniffs and the bears would have had a sparked interest. I imagined them pawing at the bag, reaching to grab it. Just a little further. They must have swung and batted at it like a kid swinging at a piñata until finally the bag burst with tasty treats spilling onto the ground.

"Those bears...up to no good," I thought to myself. I finally spotted the cracker bag and came back down the hill. "I couldn't find the orange," I told Kayla as I sat next to her and handed her the cracker crumbs. We munched on few more "left-overs" before heading on our way.

As I threw my bag over my shoulder, I took one last look at the cliff. I imagined one of the bears sitting somewhere with a big round orange stuck in its mouth. I couldn't help but laugh as we walked away.


(Momma bear walking away)

When Camping Goes Wrong (Part 1)

Thirty minutes after sunset and the light is fading fast. The sound of rushing water grows louder as each switchback we hike higher brings us closer to the mouth of the canyon, Death Canyon. We should have known from the canyon's name that things were going to go wrong for us, but we were set on executing the climax of our summer hikes.

Kayla and I continued up the rocky path as the last of twilight slipped away. My spirits started to dwindle from the frustration of knowing how far we still had to hike in the dark before we got to camp. As we entered the mouth of Death Canyon and came into a forested area there was something about hiking at night with a forty pound pack that did not excite me very much. Whether it was the fact I felt anything could be lurking in the bush next to me or simply because I could not see exactly where I was stepping, reluctance took joy out of each step I took. Kayla's enthusiasm for hiking under the stars only agitated my downward spiraling mood.
As we moved out of the forest and into open fields that sat next to the river, Kayla took a misstep and twisted her ankle. Instantly, I assumed the worst and considered myself responsible for not recommending she wear her ankle brace when we started. However, Kayla assures me she is alright and we take a few minutes for her recovery.

Being forced to look up from my relentless search for a safe place to take my next step, Kayla and I sat down to gaze at the stars shining above us. The canyon walls surrounding the stars cut into the night sky and focused our eyes on the space directly above us. As we sat there, an acknowledgment of being alone in the wilderness brought feelings of fear mixed with exclusive visions of beauty. A strange brew of feelings percolated into my blood. I shivered from the cold night air. A few shooting stars later and the steep and jagged canyon walls began to encroach on me. I felt we were completely alone in the wilderness and the worst would happen. Fear began to take grip. The night had become the stage for a monster. The canyon walls had now broke free from their cage and began devouring our stars. I kept my fear silent as to not allow it to spread to Kayla.

After a few minutes, Kayla was up again and we continued slowly around a corner. However, before we completely came around the corner my headlamp shined over a large vacuum of light in the tall grass thirty yards ahead. The darkness shifted slightly and two beads of light absorbed all the surrounding light from the vacuum and reflected it back at us. The canyon was showing another one of its monsters. Fear came rushing back into my blood and flooded out all other feelings. We were looking directly at a black bear. I kept my light on it to see if it was moving toward or away from us. The bear did neither. Kayla insisted I look away as to not aggravate the bear and just continue our path and pass it. Because the bear was not moving we might have been able to slip passed it, but I was not ready to take that risk. I suggested we turn around and wait before coming back. Kayla complied and we walked away from the bear.
Suddenly, in front of me Kayla and her pack were on the ground. Another bad step in the darkness and Kayla fallen face-first onto the rocky trail, twisting her other ankle. I didn't know what to do. I waited. I asked if she was alright and watched kept a vigilant eye out for the bear until she was ready to move again. She stood up. After a few ankle stretches and moments to regather strength, we hobbled in the opposite direction of the bear and sat down on some boulders, hoping to give the bear ample time to move away. Fear and frustration began to become evident in my actions and I could see it was leaking into Kayla.

On the boulders we talked about what to do. We decided we should loudly approach the bear, letting it know we were coming. In agreement, we thought this was our best bet to get through. But, as I talked loudly to the bear, hoping it was listening and walking away, we came around the corner and saw the bear in the exact same place when we had left. It was evident that the bear was not bothered enough by us to move from its spot in the grass but I wasn't about to test the bear's limits and walk passed it. I told Kayla we were turning around and camping next to the patrol cabin that we had passed earlier in the hike. Kayla was not thrilled about this. As we walked back to the cabin, her pace accelerated to a speed I felt was unsafe; I thought she might twist her ankle one more time. I told her to slow down and asked why she was moving so quickly. What she said in response made it clear that my fear had become obvious and was starting to spread like a disease, infecting her as well.

We made it back to the patrol cabin safely but I questioned the rest of the trip. Ahead of us lay forty-four more hours of this trip and we would have to make up for the distance we didn't get on our first night. My knee was starting to ache after only the first five miles and I wondered how many more times Kayla might twist her ankle on the remaining twenty miles of rocky trail that lay before us. As I nestled into my sleeping bag that night I genuinely wondered whether we should continue on in the morning.

Death Canyon during the day

Context of Thought

Anyone who knows much about the development of the United States knows about the general frame of mind that many Americans had about the west during the 18th and 19th centuries. Manifest Destiny was the idea of expanding and developing in a westward direction. Setting up ranches, mining for gold, or completing the railroad is evidence that we viewed the west as a great resource as well as a worthy adversary. Conquering the wild west was a way to show man's dominance over nature. Flash forward to the present and we see a paradigm shift.



I was flipping through a local art magazine and reading about an art festival that was hosting guest speakers and artists, all of whom declared to be passionate advocates of conservatism in the west. The title of the advertisement I read was called, "Western Visions," and I couldn't help but think of the stark contrast between the current western vision and the vision of the west in Manifest Destiny. Times have changed and the world seems to have shrunk since the days of Manifest Destiny but the paradigm shift from conquering the west to keeping it as it is appears to be very abrupt. Was there a time after Manifest Destiny but before conservatism when we were content with the west or even apathetic towards it? How did the transition occur all the way from Manifest Destiny to conservatism? However it happened, it shows a different way of seeing things in different times: a different context of thought.

This led me to thinking about the context of which we think in time. Right now, it is obvious that our current context of thought is tinted in the hue of green. Whether we are pretending to be stewards of the earth or genuinely protecting what is left, the idea of being green has certainly caught onto mainstream.

If you look back into the past (around the time of Manifest Destiny), you will see plenty examples of people acting and believing in more superstitious things than we do nowadays. People believed in witches, ghosts, and even thought leeches would suck the sickness out of your blood. People in those days were a lot more prone to believe in things they could not see.

However, even today we believe in things we do not see; we believe in logic, an unseen understanding of why things are the way they are. Logic is not a tangible thing and we cannot perceive it with our five senses. We trust things like science when they use logic to tell us that everything is composed of atoms (or even quarks), even though we cannot see atoms. In that sense, we believe in things we cannot see because we trust in logical thought to get us to that point. (The idea of ghosts and atoms as unseen things we believe in under different contexts of time comes from the book: Zen and Art of Motorcycle Maintenance) In our current context of thought we see that we put our trust and belief in unseen things just like we did in the past.

Unlike our belief in unseen things, what has changed is the context of humanity's thought. Currently, we believe our actions are having a consequence on the earth even if we cannot see it individually. It may seem obvious to us right now that we really should embrace conservatism. It seems to fit with our current thinking because it is logical. It is, in fact, logical to maintain a good condition of earth because it will benefit our children. The logic appeals on a long term basis: the prolonging of our species.

The context of which we think in time shows us that humanity is prone to falling into group-think tendencies (be it good or bad). Whatever context of thought humanity will move into after logic, hopefully, we will be aware enough to look beyond temporary goals that may be as selfish as Manifest Destiny was.

As for the local art festival out here in the west, it may very well be that the art will speak to people in a language of beauty that is beyond any logical reason, begging to preserve the west.

A Final Chapter

While looking out at the stars this past weekend, I felt the cool air of an early evening shift into near freezing temperatures by four AM. Gone are the warm nights of summer as fall quickly approaches.



Sunday was the last day where we had to prepare worship services for ACMNP. Together, Katelyn, Kayla, and I had a final worship here at Signal Mountain. We invited fellow employees and friends to listen to us speak about our experience this summer and what we have taken away from it. After the services we had our final staff meeting, we packed up the worship materials, and said some more goodbyes. Kayla and I shared one last night with Katelyn before she left for seminary Monday morning.

Heading back to work on Monday afternoon, I limped into a quiet and half-empty building; I realized business is starting to slow down. Following work, the remaining ACMNP staff met up with Spencer (the Executive Director of ACMNP) and chatted about this summer, plans for our future, and ways to improve ACMNP for next year. We shared some dessert and I chewed on a biodegradable spoon.

Coming back from the the chat, I began writing my final report of the ministry. Using the conversation with Spencer as a precursor I was able to describe key components of my experience until I realized it has been an amazing summer thus far. I have even contemplated seminary.

Upon finishing the final report this morning I have completed my commitment with A Christian Ministry in the National Parks. I utilized the rest of my morning sending a few emails and making a phone call about winter work. So far it is looking like I will be heading to a ski resort instead of engaging in hibernation. However, the more I think about my knee, the more I think I should look elsewhere for work.

Finalizing details for my transportation home has been the icing on the cake. I had previously thought of extending my work contract to Oct 22 but I think I am going to stick with my original final date: September 20. This gives me less than three weeks here in Grand Teton National Park. I hope to get my knee back in working order for at least one last hike.

Contentment

I have been spending much of the summer mulling over the nuances between contentment and complacency. The two words seem to be so synonymous in definition that I did not think any difference would matter. But the Bible has two very contrasting uses for the two words. Proverbs 1:32 says, "For the waywardness of the simple will kill them, and the complacency of fools will destroy them" but Philippians 4:12 says, "I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want." Proverbs frowns upon complacency but Philippians makes contentment seem like a good thing.

When camping out at Glacier National Park I wound up out on the hood of our car as we settled in for the night. Not expecting anything spectacular, Kayla and I watched a meteorite shower begin to animate the sky. At first it was one single meteorite. Then, somewhere miles above us, minerals began scraping against the earth's atmosphere and provided us with a show. My state of contentment switched to a state of privilege. Soon, meteorites were flashing every 45 seconds until we saw something unlike anything; something that surpassed the term "meteorite" and was only worthy of the title "falling star." The star seemed to rip open the black sky and bleed a streak of red and green colors behind it, before tailing off into a vapor of white light.

Coming back from Glacier a day or two after the shower we stopped in a small town at public park. Weary from excessive sitting, I stretched out and took in a firsthand view of small-town Montana. After I got the blood flowing in my legs again I plopped down in the manicured green grass and slipped my hands under my head. I looked to the sky. Sitting there, with my elbows pointed into blue space, a feeling crept up slowly. I could feel summer in the green grass. I began to remember.

As I think back on my past, I remember things not as they were, but as I have chosen to remember them - wrapped up in nostalgia. First, I remember the undisputed arrival of spring. I introduced myself to the mid-day sun and wanted to be best friends. However, sunlight faded and the nights of May brought a fresh bouquet of sounds. I couldn't get enough. The soft cooing of mourning doves as I played in the sand under a big oak tree. Thunder and lightning together made an ensemble greater than any Mozart I had ever heard. I remember how the cricket chorus sung at night as I chased fireflies wildly. Through a forest of green blades my feet ran. A fresh dew seemed to arrive out of nowhere and would dampen my feet in a cool liquid. But, what I remember most is the grass; simple green grass.

Summer out here contains no grass. There are eternal fields of flowers that last for months and there are sage brush flats as far as the eye can see, but there is never grass.

As I laid there in small-town Montana, I began to think how this summer has not been like a summer at all. I spend every day working or playing so hard that I lay down solely to sleep. I never go outside and lay down just to enjoy the presence of summer; something I always did back home.

I have always been a fairly content person, but when I laid in that patch of grass somewhere in Montana, I realized I have lost something in these mountains.

In my attempt to make the most of life out here I ignored the simple joy of enjoying summer's presence and lost my contentment in a tangled confusion of aspirations. I made lists of things I wanted to do and then went about tactics of completing them. I talked to friends and got advice, I studied maps and made my plans, I borrowed cars and woke up early. I was hungry for adventure, but the price I paid was not only my contentment.

Playing soccer last Friday evening I leaned too far on my ankle and felt my knee take the extra pressure. Having torn my ACL last summer I took a moment to regather my strength and assess whether my knee was hurt or not. Limping around for a few seconds and, upon deciding I was fine, I continued to play even though I knew the pressure had made my knee weak. The thought of sitting out for the rest of the game crossed my mind but was quickly silenced by my adrenaline, ambition, and aspiration to keep playing.

Within 15 minutes my knee brought me to the ground. I remember it; I will never forget the suspended animation when my leg gave out. Running and then turning with the weight of my whole body on my right leg, I heard my knee crack. Instantly my strength was gone and I knew at that moment the damage had been done, but before I fell to the ground I floated in the air. Like a cartoon character running off a cliff, I waited before I dropped, suspended in thin air. After I hit the ground it was all over.

When I lost my contentment I had also lost my sense of pacing in a self-told lie that I could do everything. In my haste to do it all I deprived myself of many things, including my ability to walk on my own. Using crutches to get everywhere some people have started calling me Tiny Tim. Today just happens to be Christmas (in the National Parks) and since tonight is the Christmas party I think I shall be content going as Tiny Tim.

"God bless us, every one!"

When I get back, at least I can finally try and spend some time deciphering the difference between complacency and contentment.

Looking Beyond Ourselves

When all else is cast aside, faith remains.

While camping last week a girl asked me if I believed in absolute truth. I didn't give her a straight answer because it is one of those broad and foggy questions where you never quite know what exactly you are talking about (there is also usually a lack of defined terms and ideas). In the long run, I told her I did believe in an absolute truth.

Going about a search for truth is twisted path.
Before attempting to search for absolute truth, most people tend to see things in black and white; there is a defined line between good and bad. As one searches deeper, he or she may begin to find truths that seem contrary to one another. Many people are disillusioned by finding evidence for one truth and then encountering a completely contradictory truth with ample evidence. It can be defeating when a person does not instantly find one thing that speaks on a universal level.

As a species that prefers closure and sound logic, contrary ideas of truth are upsetting. At this point, some people become apathetic and others just give up and return to a complacent level of ignorance (ignorance is bliss), but those who continue are faced with a choice: to find bits of truth as relevant to each individual or make a commitment to a certain belief that encompasses one path of truth.
The former choice seems to be more attractive to our society. It is an idealized version of eclecticism: picking and choosing bits of truth as relevant to the self. In fact, it even banks on the attractiveness of our consumer culture; we love to collect things so why not collect chunks of truth and toss them in our bag of truth? But with this attractive collection of relativistic truth, we are essentially saying we know what is best for ourselves and ultimately denying that anything out there could be better for us than what we have decided to pick and choose. If not careful, we make ourselves our own god of truth.

However, when we set aside our urge to collect attractive ideas of self-relevant truth for the sake of committing to something beyond ourselves, we can find freedom. We no longer must worry of what truths are relevant to us because we are giving of ourselves and offering up to God, with humility, that we cannot always know what is best. We are acknowledging that there is something beyond us and that truth is something we can never fully understand.

I'm not saying we shouldn't try to understand things beyond us. God has gifted man with logic and reason in order to attempt to understand things. Humans call this science, and we need to strive to find out more. The problem lies when some people get caught up in their own comprehension of science that they forget faith lies at the foundation of Christianity. Its not about science and understanding; its about believing when science is inadequate.

I have been talking with a former pastor who is on our ACMNP support staff. He and his wife take care of a historic cabin just down the road. Lately, I have been able to bask in his wisdom as well as offer up some of my own ideas. We give each other a chance to think about what we talk about. This morning we went for a walk in a flat river bend where river meanders are scattered between patches of wetland. Typically, a diverse array of wildlife congregate in the area to share in the wealth of lush greenery. We saw a moose and every type of winged-creature as we talked. While we watched some birds, he mentioned that our faith is filtered through a lens of experience.

From my experience, I have been amidst a faith that is not centered around me. I do not get to choose bits and pieces of my savior. And yet, I often struggle because of this. Something in the human desire wants to push God away and side with science until science can prove that Jesus lives.

Agnosticism and Christianity have a lot in common: both hold a deep rooted trust in something. Agnosticism stops a step short in leaving it at saying that God and Jesus cannot be proven with our reasoning. In other words, agnosticism holds a trust solely in logic. Christianity takes a step further in choosing to set aside a complete trust in reasoning for a trust in faith.

I have a feeling that we are becoming more and more rutted in a scientific frame of mind. We are becoming so accustomed to having logic behind everything that faith often seems irrelevant. Christianity can use the precious gift of science to find new things out that compliment our faith, but because every answer in science asks another question, there will always be a need for faith.
Christians should take a look beyond themselves and see if they can set aside science when it ultimately comes down to their belief. If science is held foremost, the outcome is agnosticism, but if people are standing on faith then they are taking a step beyond themselves; they are selflessly acknowledging the existence of something beyond us that we can never fully understand. You can call it morality or you can call it absolute truth. Whatever you decide to call it, it requires a trust in something beyond logic, it requires faith.

Word made Flesh

We created language to fulfill a need, a need to communicate. Underlying the need for communication hides a need to connect, understand, and grow.

Lately, I have been thinking about words and their use in language. Language, a systematic method of stringing symbols and words together to create meaning, is often seen as an end-all to every form of communication. However, language is a limited and inadequate attempt to make something naturally intangible become tangible. Language can never become completely synonymous with our thoughts and experiences. So much more is left untouched beyond the grasp of our ability to harness language. I would consider language as more akin to an artistic rendering of thoughts; it is in no way an all encompassing objectivity.

I love to write because I consider it a form of art instead of an objective means of communicating my understanding. My affinity with words stems deeper than a need to fulfill communication. In fact, my love affair with words draws from melody and music. It is often lyrical and it always relies heavily upon the ebb and flow of words artistically building of each other.

But our society puts too much emphasis on language and learning. "In a world where education is predominantly verbal, highly educated people find it all but impossible to pay serious attention to anything but words and notions. There is always money for, there are always doctorates in, the learned foolery of research into what, for scholars, is the all-important problem: Who influenced whom to say what when?" Aldous Huxley raises this statement in his book, The Doors of Perceptions, when he talks of ways to perceive things beyond what our five senses typically let us understand. He argues we can learn so much more through our internal understandings of experience.

Words are sometimes inappropriate but they are almost always inadequate.

I was reading a book by Parker Palmer today. He began talking about a time in his life when he was going through severe depression. He mentioned how the people who were able to get through to him were not the intellectuals or opinionated, but it was those who quietly offered their physical presence without the offering of advice. As people lined up and waited to share their advice on how he could get better, it was a gentle touch that spoke volumes. It was a simple silence that allowed Palmer to acknowledge someone's willingness to just be there with him, nothing more. Most people tried to apply empathy; they tried to apply what they had been through in their lives to his life. The only problem was that no one is ever going to have the same exact experience, so their attempts seemed distant and unhelpful. It was in the silence that humility and acceptance spoke more than words ever could.

When thinking of a simple presence that can speak so greatly I am reminded of a song by David Crowder Band. It is called I Need Words.

I need words
As wide as sky
I need language large as
This longing inside
And I need a voice
Bigger than mine
And I need a song to sing you
That I've yet to find

I need you
I need you
I need you to be here now

The humility of the song cries out for words that enable the artist to speak. However, the song ends with a request for presence. The song ends with a begging for the words to be made flesh. "I need you to be here now."

Blood, Sex, and Violence

Despite a shady gimmick to catch your attention, my title does hold some relevance to my life. In fact, on a typical sunny day in July, I woke up and went into the bathroom expecting to see things as I typically did: a clean and kept bathroom filled with miniature travel soaps and shampoos resting in expected places. Instead, I found a disheveled disarray of confusion. Bottles that once stood tall and proud on the shower walls had now fallen into a pile of hodgepodge hygienics on the tub floor. I washed my hands in the sink and looked left for my towel. I shook the water off my hands as I wondered why both of my towels had disappeared from their respective holders. I decided to further observe the current condition of the bathroom. As I did so, I looked to the floor. On a few of the ceramic tiles I encountered blotches of dried blood that trailed into my neighbor's room. While observing my surroundings, I heard a rustling behind the door to the other room. I blindly asked if anyone was in there. Upon hearing a confirmation I asked what had happened. - Before I explain what was told to me I want to take you back to my experience the night before.

-About midnight I was going to bed when I heard someone in my bathroom sounding upset and hurried. Clunks and bangs from falling plastic interrupted the incessant mumbling. Soon, the faucet began to run as a voice kept saying: "Some people are such idiots." I tried to tune out the voice but it was soon followed by another voice. The voice was of the opposite gender and was questioning "WHY are people such idiots" and "WHAT had happened." I started to feel like I was eavesdropping, so it was at this point I jammed my Mp3 earbuds into my ears in an attempt to drown out the conversation. In the bathroom I heard the water running full-blast, falling into the tub while the voices continued loudly. I tried to shut my mind off but there was an initial urge to understand what could possibly be happening. I soon decided I did not care and hoped that the noise would soon pass. It did not. I laid in my bed for several minutes. Through a filter of music, the voices and noises passed my headphones and into my ears, preventing me from my escape to slumber. Although the noises and voices never did stop, the fatigue from being up at 4 am hit me like a baseball bat across the face and I was able to pass into the blessing of sleep.-

Apparently, after I had gone to sleep, whoever had been in the bathroom had gotten physically hurt by someone else's stupidity. Somehow, that lead to other things and the person eventually ended up "having a good time" in the tub with the other person I had heard.
The description I received from my neighbor was the definition of vague; he was letting my mind fill in the gaps of what actually happened. As I figured it out, I made a quip about the soaps becoming dirty from the events. I laughed in solitude. I guess my neighbor didn't find the joke funny. However, he assured me that the mess would be cleaned up.

Today, as I scrubbed the bathtub I was reminded of these past events. The red cleaner I sprayed on the bathtub walls washed down towards the drain and tore away soap scum in its path. A clean tub now sits in my bathroom, rinsed anew of vile and filthy things. I am reminded of my life and all the things that have been washed away for me by someone else.
As we become situated in our lives, we often go blind to the disgustingness of our thoughts and actions, and, like a mirror, it takes seeing it in someone else to see it in ourselves. Thankfully, even if my title is slightly melodramatic, this was an opportunity for me to recognize how we are all in need of a cleansing.

Chocolate Milkshakes for Everyone!

The weather is changing here in Grand Teton National Park. We watched it snow out on the mountains for the first time in a month or two yesterday. The temperature has been dropping down to the thirties at night lately. Not only is the weather changing but it is unpredictable. Wednesday I finished work and headed to my room as a storm rolled plowed over the mountains. The air was humid and heavy as I crawled into my basement cave of a room and listened to the rain pattering outside. The rain drops landing on the ground was refreshing to hear after being used to an arid climate. Unfortunately, the sound of rain on mud soon changed to the sound of rain on water. It turned into a heavy downpour and the water started pouring into my storm cell window. I watched as the water rose. I shut my window just as the water reached the bottom of my window. Sadly, that did not help. The water kept rising until it was two inches above my window. I quickly noticed that my window is not sealed or any sort of water resistant. The brown water left the storm cell and creeped onto my windowsill. On the water sat a foamy substance that made the liquid look like a milkshake. Miniature rivers began their vertical descent down the side of my wall onto the heater. I watched in disbelief as the brown rivers stained my wall with their incessant meandering. To be honest, I wasn't even mad; the idea of flooding seemed like a novelty to me. I spent at least 18 years of my life living in a marsh and never had to deal with flooding. Here I am, and after thirty minutes of raining, my room is beginning to flood. Luckily, the rain started to hold off after my room began flooding. I called the front desk and maintenance came to my room. We filled a shop vac with enough water to bathe in. The inside of the shop vac was filled with frosty milkshake water. I should have thrown a party. Chocolate milkshakes for everyone!

The next day I was told that I was getting a new roommate. Not everyone knew my room had flooded so as soon as the Residence Director found out, he decided to relocate my roommate to another room. I don't blame him because my room was a festering forest of mold and mildew, not to mention it smelled like a wet sock. Now, because of the flooding, I am alone and must call the wet sock my home for now. Oh well, I will be going up to Glacier National Park for the next week. Hopefully, the nastiness will have evaporated by the time I return. If not, lapping up some milkshake from the carpet will definitely cheer me up.

A Counter-Cultural Church

The main problem we have as Americans is that we think we have to do everything.

As Christians, God calls us to live uncomfortable lives because it keeps us humble. Yet, in our culture so many Christians are working hard to fill their lives with comfort. The more time they spend working, the more of a financial cushion there is for them to sit on.

My mentor at Calvin College asked me, "when did Christianity get so enmeshed with patriotism; when did the two become synonymous?" He showed me a bulletin with the American flag and eagle etched into cover art as well as an advertisement for an upcoming speech by a NASCAR driver. Churches like this better watch their footing carefully. In fact, churches like this are already starting to slip.
There is a man whom I work with here who is a Christian but refuses to be a member of the institutional church because of things like this. I am different from him in that I believe the church is in constant need of reform. The church needs to be continually changing to be aware of how things like culture are affecting the church and its believers.

I am not saying the church is in a stagnant standstill, but I do think the church in America has to watch how its believers are being affected by culture. Of course, there are obvious things that the church will always openly and explicitly warn about, but what about the things that slowly slip in? We are influential beings. Things that surround us daily tend to infiltrate us, no matter how aware we are. The devil likes to act in subtle ways that we are less aware of. These things that we are unaware of slip in on an undetected level.

When I think of things influencing us on an undetected level I, like my mentor, have a question to ask: When did efficiency become so closely associated with Christianity? Efficiency may not be directly endorsed by the church but so many people accept efficiency from American culture as complimentary to their faith. Just because Jesus tells us not to be lazy, doesn't mean we have to join in worship with our society over the idol of efficiency.

Compared to every other culture in the world, Americans are raised to believe work is the reason to live. Maybe it stems out of the Industrial Revolution or the Great Depression, but Christians in America today are foolishly consenting to the over-inflated importance of work. One area I have seen the truth of this is with vacation and travel. Americans only have an average of two weeks of vacation per year, whereas other countries have several weeks more. Also, many capable Americans never leave this country because of insufficient vacation time or reason (it is true, God blessed this country with a vast array of beautiful landscapes, but for the most part, the culture is universal from coast to coast). There are things we can learn from other cultures; things that will help us see ourselves and where we are going.

I was reading a novel this summer and came across a quote that said: "America doesn't export tourists, it exports culture." In other affluent countries, it is typical for people to travel to other countries. When surrounded by other cultures, you begin to look at things in a new way. If we continue to cut ourselves off from other cultures, we will become ignorant of where we are heading.

In the same way, if we fail to watch how the church is changing and being affected by culture, the church is going to be blind to see the direction it is heading. If the church does not see where it is going, history may attempt to repeat itself and the world will need another Martin Luther.

When we look at our own lives, we notice it is hard to be content with what God has blessed us with when we are so busily involved in our culture. However, Paul hints to us that we can be content with something simple: faith. He says: "I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength."

The main problem we have as Americans is that we think we have to do everything. We think everything requires a certain amount of work that needs to be done. It can be exhausting. Christianity is attractive and yet repulsive because we must let go of some of our control. We must acknowledge that it is God doing the work through us; it is God in control. So, even if we have uncomfortable lives by the measure of our society, holding a faith in Jesus that influences everything we do teaches us to give up our control so we can be content with what He has blessed us with.

Someone once told me that Christianity is counter-cultural. If that is so, maybe God is telling you to disregard that old adage, "Early to bed, early to rise..." for the sake of something simple, like having a conversation with someone; a conversation that God may use to change a life. Trust that He will do the work and trust that all you must do is be a vessel through which He can speak.

Caught in the Wind

As my time dwindles away here in Grand Teton National Park I find myself learning to accept what God has placed in front of me. There are so many blessings He has showered upon me thus far. Kayla and I led worship for three weeks at Colter Bay. We were able to worship with hundreds of people from every background and denomination: Amish Mennonite, Lutheran, Baptist, Mormon, etc. During one of our services we even reach a personal record of 70 people. During other services we even drew close to 50 people.
After a couple of our services, people even began clapping (hopefully, they were giving glory to Jesus and not us). It is also reassuring to have people tell me they enjoyed worship when I see them in the gift shop. However, not every service was spectacular.
For a couple of the services, Kayla and I showed up while being less than fully prepared; we started the whole service off on a bad foot and hindered people's worship of Jesus just because of our failure to come ready and with a humble heart.

It is often difficult to keep myself humble and a lowly servant for Christ as far as giving of my time. For example, I want to selfishly spend every second of my time doing adventurous things or just hanging out with friends. I slip into the mental indulgence of telling myself to make the most of my time here. My problem is in the way I inherently worded that sentence. I should say that I want to make the most of the time allotted me here. It is simply hard for me to comprehend that the time allotted to me is not my time. Leading these services really forces me to come to terms with that. I am praying and working for a change.

As far as work goes, I have surpassed the half way point of my contract with Signal Mountain Lodge and other friends are beginning to leave here, even though it seems our friendships have just begun. I am trying to relish the moments God is allowing me to share with friends who are still here. However, there has been talk among a few of us about working at a ski resort this winter, which would mean I would be temporarily extending my time out here. Deciding what to do next has been a struggle and I have been occasionally talking with a ACMNP support staff member about this. We have had long talks, gone bird watching, and wolf watching (and not seen any wolves) while talking about vocation and calling. It is so much easier to get into deep conversations with people while secluded in the wilderness. Just this past week I had the great opportunity of hiking with a Mormon. He shared some great insight with me about what he and other Mormons believe. They are not as crazy as the polygamy-crazed people others make them out to be.

If this entry has not made it evident yet, then I will explicitly state that I have been thinking about time lately. I preached last week on priorities and how our faith has to be the rock foundation upon which we build the rest of our lives. A wise man once filled a jar with rocks until everyone told him it was full. After that, he poured pebbles into the jar and everyone again agreed it was full. Finally the man topped off the jar with sand that fell between the rocks and pebbles. Everything can fit, but only in a certain order. The importance of the rocks, pebbles, sand is that you remember when to put them in your jar. The importance of rocks, pebbles, and sand is that you remember when too put them in your jar. The key to understanding is all in where you place your priorities. As Christians, we must see following Jesus as utmost importance. Our faith in Jesus must be the rock in our life that comes first, while the pebbles and sand are things that can come secondary.

Also, a lady in the gift shop asked me today if I had kids. Ah! Really, me? Kids? I started screaming under my skin. I guess I am starting to lose my hair. If anyone asks I will tell them I am trading my hair in exchange for wisdom. I think it is a fair trade...

So, as it goes, my life is certainly up in the air right now. I feel like it might be caught in the wind. With time, we will see where God directs my life. Maybe it will take a year or two for Him to reveal exactly where I need to go, but I will not let that stop me from trying to show others the light of Christ wherever I am. Maybe when God has me floating up here in the air He can use me to shine even farther than when I am on the ground.

Bear Encounters of the Third Kind

Finding a bear here in the park is by no means unheard of, but it is still a special occasion when you get to see one. The first bear I saw was on a float trip down the river. The bear was walking behind some trees in the opposite direction of the river's flow- two words to describe my view of the first bear are: quick and obscured. Although the bear was moving in no hurry, he was gone as quickly as he appeared. The second time I saw a bear was from inside a car as we drove to the town of Jackson. The bear was a quarter-mile away on the side of a hill. I don't think anyone even cared enough to stop and observe. I guess being on-time for Transformers 2 was more appealing to everyone else. Altogether, my two views of bears were lackluster in every way imaginable. What I had wanted to see was a bear come out of nowhere and roll down a hill, careening into the side of an unsuspecting deer and take a monster-sized bite out of it. I wanted to see the circle of life. Well actually, I just wanted intense action; I wanted nature in its rawest state. The third time I saw a bear, I would get my chance.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X1GdZI1oPEE

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Okay, so I didn't actually get to see that but my story was close to being as exhilarating as watching a domesticated bear ride a moped in circles. Unfortunately, Murphy's Law came into play on my third bear viewing experience as I did not have my camera with me even though I take it with me everywhere.

Dancing in my underwear for the Olympics won me free dinner and it was when we were coming back from our free victory dinner that we first saw the bear action begin.

Riding in an open air Jeep Wrangler, we pulled off the road onto a gravel overlook that had an uninterrupted view of the low grasslands in front of Jackson Lake. On most days, herds of Elk can be seen eating in the grassland around dusk. It just so happened to be one of those days around that time. The elk where peacefully munching away until something spooked the entire herd into running. Then, out of the tall grass stumbled a burly grizzly bear. It took a moment before we realized what we saw, and by the time we did, the bear had broken into a sprint after the elk. The bear moved quickly even though it was not graceful. With each and every step, the bear was moving hundreds of pounds of muscle, fat, and fur, but when the bear got up to speed its momentum was unstoppable. A crash course with one of the elk would easily crush it into the ground and disable any option of escape.

The pursuit began with the chasing of the entire herd. Moving as one mass, the herd would run slower than they could run individually. Occasionally, a few elk would break off of the group and, when this happened, the bear would kick it into high gear. The elk was barely able to run at a higher speed than the bear but it was just enough to not get caught. However, the bear tried to cut corners and make up any distance it could in hopes a young elk would trip and fall victim. The bear's chance for dinner were fairly high since the young elk were still learning how to completely harness the mobility of their legs- insufficient practice could have resulted in a life-ending small stumble.
The rest of the herd stopped running as soon they were no longer being pursued. Even if the bear was a couple dozen yards away, the herd would not move unless directly threatened. Either out of laziness or intelligence (conserving all energy possible) the herd was doing the bare minimum to keep a distance from the bear.

We leaned out the Jeep and watched the bear chase the elk in circles around the open grassland. Every now and then, a couple cars began to stop alongside the road because they saw us pulled over. For several minutes we all watched the bear in pursuit. Every couple of minutes the bear would stop to catch his breath. During one of these breath-takers, a decision was made by someone to drive the Jeep back home and grab some binoculars and a camera. The rest of us were too enthralled by what was going on in front of us to leave. We hopped out of the Jeep and watched the bear chase the elk into a different field before it disappeared into the tall grass once again.
Time moved slowly as we waited for the bear to reappear. We waited as the sun began falling behind the mountains. Infrequently, we saw elk moving in our direction through the tall grass but our eyes could not catch a glimpse of the bear. We scanned the grass relentlessly until, finally, I saw a brown object moving in the grass 100 yards in front of us. About 15 seconds later, an elk popped out of the tall grass. My hopes were squashed; it was just an elk, but I didn't think about why the elk was coming out of the grass: the elk was running from the bear. A few seconds after the elk came out of the brush, the bear stumbled out as well.

By now, a dozen cars had stopped, including our returning Jeep with a camera and binoculars. People began to point and talk excitedly as the bear sat down to rest 30 yards away. A minute or so later the bear decided to get up and walk west alongside the bottom of the hill which we were all watching from. He disappeared into thick brush and we decided to take action and predict where he would show up next.

We drove down the road and staked out our positions as we waited. No bear showed up. We waited more until we got back in the Jeep and headed to where we had last saw the bear. Upon on our return we found dozens upon dozens of more cars and people. It had become a zoo. Listening to people's words and the tone of voice which they used, I searched for strangers to inadvertently tell me where the best spot to see the bear was. The pacing was frantic and we could sense that the people were close to being able to see the bear even though no one could. Judging from the fact that the bear did not head west like we had anticipated, I headed to the easternmost point of the of where people had gathered. I assumed the bear must have simply gone in the other direction.
As soon as I arrived, a young girl climbed up on top of her family's SUV and spotted the bear. Standing on my tippy-toes I caught a glimpse of the bear moving east in the brush. The road headed west as well, parallel to the bear so I began to walk on the road until I was stopped by an off-duty Ranger. Almost losing her voice in the excitement, I did not hear her until her second warning. After she told me that she thought the bear might cross the road I stopped walking and flagged the Jeep to come down over by me. As the Jeep pulled up, I had to explain that the bear was right up to our right and was moving west along the road.

I grabbed the roll bars of the Jeep and jumped in the backseat and we drove slowly on the road. Our eyes scoured the brush like our lives depended on it until the Jeep suddenly stopped. My boss, who was riding shotgun, saw something moving to our right and the driver had stopped. Sure enough, twenty yards off the road was the bear, moseying through the bushes. Cars parked behind us and cars parked in front of us, the stood alone on the road. We had found the only view of the bear.
In the bushes, the bear continued walking parallel to the road until he took a turn onto a game trail. The trail had switched the bear's path from directly parallel to directly perpendicular to the road. As quickly as the bear turned onto the path, I traced the path as it came up the ditch and onto the road. I was able to trace the trail because I was staring directly down it. The Jeep had become parked directly in obstruction of the bear's path. If the bear was planning on crossing the road, it was going to walk next to our Jeep.



With each passing second, the bear was drawing closer on a dead set path to the Jeep. In the backseat I was sitting on the far side, away from the bear, and my coworker Liz was sitting on the closer side. As the bear climbed the ditch, I waited for the Jeep to start moving, but it didn't. Liz began to lean back and frantically slide across the seat, away from the bear. In contrast, I reacted by leaning forward and trying to slide closer, for a better view. Each step the bear took towards the Jeep, the friction between Liz and I became more intense. I couldn't get enough. I wanted to have the best view possible. I wanted to get as close as possible, and that is when I realized the bear was on the road, within ten feet of us. The driver finally decided to inch the Jeep forward because the bumbling bear showed no signs of stopping on its path. The movement was not aggressive as he walked behind our Jeep. I could have jumped out and hugged the bear if I didn't value my life. Its fur was scraggly and its eyes were dark. It paid no mind to the crowd of tourists that had come to watch it. It simply continued on the trail across the road until it was climbing down the ditch on the other side. I looked in front of us and I looked behind us. We were still alone on the road. Behind us stood a crowd of people watching our encounter with the bear. A barrier of fifty feet floated between the sane tourists and us. We fumbled with the camera as the bear disappeared into the brush, and just like that, the bear was gone.

High off the adrenaline rush, we thought we could try and predict the next spot where the bear would come out. We rushed over to another area with an open field and an open view. A caravan of cars followed us, assuming we knew something they did not. Our reputation had been established among the tourists and our followers wanted what we had. Unfortunately, our luck and impeccable timing had run out.

We headed home as the last light of twilight evaporated into the summer sky. All in all, it was an exciting run in with a bear. On second thought, maybe I would rather watch a bear master the art of moped riding. One thing I learned when reading Guns, Germs, and Steel is that certain animals cannot be domesticated. Seeing as bears are an animal that cannot be completely domesticated, teaching a bear to ride moped is quite a feat. I mean, who thinks of these things? A bear riding a moped is comic genius but someone's face probably got mauled off in the process. I guess that is the price we pay for thinking we can control and harness everything in the world. In fact, I'll probably die being stupid and stubborn in the face of something I cannot control. I simply trust that God has a plan for me to carry out before that happens.

Preconceptions: The World Upside-Down

God has a funny way of telling me I'm wrong: He turns my world upside-down.

This past week I went camping with some friends in Montana. I had to ask off of work in order to go and was excited for the camping but not exactly excited about who would be joining me. I had talked very briefly with an individual who was going on the trip but I had not gotten to know this person well enough to see any common ground we could possibly share. To be blunt, I did not think I would enjoy this person's company. There was a slight fear that this person may detract from my enjoyment of the trip. As a result, I was hesitant about the trip, but the idea is comical to me now, as if my enjoyment was something I inherently deserved.

Within the first night of the trip, my preconceptions had already been broken down.

As we sat around the campfire, we talked of education and theoretical things and inevitably wound up on religion. Hours passed as we shared our definitions of faith in comparison to reason and science. The more I listened and the more I spoke, the more I saw common ground. In our differences we had similarities, and in our similarities we had differences.

The following day I was talking one-on-one with this person about preconceptions. She began to tell me about her very own preconceptions of another person and the effort it takes to get past an initial understanding of someone. Internally, I began to ask myself: why is it that our natural tendency is to judge and assume things about others? Just hours before I had assumed this person was self-centered and all surface and therefore, I was incapable of imagining her any other way. Yet, God turned my world upside down so I could see things how they really are. Like the human eye, the things we see are upside-down and need to be flipped right-side up in order to be interpreted.

As my eyes turned what they saw upside-down, I learned that the problem was with me and not the other person. I was viewing everything upside-down. My preconceptions were hindering my own view of reality by turning them upside-down. I was using a method of looking at things that assumed the upside-down way I saw life was really the right-side up. Just as I am so often wrong, God gently revealed to me that my perception of things is skewed and that I need help to see things right. I need lenses that refract light to flip things around. I need lenses only God can give me. Hopefully I can have the humility to pray for a new understanding and receive glasses that see the world right-side up.

The Basis of Religion

Here I am finishing work and grabbing some grub before bed and I find myself pounding out the nitty-gritty of morality and the ideals among humanity with a Buddhist, a Unitarian Universalist, and some fellow Christians. This comes after a night of listening to a new aged lady go on and on about how we are a microcosm of the universe and how the stars are our cells and our cells are the stars because we all come from the same. She believed that, since I was born in the 80s, I am an Indigo child, as opposed to a Rainbow child. The same lady claimed to be from the future and from Jupiter. To most people, she would sound crazy but her charisma and passion seemed to capture the attention of many of the people around. Especially when she got everyone involved in her drum séance and then proceeded to literally give everyone a crystal. I went back to my room and somehow ended up watching ALF on youtube. I'm surprised I didn't have nightmares. I was terrified. Nights like that fill me with joy to be a Christian. Nights like that make me stand assured in my faith. Nights like that also raise deep dwelling doubts in me. Thoughts sometimes linger.

This comes after a week where a few friends and I decided to celebrate the summer solstice by going out for a few beers. Conversations changed from sports, to life, to religion. I drifted in and out of attention as a seemingly random hand guided the topic of discussion to religion. Eventually, we started talking about morality as a universal basis for all religion. I snapped back into the conversation and proclaimed that morals are not the basis of religion. I might have spoke to soon. The night ended but my thoughts did not. More and more I thought about what I had said and more and more I thought about the differences between religions.

The next week, a few of us got together to talk religion again, and by this time I was solid in my statement (at least about Christianity) the morals where not the basis. When I was hiking with Henry, he made a great point that with every question science answers, another question is raised. As far as I know, science will always be inadequate when it comes to ultimate proof. At some level, you have to grapple with the idea of creation's origin. How did something come from nothing? Look at a spoon, it is made of a combination of metals, derived from the earth and manufactured somewhere on its path to your mouth. But before that, where did those metals come from? What were those minerals before heat and other factors changed their nature? Unless one believes everything has always existed, the spoon had to have come from somewhere. It is here that I find an example of faith.

If what we know exists, didn't something have to have brought it into existence? This belief that something/someone brought creation into existence is what I feel underlies the basis of Christianity: a faith. The faith that underlies Christianity is not the faith of a God at the origin of creation but the faith that Jesus Christ is God's son who died for us and will come again. I cannot speak for all religions in saying that faith underlies religion but I brought this up to my Buddhist friend and he is currently thinking about the basis of Buddhism.

To others, the basis of religion may be perceived as morality but the morals are just an outgrowth of something deeper. The way I see it, after you dig past the visible layer of morality, Christianity has a faith that rests as its basis.

Words of Encouragement

I haven't used this blog very much to talk about what has been going on in my life besides all the adventures. In actuality, I have been quite active without going on any large adventures. The past two weeks have had several highs and lows, from intentionally putting myself through public degradation to having meaningful one-to-one conversations with a friend while hiking by the light of the moon. Even this very morning has had both highs and lows.

I woke up at seven this morning and went for a run with Kayla, one of my fellow ACMNP (A Christian Ministry in the National Parks) affiliates. It was good to get up and get my blood flowing first thing in the morning while enjoying the cool morning air before the afternoon heat kicks in. When I returned, my roommate was packing his bags. It seemed like a déjà vu from last week, when he was packing his bag and planning on leaving because of issues related to alcohol. Last week he got to stay but he was never completely unpacked by the time he found out he needed to go home to be with his family this week. It was sad to see him go so suddenly.

I finally got to see some moose and bears! Hurrah!

A couple nights this week I took advantage of the full moon and clear skies. A group of us jumped into the lake Tuesday night and howled at the moon. The water was, and I'm starting to think it will always be, freezing cold.
On Monday night, Henry, a friend living in the room next to me, decided to hike up Signal Mountain with me at 11pm. It was a great chance to just get away from the typical party noise of the dorms. We walked through open hillsides where the moon let us see clearly and we walked through forested areas where all we could see were shadows. We managed to do the entire hike solely by the light of the moon. From the top of Signal Mountain, the Jackson sage-flats were fully illuminated in a cool blue light below us.

Henry and I are both the type of people who prefer one-to-one conversations, as opposed to group conversation, because we tend to be reserved in large groups. There is something about group conversation that prevents us from expressing who we are. Maybe my pride tries to defend me by not letting me talk about anything of meaning or maybe there is just not enough opportunity for expression in group conversation. Either way, it often seems as though group conversation can take on a competitive nature, where you have to fight for your voice to be heard. Regardless, this hike provided both Henry and I with a great chance to connect, especially since a bunch of people decided not to follow through with their word about joining us on the hike. We had some great conversations, talking about the big and little things in life.

I have been camping the past two weekends with most of the other ACMNP kids here in Grand Teton. It has been a great experience for us all to spend some time together, since we are spread out throughout the park the rest of the week. We are even beginning to have ACMNP alumi join us on our adventures.

While hiking through a cloud of misquitoes, I definitely overdosed on DEET a couple days ago. I also made the mistake of breathing through my mouth and inhaling mosquitoes on four separate occasions. I woke up the next morning with either the West Nile Virus or a blood-deet level past the legal limit. I spent the next half day unable to stand up straight. I had no idea bug spray could be so potent.

The past couple weeks we had Staff Olympics. I had participated in a relay race and beach volleyball, but last Wednesday marked the finale to all Olympic events: the talent show.

I like to dance. Most of the time I enjoy dancing when others are participating and not watching. There are two times when I have had to dance for public display in broad daylight. One time was when I tried out for the Calvin mascot, the other time was for this talent show. When I tried out for the mascot, I was only being judged by a private committee. For this talent show, I was not only being watched and judged by a committee and the majority of the staff, I had to do it in my underwear. The only plus side to this mayhem was that it was a means to an end.

Prior to the show, my team was tied for first place and two events remained: team banner and talent show. Someone on my team decided it might be good idea to re-enact "Risky Business" by dancing in our underwear, so I grabbed Bob Seger's "Old Time Rock and Roll" and was ready for action. Sadly, the person who came up with the idea also opted not to join us in the actual festivities. In fact, only two brave souls were willing to participate in the festivities composed of public degradation. I must admit that it was quite a challenge to get up on stage in front of 100 or so of my co-workers and dance in my underwear, but I did it. The price we paid with our dignity bought us the prize we sought. Even though we did not place 1st, 2nd, or 3rd for our embarrassment, we were able to grab participation points and seal our lead in first place for the Olympics. The gold was ours.


Although I do not believe we ever got the respect we deserved for taking first place in the Olympics, I have received recognition in several other ways. Last week I bumped into the general manager of Signal Mountain Lodge and he told me that, despite arriving later than my coworkers, I was leading the gift shop in comment cards from the customers. I was pleasantly shocked to hear this.

As far as worship services have been going, we are finally starting to have people show up now that the rain has stopped. I preached the last weekend in June and received some encouraging words. A member of our support committee, Jim, came to one of our morning services. He had been a pastor up until his retirement and was impressed with my sermon. He came up to me after the service and talked about his experience preaching. Prior to my message, I had mentioned I would be speaking my sermon from a manuscript. After the service, Jim told me not to worry about reading because it meant I had spent time in preparation. He told me, "the word of God is too important to be preached on a whim."
Later that morning, at the next service, I met JD Wetterling, an author and former fighter pilot traveling with his wife. JD and I also talked after the service. He too had mentioned that he really respected my sermon and even asked if he could post it on his website. If you would like to check out his site or read my sermon, it is on: jdwetterling.com

That same night, the National Director of ACMNP came to our 7:30 pm service and encouraged Katelyn and I about our worship style. He also spoke highly of my writing when I introduced myself at a ACMNP staff and alumi meeting the next day.

For the 4th of July, we celebrated America by eating fondue and going to a bluegrass concert. Although it was not quite up to par with past celebrations, involving inanimate cuddlables strapped to explosives, it was still a good time.

All in all, the highs and lows of the past two weeks have left me wondering where the summer is going and how to make to the most out of what I have left. My time for writing has certainly been curtailed by an increased social life but I believe I shall persevere. Altogether, I really appreciated all the kind words people have had to say to me over the past weeks. Thanks for your support! With your help, I am learning to be as encouraging as you have all been to me. Hope you are all enjoying each and every summer day as God gives it to you new every morning.