Childlike and Grownup

I told a friend in an email tonight that in some ways I spent the weekend revisiting some of the very few extraordinarily happy childhood memories I have. And, that in some ways, I spent the weekend dealing with the very adult realities of my day to day life. And that I walked and prayed amidst both of those spaces.

The route home from where we hiked and where I sat in a mountain meadow to pray yesterday goes very near a spot I loved in childhood. As a pastor's family, we weren't exactly well off, and, since my dad's vacation preference tended towards any place as far from other human beings as possible, we spent a lot of family vacations camping. I hate camping. But I have a few very fond memories of some moments spent in Peter Lougheed Provincial Park. Riding our bicycles along some stunning paths in the mountains to the Boulton store to get ice cream for an after supper treat on a sunny day. Riding on a cooler day to the interpretive centre and learning about this beautiful terrain we were staying in. Sitting around a campfire as dad made stories like the chronicles of Narnia come alive for us. (In fact, he made them so alive, that, when the first Narnia movie was released, when I was asked my opinion of it, my ultimate response was, "the characters were better in my head.) Those moments didn't last all that long - we grew older and the family dynamics changed. But there are precious memories for me in those moments with the five of us watching the chipmunks while eating icecream at Boulton, or sitting around the campfire, singing, or listening to dad read to us. In knowing the deep love and attention of my parents.

Whenever I get the chance, I revisit those memories just a little, with a stop at the Boulton store for ice cream. L and I stopped there, and at the interpretive centre yesterday afternoon.

I also have very fond memories of the amusement park rides at Heritage Park historical village. It's a little known fact that I love amusement park rides (unless the stated goal of the ride is to make me so dizzy, or flip me around so many times that I can't help but become ill.) And I'm just enough of a history geek to love the simple, old-fashioned rides at Heritage Park. L and I went to the park today to explore, and we went of some of my favorite rides. (I think the only one we really missed was the merry-go-round, and, since we bought season passes, I'm sure we'll catch it next time!) There are photos from that trip here. I remember specific moments on each of the rides as a child. But mostly I remember feeling very care-free in those moments. Sitting on the swings and feeling as if I was flying. Knowing deep joy.

It isn't that I had a particularly terrible childhood, just one that was full of other pulls and demands on my parent's time and attention. One that was shaped by the deep challenges they were facing as individuals and as a couple. I wrote here, some time ago now, about the shift that took place, about what it was like to see the changes from those carefree moments take hold. So those moments of pure love and joy and basking in the attention of family are precious to me. And I take time to remember them, to hold them close and rest in them for a moment.

And yet, those remembrances were juxtaposed this weekend with the very real grown up challenges of life. Of broken relationships, and aching hearts. Of struggling and wrestling and praying. Of paying bills and wondering how long my car will last, and where I'll ever find the finances to replace it. Of climbing a mountain in desperation to pray, because so many things weighed heavily on my heart.

And so, in the midst of that juxtaposition, I walk away from this weekend holding close the memory of hearing scripture prayed aloud, and of deeply hurting prayers scrawled in a journal. But also holding close the taste of ice cream melting on my tongue, and the feeling of flying and the laughter bursting forth as I was on the swings, or the moment when your stomach drops out for the first time on the ferris wheel.

Grown-up and childlike, all mashed together in a twisted, oddly, possibly hopeful mess.

Yesterday...

This photo was taken as I sat in a meadow yesterday. There is something powerful for me, in speaking the words of scripture aloud in creation. I do it rarely, and only when my heart is deeply moved to that space. But yesterday was one of those days.

Because I was praying for a friend who was pilgrimaging, for many (myself included) who find themselves walking in the valley of weeping, and because I was in some ways pilgrimaging myself, it was Psalm 84 that was deeply on my heart. Particularly the bits I've made italic:

Psalm 84 (NLT)

How lovely is your dwelling place,
O Lord of Heaven’s Armies.
I long, yes, I faint with longing
to enter the courts of the Lord.
With my whole being, body and soul,
I will shout joyfully to the living God.
Even the sparrow finds a home,
and the swallow builds her nest and raises her young
at a place near your altar,
O Lord of Heaven’s Armies, my King and my God!
What joy for those who can live in your house,
always singing your praises.
Interlude

What joy for those whose strength comes from the Lord,
who have set their minds on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem.
When they walk through the Valley of Weeping,
it will become a place of refreshing springs.
The autumn rains will clothe it with blessings.
They will continue to grow stronger,
and each of them will appear before God in Jerusalem.

O Lord God of Heaven’s Armies, hear my prayer.
Listen, O God of Jacob.
Interlude

O God, look with favor upon the king, our shield!
Show favor to the one you have anointed.

A single day in your courts
is better than a thousand anywhere else!
I would rather be a gatekeeper in the house of my God
than live the good life in the homes of the wicked.
For the Lord God is our sun and our shield.
He gives us grace and glory.
The Lord will withhold no good thing
from those who do what is right.
O Lord of Heaven’s Armies,
what joy for those who trust in you.

In true "God" fashion, I comment to L, who accompanied me on the hike, that I wished I could read part of that particular passage from Eugene Peterson's "The Message" because I loved how he translated verses 5-7. I laughed aloud when L confirmed that I was thinking about the Message, and then dug in her bag to hand me a copy. The verses I was looking for read as follows:

And how blessed all those in whom you live,
whose lives become roads you travel;
They wind through lonesome valleys, come upon brooks,
discover cool springs and pools brimming with rain!
God-traveled, these roads curve up the mountain, and
at the last turn—Zion! God in full view!

As I finished reading these aloud as well, L. quietly wandered further down into the meadow, to give me some space to simply wrap myself in a shawl, and sit to journal, and pray and listen.

I'd Forgotten...

I'd forgotten what it was like to try to sleep with sunburn.

Especially when you're a side sleeper, who tends to move around quite a bit in their sleep.

I spent the night laying on my back, trying to be as still as possible, because every time I moved, I rubbed the bad burns on both shoulders.

Let's just say that I'm grateful for aloe vera gel, and that thankful only a few of the many spots on which I'm currently sporting sunburn, are severe.

From today...

Most of today will remain out of the spotlight of the blog, shared perhaps with a few dear friends, or simply held close to my heart.

It was a much needed day. Hard, full, rich, beautiful.

But here are a few thoughts I'm thinking at the end of the day, ranging from the very mundane, to the less mundane:

• I've lived my whole life near the mountains. I've given others advice on how to dress and/or prepare for the mountain conditions. I've been hiking since I was a very small child. I have very fair skin, and quite recently reminded someone else that when they were climbing a mountain, they needed to take greater care to wear sunscreen, as you burn more quickly at altitude. Did I remember my own advice today? Well, yes and no. I did apply sunscreen, but apparently I did a rather haphazard job of it, and apparently didn't use a high enough SPF (another absolute rookies mistake I should know better than to have made.) The result is that I have badly sunburnt shoulders, semi-badly burnt arms, a badly burnt hand, and a semi badly burnt neck and upper chest (joys of a scoop neck tank top).
• The fortune from the fortune cookie that came with the Vietnamese take-out I picked up for dinner tonight read: You will step on the soil of many countries in your lifetime. I don't put any stock in those fortunes, but it did make me smile, as a sort of little way of confirming some things I talked with Jesus about today.
• I shouldn't be surprised that in many ways attending church tonight was a continuation of the conversation I'd been having with Jesus all day. I should have expected that I felt prompted to make it back to the city in time for me to shower (after hiking, I was, to use my kiwi roommate's phrase "grubby") and head for church. But I didn't expect it, and was caught off guard as the service went on.
• I'm thinking about a line from the Message translation of Psalm 84: "How blessed all those in whom you live, whose lives become roads you travel."

And with that, I think I'll say goodnight and head off to sit with my journal for a time.

Not Quite as Planned (Pilgrimaging)

What I'm doing today is not what I'd planned for much of the last year to be doing today.

I was supposed to join a friend for the final leg of her pilgrimage journey, to join her in support and to pray for and with her. Due to a number of factors, practical and deeply personal, it's not going to be possible for me to join her.

Instead, I've chosen to make something of an annual "pilgrimage" of my own. I'm heading to a special spot on top of a mountain. A sort of hidden meadow. The plan is to hike up, and then simply sit for a while. There are, I think, tears that need to be shed (if they will only fall...). There is most definitely the need to pray. And there is a desperate longing and hope that in this place, which Jesus seems to call me to on an annual basis, I will be able to meet Jesus. That he will draw near, and if not speak, simply hold me, and my broken and exhausted heart.

And I'll be joining with my friend in spirit, praying for her as she makes the final leg of her journey, arrives at her destination, and also seeks to meet with Jesus and hear his heart for her. I'm grateful, at least, that God transcends time and distance, and that, at least in prayer, I can draw near to her today, when I can't join her physically.