Sacred Spaces

 Five years ago, after contemplating leaving ministry all together, Zach and I made the decision to seek a new church appointment in another conference of the United Methodist Church.  We got offered an appointment in rural Montana, pastoring three small churches. As scary as it was we jumped at the chance to try something new. Within two weeks I had us packed and we loaded a truck, two vehicles and a trailer and began our two day drive north from Alamogordo, New Mexico. Neither of us had been north of Denver so we were going sight unseen to a new adventure.

As I drove, with two kids, a dog, and a fish, each mile that was new to us built the excitement, we eagerly ate up the new vistas that we passed through. I remember driving over the Montana border and taking in a deep breath.  Home. This is our new home. 

We pulled into our new town around sundown. The house had been left unlocked and when we entered we were greeted by an array of local gifts, food, and greetings from our new church. Next door at the church the church administrator was working in the garden, greeting the dogs and us with open arms and excitement. The next few days were busy with unloading, unpacking, and exploring our new home. 

Excitement. Anxiety. Joy. Uncertainty. All that and more but we had made that leap and now it was time to make the most of if.

Our first full weekend there we were given entrance into Glacier National Park so we loaded up the kids and drove up to a part of the park called Two Medicine. There were people there but not overwhelmingly so. We were able to find a parking spot and throughout the day we snacked, hiked, skipped rocks and breathed in the slightly smokey air. For a good while we sat on the beach of Two Medicine Lake and gazed out at the water. It was just what we needed. Later I learned just how meaningful this time was to my husband.  He preached about this day on his first Sunday here in Bozeman.

We left an extremely toxic and unhealthy situation in New Mexico. As I previously stated, Zach was so burned by what was happening in the church that he was sending his resume out to other organizations. He was hurt and exhausted in the worst way. Unknown to me at the time, as he sat by a lake in Montana, listening to the kids play, the birds chirp, and the wind blow, a sense of calm reassurance washed over him. He knew, without a doubt, that we were just where we needed to be.

Zach centering himself at Two Medicine Lake in East Glacier.

Though that time and space holds a certain sacredness for all of us, for me another place tops Two Medicine. Not long after this trip we once again loaded in the car and went to explore our new home. We followed a road past a reservoir and into the mountains. There's a place, not too far in, where you can cross a bridge over a small river. We pulled off and spent a good amount of time playing, sitting, and taking deep breaths of slightly smokey air. 

This place was it for me. This place amongst the trees and by the moving water became integral to my own healing and acceptance of our new existence. This place would be where we took my parents on their one and only trip to Montana to see us. This is where I would watch my mom, weary in both body and soul from fighting cancer, stand and breathe in her own healing breaths. This place would be were Zach would take me whenever I was feeling overburden by life. This is the place we would go to right before we left Montana to move to Wyoming. One last breath.

When we found out we were moving to Bozeman we promised our oldest that we would try our hardest to make a trip back to Choteau so she could spend sometime with her friends. We made that trip this weekend, loading up the camper and making that three hour drive.

It was a lovely day, visiting with old friends, visiting our old haunts, enjoying some of the best ice cream. We then started the short drive up to our favorite little bridge into a small campsite where we quickly parked and set up. Soon we were walking down the hill to sit by the river. I sat with a huge grin on my face, so content watching my silly husband and kids laughing and playing together. I went and stood on the bridge and watched my family enjoying a place so familiar to them. Unexpectedly I became overwhelmed by emotion as all the memories of that place and the feelings attached to it washed over me. 

It amazes me how places, nature in particular can become such sacred, meaningful places as we are living our lives. We have moved around quite a bit, lived in four states, explored and enjoyed many wonderful and beautiful areas, but there is something about this place in particular that was exactly what I needed at a pivotal point in my own growth, and because of that, some place that many may see as insignificant is, to me, holy ground.

There are many wonderful places that can be found all over this great creation. Have you found healing in nature? I'd love to hear about it. As always, thanks for reading.

Most recent trip to my sacred place.

Last trip before we moved.

Soaking up some Montana before leaving.

Introducing my parents to some of our favorite places. It was cold and windy but still so special.

First trip. Smoke filled the air but it didn't bother us.

Hello Blog. It's me, Mikel

 Stress. Joy. Excitement. Uncertainty. Anxiety. Gratefulness. Fear. Exhaustion.

I have been asked often lately how I'm feeling about our most recent move.  I usually answer with something generic like "Oh, it's going as well as can be expected" or "We are getting there." I certainly don't answer truthfully. How could I possibly? Many people get it, to some degree at least.  Many people don't. And some people just don't really care.

Transition. 

As a mother to three and especially as a mother to a teenager in high school I find that I am almost always worrying about something. I constantly second guess my words, my actions, and my decisions, concerned about how they may affect my children both in the present and long term. 

I didn't choose to be married to a clergy person.  I didn't plan to one day be raising pastor kids. I didn't foresee a life that would have me moving my family and all my possessions 7 times in 12 years, calling four different states home.  But, here we are. 

I certainly hope to call this new place home for a long while.  I really hope to see at least two of my children graduate from the same high school. Hope. Not certainty.  That's were the fear comes in. The "what ifs" creep into my thoughts. 

Hope.

We all have things we hope to see, hope to experience, hope not to experience. When you fully understand that there are many tings outside of your control that can shatter that hope in a second, then you experience helplessness. Our lives are controlled by other people.  Our home is owned by an entity. Our income relies on the generosity of others. Our yearly appointment relies on a group of people meeting together to discern who goes to what church. We only have control over our own reactions. I only have control over myself and that's terrifying. How do I make it all ok?

Mourning.

We move once again.  We leave. We say good bye. We start over. We live in disappointment and dashed expectations. We understand we can not control how other people react. We refill pantries and refrigerators.  We navigate new towns. We organize new kitchens. We struggle to find something to feed the children after long days at a new job and unpacking. We come to grips with being far away from family, friends we know, an existence we became used to. We mourn what is no more.  

Joy.

Joy surrounds us in our new adventures. Joy is found in the face of my children as they meet a new friend. Joy is present when I sit and enjoy a cup of coffee from a fun mug in a freshly decorated new house.  Joy is in a welcoming smile from someone who is glad to see you.  Joy is sitting across from my husband as he experiences a new brewery.  Joy is in discovery.

Life Unexpected.

Each day we start anew. We try to find comfort in the chaos. We live, we love, we sleep, we clean, we do copious amounts of laundry. It's normal. A new normal. 

We put a smile on our face and excitement in the voice because the younger humans in our house need it. Make it home. Make it ok. Give them hope. I can't let myself be weighed down by the to-dos, the uncertainty, the socializing when all my introverted heart wants to do is stay home and read a book. 

I cant control other people. I cant control how my children feel about things. I cant control much about this life, but I can control how I feel and react. 

Thanks for reading. Thank you for the prayers. Thank you for being a part of our lives even when we don't always see you.