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.

Reflections

 It's been so long since I sat myself down to write something that I almost don't know where to begin.  I imagine most people forgot I even had a "blog" (is it even considered a blog anymore if you haven't written in it for years?).  There have been moments throughout the past few years that I thought to myself that I should sit down and pen those thoughts to paper, so to speak, but have either lacked the discipline, motivation, or thought that some things were better left unsaid.  So here I find myself, not knowing for sure what has made this moment any different than before. 

I read over my last blog post, in which I discussed our big move to Montana, and all the emotions that went with that transition.  Now, here I am again, months after another move, this time to Wyoming, having experienced many of the same emotions, only now coupled with this year being, well, it being 2020 (you guys feel me).  

This morning I have spent time working on my calendar.  Every year I create a calendar on Shutterfly with all our favorite photos from the year before.  I will hang it in my kitchen and use it almost as a journal, recording important, and not so important, moments that happen.  I always get nostalgic when I am looking through all the photos I have taken but this year I felt something akin to sadness.  Why?

Just a couple weeks ago I was having a conversation about this year with someone.  She made a comment that was something like,"I haven't done a thing this year!"  Of course we did acknowledge the big election which was...something. And, of course, I understand what she was saying, many people didn't have a lot of activity happen.  Most of us dutifully stayed at home, we quarantined, we refrained from travel.  However, that doesn't mean things didn't happen to you.

As I looked over my year in picture form, starting with January, I noticed many things.  I had literally no pictures for the month of January.  For one short moment I questioned this.  How can I have no pictures? Me? Then it hit,  I was in mourning.  I don't know that I could tell you anything that happened that month.  I remember going to therapy once a week, and that's about it.  February was better, we took the kids skiing and being in the outdoors, even in the snowy cold, did (and still does) wonders for my soul.  Spring came and with it so did COVID and the shutdown.  We tried our best to make the best of this new reality we were living.  We powered through at-home learning, played outside when weather permitted, did our best to celebrate three birthdays in the most meaningful ways we could, and spent a lot of time as a family.  Man, it was hard.  In the midst of all that, we also learned we were moving.

Moving was NOT on our radar.  It was scary, and sad, and frustrating, and exciting all at the same time.  We had to buy a house!  We had to buy a house a state away in the middle of a pandemic!  We had to say our goodbyes, pack, and try to get in as much of Montana as we could, in the midst of a pandemic.  I wouldn't recommend it.  Once more, as with every move we have made, we had to face the hurt and pain of being immediately "removed" from peoples lives.  We had people immediately unfriend us on facebook, others just ignored us if we say them in public.  Others were much more upfront, and told us how angry they were, and still others, said they were angry but understood.  Even now, months later, I mourn those relationships.  It's never easy to move.  All of our moves have been difficult, but as I looked at the pictures, capturing our last moments in Montana, I grieve all over again.  Zach and I both have found that we call Montana "home."  I also grieve what we had, the memories we made, the adventures we went on.  It's another byproduct of this year, our adventures have all but screeched to a halt.  Those activities we did, the places we visited during our time in Montana were meaningful for a number of reasons.  They helped us heal from a bad situation in New Mexico.  They helped distract us from not being able to help out with our families in Texas.  They gave us moments of clarity and cleansing when the world became too much to bear.

Now, I don't want you to think the move was all bad.  It hasn't been.  Wyoming has its own beauty and we have lots of plans to get out and adventure more when the world calms down.  The church here has been very welcoming, even with all that is working against us.  The kids love their schools and have found ways to get involved and fit in.  We love our new home and the fact that it is ours. We have found joy here in many ways.  

But still, sadness hits today.  I know I'm not alone in mourning what once was.  I think it's okay to have those emotions, especially this year.  I am grateful for each of you, for allowing me to process through those feelings.  So often we force ourselves to push through, without proper reflection and commiserating. Im a big believer in feeling your emotions and then choosing not to dwell in the bad ones.  This year has been harder in practice, I've lost my mother, I've lost my home, I've lost relationships, but I know I am not alone.  This year has be wrought with divisions, arguments, political strife, death, illness, anger and so much more.  I hope that for many of us will come to realize that if nothing else, we are not alone in our many emotions. 

Now, I will pack up that sadness and lay it down.  I'm going to find joy and excitement in what is to come for us.  I will find hope in the unknown and peace in the knowing that we are never, ever alone.

Thanks for reading.

Greetings from Big Sky Country

It's been a long while since I last wrote and it's been almost as long since we moved across country to our new home in Montana.  So much about our lives have changed in such a short amount of time, that the abruptness of our new life has stunned me into a writer's block. 

I've been struck at how quickly life can change.  It's never easy.  Thankfully, this new path we are on, we feel 100% called to, called to Montana, called to this place, called to this new ministry.  That belief has made things easier. 

We love this new home.  It's different here, and not in a bad way.  So much of what I have longed for can be found in this small, charming town.  I finally feel like my kids are able to enjoy aspects of my childhood that I thought they'd forever miss out on.  The kids have settled in nicely, enjoying school, making friends, getting involved in activities.   It feels...settled.

It hasn't been completely easy.  We are a long way off from anything that used to be familiar.  There was a time that I would expect to see someone I knew when I went to a local store, only to be reminded that I didn't know anyone for thousands of miles.  That's a very lonely feeling.  There were many days where I lingered at our new house, unpacking boxes, settling our belongings, and would be overcome with homesickness.  If only I could have gone "home" for a weekend, I thought, just a couple of days with loved ones...

It's been six months since our rushed move north.  We have experienced so much.  We saw two new states that none of us had seen before.  We drove into a new town, up to a new house, that we had only seen in a few pictures.  We experienced the loneliness of not seeing family for many months.  We have seen scenes from this country that take your breath away with it's grandness and beauty, experiencing nature in a new and amazing way.  We have lived through the worst winter (and still not over we hear) that we have ever imagined.  We have made many new relationships, been embraced by three church congregations in three different towns.  We have also lost friends we thought we had, people from previous churches who refused to even say goodbye to us before we left town.  We have experienced the heart ache of being misunderstood.  We have seen the confusion in our children's eyes as they struggled to understand why there were being discarded.

It's never easy. 

Being in this profession, and living this life, we expect challenges.  We know change will be coming around the bend.  We know, never to get too comfortable.  We also know that this is a life with great reward.

For know we can say, we are home.  We are where we belong.  We know this part of our path is true, and good, and exactly where we are supposed to be.  We know who loves us, and we know Him who loves us most.  It may never be easy, but it is definitely worth it. 

We are living our adventure.