Seeing eternity in a corner of the forest

Sometimes, I just need a day away from it all. A mini-vacation, somewhere between a long look out the window, and a "shut down the office and leave for a week or two" vacation.

So, Wednesday, I attended a two-hour meeting three-and-a-half hours from home. You read that right -- I drove for seven hours total to be in a two-hour meeting. Had it been in Yuma or Globe, I wouldn't have considered it. But the opportunity to drive to the White Mountains ... ah, sure. Bring it on.

I consider naturalist John Muir to be one of my favorite theologians. Muir saw the wilderness as the threshold to all that is sacred. "The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness, Muir remarked.

Before I leave the Prescott National Forest, the high desert landscape turns into conifer-covered ridges. The temperature drops 10 degrees and the scent of pine and juniper refreshes me. It's a world away from the scrub vegetation around Prescott Valley. I drive into clouds towering before me, dropping moisture everywhere. I leave the car window wide open until the rain blows in my window.

Perfection.

I arrive at Lions Camp Tatiyee in mid-afternoon. Envision a summer camp, and this will be nothing like it. There's a lake for fishing, but most of the swimming takes place in an indoor pool equipped with ramps and lifts. No steps up to the cabins. No dirt trails -- the roadways are paved and wide enough for golf carts and vehicles. Camp Tatiyee hosts groups of kids and adults with various disabilities all summer long. Everything has to be accessible for the campers who are blind, deaf, orthopedically and sensory challenged. Some weeks, there is one staff member for each camper.

Our business for the day involves making sure this property and these facilities are available to the people of Arizona in perpetuity. For going on 60 years, the camp has been a contracted user of Forest Service land. With a recent land exchange, the Lions of Arizona will own the land under all of these buildings. A legacy.

Priority for the drive home -- dinner and something to drink. Then I soak up the heady forest fragrance until my ribs hurt. I savor the invigorating breeze like a captive embraces freedom. It's so unlike the inoperable windows and filtered air of my office.

Every trip to Lakeside-Pinetop takes me through a memorial -- my own term for how humans can destroy nature's magnificence in a careless instant. Even 16 years after Rodeo-Chediski ravaged the Apache Sitgreaves National Forest, swathes of uncleared, charred trunks stand over brown and gray detritus, where proud Ponderosas reigned at the turn of the century. A doe and her fawn graze at the edge of the highway.

Pulling off, I drive along a forest road. Three large RVs are parked among the disbursed campsites, portraits of those who pull their urban life into the wilderness, like kids who dip their toes off the dock, but never throw themselves into the lake.

It's there that I find it, the hidden nursery of oaks, ponderosas and junipers among the stumps, milkwood and charred remains. Infants tended by the forest family. In 80 years, they will be the gigantic spreading timber that will be touched off again: by lightning, an abandoned campfire, an arsonist. Fire is the catalyst of change, arbitrarily wiping out trees, brush, undergrowth and living things.

A microcosm of life, of time, of eternity itself. Growing. Falling. Renewing. Dying.

The way the Church is dying, Spirit whispered, and I connected the dots. Survivors standing tall, keeping watch over deadfall and the barren landscape. Hanging on to the proud traditions of liturgy and classes, buildings and rituals. And among the ashes, infants are born that won’t know the Church as it was, discovering their own ways to live, growing into the Mystery, and abiding in it. As I trust the regeneration cycles of the forests, the uplift of new landscapes and the renewing of all that is, I will trust that the Church will survive, despite its fires and devastation, and people will keep finding their way to the Creator of it all.

Gradually the darkness recedes

I've worked solely with people with mental-health issues, some of them with severe mental illness, for the past 20 months. Prior to that, I saw a lot of people with mental-health issues in my work in poverty relief and as a benefits counselor to people with disabilities. And most of that time, I felt like I was on the outside, looking at people from a different place.
 
I've always considered that my mental state was a little on the low side of normal, whatever "normal" is. I may have experienced a little more depression and despair than most people, but not enough to consider therapy or medication.
 
That changed this fall.
 
Over the past 2 1/2 years, I've had my share of loss. My only sister died 2 1/2 years ago. Then, in succession, my son moved out of our house, I lost a job I loved, my husband's physical pain and physical limitations weren't resolved by surgery, my son moved out of state, and I lost a good friend. My mood tanked. And in early October, I seriously considered taking my own life.
 
How does that happen? How does a mental-health professional -- and all the people around her -- overlook the warning signs?
 
How do you boil a frog? Gradually. The frog never notices.
 
The dark clouds of despair roll in like fog, gently, until they surround you. The isolation starts slowly, as you make excuses for quitting groups and not seeing friends. And things that once brought joy lose their attraction. Pretty soon, being secluded with no distractions is your goal for the day. And death is the final seclusion.
 
I couldn't see it coming. And that afternoon, secluded for hours, swallowing a handful of pills would have been so easy.
 
Even typing the words this moment sends shivers up my neck.
 
Major depressive disorder was the diagnosis when the doctor spoke to me. One drug had no effect. A second drug, now in its third week, seems to be reversing my course. I've let the people closest to me know what nearly happened, and what I'm doing to deal with it. Besides my medication, I am starting grief therapy next week.
 
I realize how close I came to ending my life, and it terrifies me. I have a new level of empathy for the people I work with daily. How hard life can be. How much most of us take for granted. How fortunate I am to be here and writing this.
 
How grateful I am for today.

Filled with immense gratitude despite the current chaos

I was made to do something. Too much time on my hands drives me over the edge. And I've had too much time for the past week.

Tomorrow will be two weeks since my official last day of work, but the end came a week and a half before that. I'm so stubborn that my gut told me this was over for the past four months, and I've lingered on, hoping to re-engage. Like a friend told me this morning, "you've known, but didn't do anything. So the universe hit you over the head with a 2x4." Pretty astute. That Monday, I felt like I had been hit by a 2x4. And the concussion hasn't healed.

This afternoon, another friend checked in with me. I told her I had an interview Tuesday, and hoped that this wouldn't go on very long.

"It won't -- have you met you?"

I have to say, that phrase just planted me. Yeah. I have. I've met this woman who has pulled all-nighters to make sure a project comes off perfectly or grant is submitted on time. I've met this woman who can pull together and motivate amazing teams of people. I've met the woman who hasn't found a technology she can't conquer. I've met this woman who worked two jobs while finishing her degree -- an opportunity she earned by writing an essay in a national contest. I know her. I'd have hired her twin in a second.

I like me. I'm damn proud of me. And some company or organization is going to be lucky as heck to get me. I'm tired of underselling myself.

That's my motivational speech for the day.

But there's more. Whether I'm hired next week or months from now, I'm just filled with gratitude. I have the best friends anyone could ask for. I just counted 11 amazing woman and one special guy friend. The kind that would drop anything for me in a minute, or kick my butt when needed. And I'd do the same for any of them. Seriously? Who has 12 friends like that? 10 years ago, I knew just one of these people. I'm so grateful for the people in my life.

Going to the mountain to find life again

It was the last of my 2015 resolutions: "I love living in Arizona and enjoy being outdoors. Hike at least twice a month." Almost an afterthought to the other six, and certainly no stretch. That's just 24 hikes a year.

Has my life come to this? That I have to resolve to hike? That I have to clear my schedule to do what I love?

That I have to lose my job to be myself?

Valentine's Day, 2015. I've dropped my husband at work. Six and a half hours until the end of his shift, and I'm headed for Granite Basin Lake and Trail 261. Destination: the mountaintop.

Granite Mountain has always seemed like sacred space to me since I moved to Prescott Valley. As one orients to a new community, some landmarks are necessary, and mountains are visible boundaries. Granite Dells, Thumb Butte, the Bradshaws, Glassford Hill,Spruce Mountain, Mingus Mountain, the San Francisco Peaks in the distance. And Granite Mountain.

Rugged, bare Granite Mountain, where water and wind and earth and fire collide. I hiked it in April 2007, on a day with nary a care in the world, blue sky, artistic clouds providing a backdrop to the sand and rust blends of the earth and lush green vegetation.

Today was different. As if allegory for my life was necessary, the trail provided it.

The descent from a trailhead crosses from the real world into a mystic place, a wilderness where I could disappear forever if that was my intent. And today that thought lingers. Lots of people would know and care, but at this juncture, would it make that much difference? I resist the impulse to actually think through the answer.

Juniper and ponderosa pine, scrub oak and mesquite scents mingle to fill my lungs with the final border that my eyes and ears already have accepted. I am as alone as I will be today, and I am grateful.

Snow melt continues to create little water crossings through and over the trail. As the vegetation thins, bare winter trees turn to bare blackened trees. The fire zone. Here the Hotshots fought, just two weeks before their deaths in Yarnell. Here the fire blazed out of control, but storm and wind created no confusion or trap. Alligator junipers became charcoal monuments to a wilderness in a cycle of death and life. At one tiny rivulet, eroded granite soil shows a line of baby ferns, a fragile and unique ecosystem that will last just a few weeks.


Surrounded by burned trees,
Death.
But not quiet.
There a bee buzzes, a bird sings.
And in the distance, a mountain.
Granite. And water. Life begins again.

Out of darkness, light
Out of death, life.
The cycle continues.

The trail turns and steepens. Past the barrier fence that leads to Little Granite Mountain, and a certain alligator juniper. The one that serves as a monument for the Yarnell 19 (or is it 20 -- certainly the remaining young man's life is altered forever).

My last major hike didn't go so well. Heat, pollens and pace combined to set off my asthma. I pause for water and my inhaler before I start the climb. I write some notes, let two groups of hikers pass.

I lift up my eyes to the hills—
    from where will my help come?
My help comes from the Lord,
    who made heaven and earth.

The opening two verses of Psalm 121 bury themselves in my head, an apt thought. Where does my help come from? Mike's surgery and my joblessness have left us reeling...what a strange transition. Will I find something better? How long before our finances will force my decisions?Will I have to grasp something for income and then look for a meaningful, fulfilling job later? How soon before Mike will return to work? When that happens, will he want to return to this or something more?

Back on the trail. Switchbacks and rock hopping to the top. I pass a group of local hikers, headed back down, hear a snatch of conversation about their weekly trek. Today is madness, they're saying, the Presidents' Day weekend free public lands crowd. One of them knows me from somewhere and stops to note, "If a few more people were on the top, Granite Mountain would fall over, making it much easier to reach the summit." I chuckle. I'm one of the not-so-often hikers who is cluttering up the trail today.

I make the decision not to climb around the summit to the trail's end, where the crowd will be. Instead, I will climb to the saddle and take a less known short hike to the back face, looking out over Williamson Valley rather than the lake. Hopefully, I will have a little more solitude.

Charred trees continue to surround the trail, occasionally seeing one that only took half a hit. One side dead, the other side still struggling and green. Is that me? Dead on one side, still struggling on the other? I take a broad view and realize the fire claimed everything in my view. The Valley of the Shadow of Death. Can I still recite the entire Psalm from memory. Yes. Because the valley part is a bit too close right now, literally and figuratively. What's next?

...I will fear no evil for thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou anointest my head with oil, my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

I can't find any, but I know the burned soil and trees will give way to seedlings soon. It's the cycle of life in a forest:

Where there are trees, there will be fire;
where there is fire, there will be ashes;
where there are ashes, there will be seedlings;
where there are seedlings, there will be trees.

I'm tired, and my poetry is gone. I'm focused on reaching the top, and it's just a couple more switchbacks away. Oddly, the charred trees give way to bright white ones. The fire was hottest here, at the top, and all the bark is gone, but the fire raged past without charring the timber. Like a handful of transfiguration statues, the trees mark the turnoff to the north face. I drop my backpack and grab water and an energy bar.

The fire didn't completely claim this face. While some blackened trees are

evident, I'm surrounded by healthy green ponderosa, brimming with pinecones. Grassy hillsides and moss. I've passed through.

I'm alone for approximately five minutes before seven teenagers find the same turn. The main trail is the other way, I tell them. But one girl says she doesn't care -- this is beautiful. Music blares from their iPhones, laughter and friendly chatter surround me. For a moment, I am irritated. Then I realize -- it is the noise of life. I am surrounded by joy and life and humanity. The valley is gone. Celebrate...you are new again.

It is time to come down from the mountain. My eyes stray away from the dead trees surrounding me, and I keep finding signs of life. New prickly pear cactus. Tiny wildflowers. The bright mahogany branches of manzanita.


Through the dead parts, through the darkness,
Through the regrets, through the emptiness,
Until one by one, you find the living again,
And you move on.

What if...?

I'm a different person than I was six months ago.

I don't know of any other half-year in my life that has changed my outlook, my passions, my spiritual center more than this one has. A chance comment in March turned into a lunch, a plan, study, and a weekly commitment. Along the way, there have been joys and challenges, frustrations and discoveries. And I'm not sure where this journey will lead.

I knew writing would re-open some history, which it has. I still agonize over words and ideas, and become obsessive. I stress myself out over things said and unsaid.

Writing for worship takes hours of study time, reflection and feedback from my mentor. It's like an intense Bible study, a creative writing exercise and a technical writing project blended together. The funny thing is, it seems to have this unusual way of changing me, far more than I've impacted it.

Every week, some new insight fills me with wonder. It would have made sense to be filled with revelations in the first weeks, but the inspiration seems to grow stronger, week to week. The past two epiphanies have left me awed.

Along the way, I've joined a handbell ensemble, started to practice the keyboard again, and remembered that I have a gift for taking photos. I've committed to learning the multimedia system for worship and have been nominated for church council.

And I've lost my alienation with celebrating the anniversary of the Christmas event, year in and year out. I've gained a new perspective on heaven and hell, the second coming and the desire to change my corner of this world in the meantime. I've gained a connection between my daily life and my spiritual life that never existed, a blurring of the lines that makes me wonder where one part of my life ends and another one begins.

I sometimes wonder what would have happened had God succeeded in that little tug at my heart at 16, when several people around me nudged me toward ministry: pastoral ministry or another call. And I turned my back, went to school and wrote professionally for 15 years. Had I gone another direction, would I have always longed for the writing opportunity I missed? Is this God's way of redirecting, refocusing, repurposing me, some 35 years later?

I will never know. God is patient and finds ways to use us for good, wherever we are, at the moment in life when we turn around and look. God's love has no limit.

No stones here

I read something I wish I could wish away. Someone I know is in trouble.

I wish my first thoughts were as gentle and Christ-like as I hoped they would be in this situation. But they weren't. Here they are, raw and uncensored:

"How could you? You've ruined everything. You had everything going for you, and you destroyed it."

It took me most of a day to get that out of my head. I have a long way to go on my Christian walk.

Finally, the part of me that I'm nurturing came out: "pray for him. pray for his family. pray for the other people affected by this. pray that good will come out of this. because when God's involved, everything works for good."

I'm working my way up to expressing that to him. Not sure what I'm going to say, or maybe I'm just going to express it in a note. Something encouraging. Something that wraps him in grace, because he is a man of God, human and frail, but first a child of our heavenly father.

"We all are broken-heartened at the recent news. But the good news is that we are all broken. Period. We've all made bad choices that we've regretted and hurt other people. There are no stones here. We're praying for you and your family. We love you. I hope the people in your life surround you with love and forgiveness."

Impatiently waiting for pretty much everything

I've said it before, and I'll say it again for emphasis: There's no such thing (to me) as patiently waiting.

I'm impatient by nature. I want things to happen now, if not yesterday. At a meeting today, people chuckled when I clapped at someone else's comment that we can't wait any longer. I imagine they were surprised I didn't say it first. Apparently I have a comrade in arms.

It's been a challenging week. I'm waiting for something to happen that I'd prefer not happen at all. But if it has to happen, get it over with. I don't want to wait until next week. Just do it.

I remember my mother saying, "Watched water never boils." Actually, if you have enough flame under a kettle, it has to boil. But her point was, why stand there and watch it? It will seem to take longer that way. Go do something else.

So I'm not watching the pot. The week is busy enough. I have more than enough to do without fretting over something that will come anyway. There's almost nothing I can do about it.

There are lots of frustrations in life like that. Meetings that are cancelled or delayed. Having to wait at an office. Getting stuck in traffic. Watching the little wheel spin when a computer process takes a minute. Submitting an application and waiting for an answer.

Most of the time, that's just the way it is. Sometimes it's someone's decision or inaction that causes it. While there's rarely a point to getting steamed, I often do. I recall hearing that getting angry shortens your life. So, how much time have I lost?

The more I have to wait, the less patience I seem to have. I'm not getting any better at being patient. In fact, I seem to be growing more impatient about my impatience. Frustrated about being frustrated.

I'm not watching the kettle, or thinking about the week-off event. I think I'm going to bed. I have no impatience about sleep at all.

Change and changing, our actions impact the lives of others

In His time. Such a hard lesson for me to learn. I think I've learned it and then I find myself out there doing it again, pushing for something to happen. Thinking that I have any control. And finding myself up against a wall of impossibility. Frustrating myself. Blaming others. Then realizing it wasn't mine to determine at all.

We live in this world. We have the ability to act and move, communicate and feel. But in all truth, if we are who we say we are -- Whose we say we are -- we are acting as His hands, feet, mouth and ears in this place. He is in control. Or She, if you like that picture better.

I catch myself observing life sometimes as if I was the third person, watching the interactions. Just glimpses of how our moments are so fleeting, yet so complex. We see many of our moments wasted, even as we know our time is so limited. Why can't this succeed? We needed this to happen yesterday. Come on! Don't you see how important this is?

Then, all of a sudden, a break through. Something changes. Another situation comes along to impact the first one, like the pool ball from a second shot dropping the stationery ball into the pocket. Except it's not so random. It occurred, not in my time, but His time, the right time.

Something happened today that I've waited three years to happen. Impatient me, thinking my frustrated thoughts about the people who had the ability to act and didn't. Yet something changed, and started the chain in motion. In September 2014, it was the right time.

How often am I on the other side, not acting when someone desperately wants something to happen? Frustrated that life is happening too slowly, an excruciatingly painful pace.  

Here I am, actor and acted upon, changed and changing. A piece of His hands and feet, interdependent on others to be the continuation of the action.

Welcome to the world. Be the change you want to see, because the piece that only He sees is that we are the change agent for someone else.

A gift of time to contemplate and do the inner work

What do you do when you expect a 90-minute blank space in the schedule? It would be so easy these days to fill it with music, phone conversations, information and other electronic noise.

But today marked a drive to the Valley. And I don't drive to the Valley much anymore. With my mind filled with personal, local and global concerns, I shut off the radio and phone and just allowed myself the space to "contemplate the universe." Connect with myself and God. Listen. Wait.

I went back to a place I experienced in my teen years. Solitude. Before the noise of life increased. No cell phones. No internet. Our youth pastor collected some appliance boxes and directed us to occupy said cardboard. She wasn't thinking homeless simulation. Just isolation. Time to think and pray and be alone with ourselves. At the time, I didn't want to admit it was actually useful. Today I could use that box more often. I'd add a cushion or pillow -- these 50-year-old bones don't do unpadded surfaces very well these days.

Rarely is there a time of solitude from my first waking moment to my last thought before sleep takes over. Spouse. Co-workers. Work. Music. Social media. Email. Maybe television or a movie. If there's any solitude, it's in my truck or the shower.

So, once I shared a few thoughts about current situations with God, I just let the time pass. And clearly, my mind wasn't vacant. "Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you."

Enemies? I don't really have them. But there are certainly people who rub me the wrong way and seem to do everything in their power to work against me. Just because there isn't outright warfare doesn't mean there's not conflict.

It's easy to pray for the people you like. It's fairly easy to pray for those you don't know very well. But how about those people who oppose you? Those who you don't think deserve a shot of your attention? The words catch in the back of your throat as you say, "God, I think ________ needs your help." Or better yet, "God, help me to see ____________ as a child of God with the gifts you have given him/her." A handful of names quickly came to mind, and will remain there until my prayers turn my heart.

Then add two more people to the list. My husband. Yesterday didn't go very well. And the last couple of days, and if I'm really truthful, the last couple of weeks. Lately, it doesn't take much to make one of us snap at the other. "Heal us, God. Work from within to knock down The Wall.*"

And then there's me. It's easy to pray for what I think I need, but harder to pray for what I actually need. Patience. Self-control. Harder still to look for those sharp edges that God still needs to wear down.

I love the way The Message explains this piece of the Sermon on the Mount that I've heard over and over. Matthew 5:43-48 ^43-47 “You’re familiar with the old written law, ‘Love your friend,’ and its unwritten companion, ‘Hate your enemy.’ I’m challenging that. I’m telling you to love your enemies. Let them bring out the best in you, not the worst. When someone gives you a hard time, respond with the energies of prayer, for then you are working out of your true selves, your God-created selves. This is what God does. He gives his best—the sun to warm and the rain to nourish—to everyone, regardless: the good and bad, the nice and nasty. If all you do is love the lovable, do you expect a bonus? Anybody can do that. If you simply say hello to those who greet you, do you expect a medal? Any run-of-the-mill sinner does that.
⁴⁸ “In a word, what I’m saying is, Grow up. You’re kingdom subjects. Now live like it. Live out your God-created identity. Live generously and graciously toward others, the way God lives toward you.”

*The Wall, an anonymous poem.

The Wall
Their wedding picture mocked them from the table,
These two whose minds no longer touched each other.
They lived with such a heavy barricade between them
That neither battering ram of words
Nor artilleries of touch could break it down.
Somewhere, between the oldest child's first tooth
And the youngest daughter's graduation,
They lost each other.
Throughout the years each slowly unraveled
That tangled ball of string called self,
And as they tugged at stubborn knots,
Each hid his searching from the other.
Sometimes she cried at night
And begged the whispering darkness to tell her who she was.
He lay beside her, snoring like a hibernating bear,
Unaware of her winter.
Once, after they had made love,
He wanted to tell her how afraid he was of dying,
But, fearing to show his naked soul,
He spoke instead about the beauty of her breasts.
She took a course in modern art,
Trying to find herself in colors splashed upon a canvas,
Complaining to other women about men who are insensitive.
He climbed into a tomb called "The Office,"
Wrapped his mind in a shroud of paper figures,
And buried himself in customers. Slowly, the wall between them rose,
Cemented by the mortar of indifference.
One day, reaching out to touch each other
They found a barrier they could not penetrate,
And recoiling from the coldness of the stone,
Each retreated from the stranger on the other side.
For when love dies, it is not in a moment of angry battle,
Nor when fiery bodies lose their heat.
It lies panting, exhausted,
Expiring at the bottom of a wall it could not scale.

When nothing is going your way, rejoice! Wait, what?

Disappointment. That feeling of wanting something that you didn't get. Whether it was the perfect marriage, the job offer or pay raise, the family relationships that others enjoy. Disappointment is a longing unsatisfied. It is often mixed with envy or frustration, grief or resentment.

Most of us could unload a litany of disappointments in our lives. I know it wouldn't be hard for me to create a pretty lengthy list, and go right back to the anger and sadness those occasions generated. So unfair. Why me?

The pragmatist in me tells me that digging up old hurts is unproductive. The jobs and job opportunities are gone. There are good and bad moments with family members. People move through your life like confetti -- only a few pieces stick. Projects that you work at sometimes fail, and sometimes are destroyed by other people. People aren't always fair and honest. You move on.

The inspirational part of me tries to find something positive to take from it. Looking back, the job probably wouldn't have been the best career move. Having to deal with tough family issues has made me a stronger person. I found something better after that opportunity crashed and burned.

I wish I were that perfect person who accepted and liked the way things turned out. But disappointments caused a lot of hurt in my life, hurt that continues to this day. I can't let go and the resentment eats at me. Hurt people hurt people. You can name it, talk about it, bury it, but no matter what you do, it still bubbles up or gushes a deadly, poisonous river of venom at some moment. Sometimes another person is the victim, but more often, the victim is me.

The Bible points to these moments as trials, and I know I'm failing miserably. Romans 5: 3-5 (NLT) says this: ³ We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. ⁴ And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation. ⁵ And this hope will not lead to disappointment. For we know how dearly God loves us, because he has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with his love.

Rejoice? I looked for some other translations, and the words only got harder. Celebrate, shout our praise, be glad? Sure, I'm throwing a party next time I experience a bad break. We can boast, we can take pride in...yep, surely that's the kind of event I want to brag about in my life. Paul, you're a better man than I am.

Paul ends up being my role model in the Bible more often than not. And in disappointments, I still have a long way to go before I can turn my mourning into dancing, my discouragement into celebration.

What happened?

When I was growing up, if there was a family that was struggling, grieving or somehow disrupted, the entire church, neighborhood or community would pitch in. Even up to 9/11, when the country experienced a tragedy, people pulled together, went to donate blood, went to Ground Zero, and gathered to pray.

What happened?

In the years since 2001, people's compassion has gone out the window. The left bashes the right, the red slams the blue, and people who are struggling somehow deserve it. The homeless and hungry don't deserve assistance -- they are weak and lazy. People who are earning minimum wage need to go out and find another job if they can't live on $7.25/hour ($290/week, gross pay).

Years ago, communities used to take pride in the accomplishments of their kids. How many seniors went to college, how many scholarships, how many military academy appointments were numbers about which a whole town would brag. Today, adults talk about how bad kids are, how today's kids are useless, and how they will never spend an extra dime on education.

From people losing their jobs when a factory closes to someone's health crisis, there's always a critic trying to blame those who are suffering. If people would have worked harder, they wouldn't have outsourced the jobs to China or Mexico. If people would just take better care of themselves we wouldn't be paying such exorbitant fees for health care.

Basically, the world has become a cold-hearted, mean-spirited, blame-the-victim place. Tough it out, take care of yourself, because no one is going to be there for you. I've got mine, and I don't need anything from anyone, so go away and leave me alone.

Read the comments after stories in the national and local news, and you wonder if you're still living in the same communities that existed before 2001. Could those same people be there? Are people suffering from hardening of the heart, mind and soul?

What happened?

Fueled by a divided political and media atmosphere, people have chosen sides. The undecided have jumped on the bandwagon of political conservatism. The right has become vocal: we need to protect what we have from the 47%. We're losing ground and only by keeping the other half in their place do we stay in ours.

Fear is paramount. We could become them in a heartbeat. We need to protect ourselves from losing anything.

Lost? We've already lost the important stuff. Justice, compassion and goodwill for our fellow man.

Gardens need tending, but the results are amazing

Not my cup runneth over. My baskets runneth over. I went to my garden plots today.

I reserved two garden plots at the Community Garden this year. My backyard garden has never grown particularly well. There's a couple of things about the Community Garden that beats backyard gardening. First, it's a community -- I've met some nice people. Second, there's an educational component. Third, the ground has been worked for a couple of years. And finally, it is fenced and locked. My dog can't dig around in it.

The downside is, it's not in my backyard. I have to go out of my way to go there. And the garden has acquired a creeping vine that comes up everywhere.

So, it's monsoon season. And it's been days since I've been there. And as soon as I arrived, two things became rather obvious. The weeds are way ahead. And I should have picked produce a couple of days ago. I had to toss a couple of tomatoes. Some of the beans are a little past their prime. But the one Walmart bag I brought for the harvesting was barely big enough. I walked out with it stuffed to the top with tomatoes, beans and peppers. When I went to fill my garden basket, it overflowed. Second basket was over halfway full of tomatoes. Wow.

There's something joyful and relaxing about working in the garden. I tilled that soil. I added alpaca manure. I planted some seeds, and look what happened. Plants came up and then the blossoms set. The little beans and tomatoes and peppers appeared. I waited until they were the right size and color, and voila! I'm sure I've already paid for my supplies in fresh produce. I know I've paid for it in satisfaction.

As I picked and pulled weeds, it occurred to me that we aren't that much different from what's growing in the plots. All of us need some sunlight and lots of water, some harvesting and a little weeding from time to time. We need the Gardener to keep us straight and well-tended. Gardens don't grow to perfection without oversight and tending.

I still have zucchini and butternut squash to come. Onions and carrots are growing under the surface. I saw a little lettuce that I wasn't sure was even going to sprout. I planted a coleus and some nasturtiums and they are gorgeous.

I have enough to share -- perhaps with co-workers, maybe down at Open Door. I will freeze some of the beans for this fall and winter. I've eaten a few beans and tomatoes straight out of the garden, the freshest harvest you can experience. Mmm -- nothing like the taste of totally fresh vegetables.

With love, to my son

I've lost the quote and cannot locate it. But it goes something like this: every parent has the right to believe their children are the world's smartest, most beautiful creations to ever walk this earth.

If not their parents, who else? Other parents should be wrapped in the same beliefs about their children. Childless people cannot relate to why this small being we created is so precious to us. Teachers, child care workers, medical professionals cannot choose between all of their precious charges. Nope, it's up to us as parents. Every child should feel unconditional love, and know that his or her parents madly love everything about him or her.

Today, as my son turns 24, I waited up until midnight to spring a dastardly deed on him -- posting younger pictures of him on Facebook and tagging him, so his friends would see them. I deserved everything he might say. Instead, he was the first person to say it: "I am adorable."

Are you kidding? Of course you're adorable: those blond curls before your first haircut when you were 2? The smile on your face when the lorikeets piled on you at the San Diego Zoo for the nectar you were holding? The same delight when the love of your life snuggled up against your shoulder. The kindness and gentleness, the playfulness and joy piled into that body since your first snuggles and hugs -- you ARE adorable. The best thing your dad and I ever did was decide to have you.

I'm not going into your moments. Everyone has them. As you grow up, they are becoming fewer and fewer, as you choose to put other people and priorities first. You are living on your own, so the moments we intersect are fewer, and mostly pleasant.

So, even if you have no blond curls, and your days of zoo visits have come and gone, you are adorable. Our faces light up every time we see you. The past 24 years have been the best ones of our lives, and we can't wait to watch your future keep unfolding.

And that's how we roll

My truck turned 10 this month. Well, maybe a little older than that, but that's when we brought Max home -- or really, he brought us home. Max is our 2004 Chevy Colorado.

Apparently, naming vehicles is a pretty common habit, judging from our online acquaintances. They're almost like family members. They go on family trips, accompany us every day. There's only one problem. Eventually, something happens. You decide to sell them. Or they die.

Then that anthropomorphism becomes an awkward moment. Do you mourn? Do you have a service? Do you just pretend you never named your vehicle and treated them like a family member, with a name, an age, and personality?

Max's brother Louie died this week. Louie is my husband's car. We think he's dead, anyway. The reality is that he could be resuscitated, but at a pretty high price. He's 21. Really old in car years. Not really worth it.

My son's car died a year ago. On the way to Flagstaff. Problem is, he was still making payments. So, he came to rest in our yard until my son can save the money to replace the engine. We thought that would have happened by now. Even though he moved out last year, he's been car-sharing with his dad until last week. Now neither of them has wheels.

That has caused a lot of stress at my house. My husband works and has other interests. My son has two jobs and a social life. I have one overwhelming job. Granted, the truck stays in the parking lot at my office 80% of the time. But when I need it, I need it. So now, it's crunch time.

Put the money into my son's vehicle? OK, but will he car-share with my husband? Buy another old car that will likely have issues? Buy a nicer car? Sorry, car payments aren't in our budget. Or try to limp by with one vehicle between three of us. Realistically, I don't think it's going to work for long.

I'm hoping that some miracle occurs to provide another vehicle, like someone that the guys know wants to get rid of a decently running vehicle for an affordable price. But the reality is, something is going to have to give, really soon. Preferably before something happens to my truck. I sure wish we had decent transit service.

Nature or nurture: What would have happened?

It takes me almost no time to fall asleep. At times, I wish I was an insomniac. I'd probably have solved the world's problems. Because it seems my best thoughts often come in the four minutes between laying my head on the pillow and falling asleep.

Four minutes. Sometimes even fewer. That's all it takes for me to meet the Sandman. If I want to do some reading or praying, I better not lie down. If I'm horizontal, the clock is ticking. Couch, bed or floor -- makes no difference. I can fall asleep at house parties and in the passenger seat of a car.

But in those four minutes, my mind goes so many places. Why are there so many religions? Why can't I find raspberry ripple ice cream? Where did the third generation of humans come from? Who came up with the idea of curling anyway? What would an outside observer of earth say about us?

That last question sends me into far more introspective areas. War. Capital punishment. The drug trade. Mental illness. Criminal justice. Capitalism. Homelessness. Hunger.

Was it design or happenstance that determined where I would be born, who my parents would be, who I would marry? Does the God who knows me control everything about my life, or some things, or nothing? Do my prayers change anything, or do I change when I put myself in a position to listen, focus and change?

But my most curious questions stay on that destiny topic. Was I destined to be a Christian, a Lutheran? Under other circumstances, would I have a large family and condemn homosexuality? Could I have ended up working in a factory, or playing music for a living? What if I had gone to a different college, or if I had finished my degree in 1986? What if I still worked in the media?

I keep coming back to a design -- I'm here because the One who put the universe into motion, who made the earth and all of its diverse living things, who died for a creation with flaws, wants me where I am. And without his direction, things wouldn't have happened this way.

Because I believe, I can contemplate a day when I am in the presence of the One who knows all the answers. And because eternity is eternity, He won't mind my curious questions. He will expect them, because He knows me.

Be nice to me...I gave blood today

Just a couple of facts to start this post (source: RedCrossBlood.org):

• Although an estimated 38% of the U.S. population is eligible to donate blood, less than 10% actually do each year.
• Blood cannot be manufactured – it can only come from generous donors.
• Type O-negative blood (red cells) can be transfused to patients of all blood types. It is always in great demand and often in short supply.

I donate blood for the cookies, and because I have an excuse to eat cookies without guilt every 8-16 weeks. I donate blood because it's a fast way to lose weight (a pint's a pound, right?) I donate blood for the cute "Be nice to me: I gave blood today" sticker. I donate blood because I like getting stuck with needles. I donate blood because I brag about how many gallons I've donated. I donate blood because the chaise lounges are a comfortable hangout and alternative to the coffee shop.

OK, I'm not giving up my day job to become a comedy writer. Donating blood isn't a natural subject for a comedy sketch.

Reality check: I'm not sure why I give blood. I have since I was 17 and in high school. It was the second time that I donated that sealed it. A Red Cross staff member took 30 seconds to tell me a fact that changed how I viewed the act. I don't know the exact words, but I paraphrase:

"Gail, we're collecting your blood today in what we call a quad-bag. You have O-negative blood, and we need that for preemie babies. Those little bags can be separated for blood transfusions for babies born too early, to save their lives."

Any discomfort, any frustration I had because I had to wait, anything else immediately left my mind. That staff member took the moment to put a tiny human face on what I just did, and made it personal. I was hooked. I donated in college. As a young adult through 15 years of reporting. And then I left the newspaper business and was looking for a meaningful full-time job.

One little ad in the newspaper. Community relations representative for United Blood Services. Oh, one more piece of information -- by that time, I had an 11-year-old son. A son who wouldn't be there except for a blood transfusion he had in the first days of his life. Preemie babies have a lot of blood tests, and he needed blood. Yes, that comment to me as a high school student came full circle in my adult years. And it had been a stranger who saved my son's life -- you don't get to give blood days after childbirth!

Blood drives were my life for more than three years. I established dozens of new drives, talked to groups and businesses, worked with community leaders and the media, and recruited new donors. I made cookies, cut up fruit, whatever it took to get people in the door. And I was able to donate every 56 days like clockwork.

From United Blood Services to Red Cross. I became a blood drive coordinator. And I'm still a regular -- although not that regular.

I discovered double red cell donations. Instead of giving a pint of whole blood, I could give two units of red cells, and get back my plasma and platelets. O-negative plasma and platelets, no big deal. But O-negative red cells? Critical stuff. Only 6 percent of the population has type O-negative. But it's the universal blood type that any person can use. So in an emergency, when there's no time to "type and cross-match," the medical staff grabs units of O-negative and transfuses. No questions asked.

Two units from one donor? All the better.

I donate blood because it saves lives. True statement. How many people can say they've saved lives? I have no doubt I have.

So you are burdened with worry -- don't add guilt too!

Worry. Then guilt.

Christians shouldn't worry, right? We have all those encouraging words in the Bible. If God is for us, who can be against us? God is faithful. He will uphold you with his strong right hand. Fear not, little flock.

So, if you're up at some disturbing hour of the night, upset about something in your life, you aren't very faithful. Whether that is a family member's problem, a job issue, finances, or something larger or smaller. Maybe it's a meeting you don't want to have. A test. An awkward visit from a family member. Or just a pile of smaller issues flooded out of proportion by too much coffee.

You've turned over the issue to God for days, or weeks, or years. But tonight, you can't sleep, you can't read, you can't push it aside. It's taken up all the space between your ears. Your remaining rational brain cells know there's absolutely nothing you can do, especially at 3 a.m. But there you are, pacing the floor, neck stiff from checking your email and Facebook again and again. You don't want to go back to bed and wake your sleepy spouse.

Then the guilt sets in. You've heard this before. Cast your concerns on Jesus. Turn it over in prayer and leave it with Him. Rest easy. He's a big enough God for all your cares. Stop worrying...I've got this one. If it was as easy as wiping a white board, or unloading your bucket. "All yours, Lord. I'm going back to sleep now." But the worry still is there, and joining it is guilt. Apparently, I wouldn't have gotten a couple steps on water. My mustard seed wouldn't have sprouted. Forget moving mountains, I couldn't move an ant hill.

So I tried to find that passage that tells me I'm unfaithful because I worry, and it doesn't show itself. I find lots of great advice: "Who can add a single hour to his life by worrying?" (Well, no one, I guess. Probably a few people have lost a few by worrying.) Trust in Him.

I think the guilt part was an added fear launched by a sermon long ago. Something to tie down the "take it to the Lord in prayer" scriptures. If you lay all those worries on Jesus, you're free. So if you're worried, you're really still laden with cares.

Sometimes the worries are heavy. Sometimes the coffee and cares won't let you sleep. Adding guilt doesn't help. Even if you share those worries with Jesus, you still are pained and upset. Know that the Lord hears your cares and is up all night with you. If you can cast them on Him and rest easy, great. If not, relax in a chair, picture Him holding you and all those troubles. Eventually, you may drift off in His arms. I often find myself comforted by that picture of a loving God and Father, the One who would love you, cares and all.

Love is patient and kind

Impatience. How frustrated I get when things happen on someone else's schedule. Something that I think should happen in an hour takes three. Something I want tomorrow takes a week to arrive. Even water takes too long to boil. I am, by nature, an impatient person.

At the same time, I've been on the receiving end of someone else's impatience. My husband or son, most often. Why was I 10 minutes late? Can we go already? Can't we do this errand some other time?

Unfortunately, I know why the frustration. I know other people don't share my priorities. What is important to me isn't important to them, and vice versa. And in many cases, I haven't allowed enough time for my task. The store doesn't have enough cashiers at the time I want to check out. The customer service department has a wait time of 20 minutes because I called at a high demand time. The highway isn't moving as fast as I want it to move, because many drivers are trying to get to the same place at the same time.

I get irritated. I grit my teeth. I try to go around the problem. And usually it gets me nowhere. Sometimes I am not very understanding. I am unpleasant to people who have no more control over the situation than I do.

Is it any wonder that the infamous words about love in 1 Corinthians 13 start out with "Love is patient and kind"? I'm thinking of these words today, my 29th anniversary. Paul must have understood so well that impatience and unkindness are relationship bridge-burners. I sit here, knowing that my impatience and unkindness to my best friend has been the cause of many arguments. And my lack of remorse and stubbornness has prolonged those uncomfortable moments.

Before our 30th anniversary, my goal is to work on my 1st Corinthians 13 faults. I stand convicted and human before these words of love's perfection. I am gifted with a husband who loves me so much, in spite of my faults.

Enough old, tired solutions

Yesterday I reached my limit. I'm so tired of hearing the same old tired complaints and non-solutions to our country's problems. It's time to move on.

Reality check #1 -- more jails and prisons doesn't stop crime. My county is pushing for a jail tax to build more jails, and threatening increased property taxes if we don't approve the sales tax. Putting criminals behind bars with other criminals only creates better criminals. When people come out of jail, they come out with no better skills, no further education. Instead, give inmates the option to train in skilled trades or take online courses -- the inmates would have labor assignments if they don't choose productive training. Once inmates have done their time, provide them with the means to have their records expunged or reduced to misdemeanor records for less severe crimes after a period of time, so felons can gain housing and work and actually move on with their lives.

Reality check #2 -- housing the homeless is less expensive than ignoring the problem -- by a factor of two to three times. Face it, very few people actually want to remain homeless. Given the option between living under a roof and living in a car or a tent, most people will choose a home. But many people have barriers to housing. Records. Substance abuse. Mental and physical disabilities. And they end up costing society in medical, criminal justice and other community challenges. Housing First is a model that allows people to become housed, gain case management to get back on their feet and receive the services they need. In many cases, people gain stability, jobs and reduced substance use.

Reality check #3 -- national hot button issues are resolvable. How long are our country's citizens going to believe that issues like health care, immigration, poverty, living-wage jobs, climate change and other issues are going to stay with us forever? I'm tired of watching the people in the spotlight spar and never bring the issues to a conclusion. When you sit down to talk with another citizen, even one on a different part of the political spectrum, we all have things in common. A family ought to be able to find a job that pays enough so they don't need benefits to get by, if they are truly working. People shouldn't have to sneak into our country -- we should have a process that is meaningful but reasonable to assure citizenship. Not having health care costs the American public more than everyone having a basic level of health care. We can do more environmentally to assure our future generations of a safe, livable world. There is so much more our country could be doing if we weren't wasting political energy on the fringes of these basic agreements.

Stalemate will continue until American public pulls together

Government of the people, by the people and for the people. I think that we have received what we've asked for. Our government is just like us.

Our President, Senate and Congress are so dysfunctional that government is at a standstill. No real legislation is being proposed. Republicans and Democrats won't reach across the aisle to create legislation that benefits the American public. Senate and Congress do not work together. The President won't work with Congress. The President is sued over executive orders, then reprimanded for not using executive orders. Congress tries to repeal the Affordable Care Act 50+ times.

CNN and Fox News choose sides and blame people and parties. Time passes. Issues arise. Politicians observe and do nothing. Government occasionally shuts down as the administrative and legislative branch play chicken with workers, agencies and the economy.

But are these top level politicians any different than all of us? We've chosen sides and we debate politics in the local coffeehouse, on social media and among family and friends. If we vote, our votes are as dysfunctional as our federal government. No real change takes place. The candidates mumble about the economy, immigration, jobs and corporations as people. But whether the faces in Washington change or not, the action doesn't.

Why should it? We're a divided country. They're a divided government. We asked for representative politics, and we got what we asked for.

The only way government will change is if we change. When we pull together and demand leaders that will work together and get government moving. When we force our elected leaders to lead or go away. It will take a combined effort from both parties' voters to force politicians to start taking action for America again.

Until that happens, elected officials will continue to grandstand to the media and keep government motionless. How long can we afford to have Washington make excuses about why nothing is being done? As long as we're willing to be divided by them.