Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Book teaser: End of Part 1 Beginning of Part 2 of "Living Waters" the book




About 2 years ago I started writing the story of my trip across the US when Reed and I left the army. That book was complete about a month before my dad passed..... or so I thought. It was evident that the book was not finished so while on bed rest, I'm writing again. This time, the story of what God did, and is doing, and what He does. So here is the last chapter in Part 1 and the beginning of Part 2. I hope you enjoy.





The following morning I made breakfast with chapped fingers and soar knuckles. We all pilled into my dads truck to travel the west end of the “going to the sun” road. We ended up taking the free shuttle to the information center at the top of the pass where we decided to hike up to “Hidden Lake”. We walked up the boardwalk in our tennis shoes, shorts and tank tops even though their was snow on the ground. Abigail and Tessah jetted on ahead. My mom lingered the most taking in the great mountainous formations that rocketed into the sky. When the boardwalk ended we entered Narnia. Small remains of glaciers were scattered about over rock tailings that were so colorful they seemed to be a mixture of a hundred different kind of stones. Further on a stream collected next to the path and then appeared the Mr.Thumnus of our Narnia. As I was much further ahead I looked back to see my mom taking pictures of something that was just out of view in the trees next to the trail. As I watched and wondered at what was now stopping a crowd, the grand white star of the show walked out of the trees into view. I had never seen a mountain goat in person before and had always expected them to be much smaller than the one that now entered my view. The goat  was at least as tall as me with his head raised up and was composed of pure muscle and snow white fur. The mountain goat is almost shaped like a mountain with the tallest point being at his shoulder and his head most often bowed in a grazing posture. The goat walked toward me ignoring the crowd that was no more than ten feet to his right. Distracted by the beautiful animal I hadn’t noticed that a mother goat and her kid had settled in the snow bank to nurse just above me. By then the male goat had made it up to where the rest of the group was. We marveled for a while at how friendly and docile these creatures were.  Someone told us that there were more goats just up the way so we continued on to the end of the trail and the spectacular view of hidden lake. The group of goats which were about seven now were all around us as we gazed out on the untouched aqua lake. There was not a manmade thing in sight, only mountain after mountain until our eyes could not make out what was in the furthest distance. The lake itself dropped off  out of view where presumably there was a large waterfall. The lake appeared to be hanging in the mountains much higher than any lake should be and so clear you could almost see right down to the deepest part. There are some places in this world that appear to be untouched by evil. I don’t know how a place like hidden lake in all it’s beauty could foster any bad thing. As we all looked out from a cliff at the beautiful view my mom was the only one not at peace as she yelled at Abigail and covered her eyes as my sister danced and taunted the edge of the cliff. She would continue this behavior for the next two years in her life decisions, dancing very close to a metaphorical cliff, torturing my parents as they watched and pleaded with her to stop.  Before we began our journey back down the trail I gathered some white fibers from a bush where a mountain goat had shed some of it’s winter coat. I fashioned the fibers into a bracelet for myself on the drive back down. It was the least valuable and the most valued of my souvenirs.  Around the campfire that night our whole group had a joyful air about us. Even my dad was in a playful mood. I took the opportunity to make the most of it. I darted into our trailer and returned with Reeds fishing hat, some bits of paper and a pen. I declared a battle of the sexes in a game of charades. Abigail had recently had her naval pierced and now dawned a dangling sparkly piece of metal in her abdomen. We teased her that is was a fishing lure that served as a lure for boys to be caught with. She caught a stray boy with it on her way back from the bathrooms and we invited him to play the game with us. I knew there was no chance of Reed playing with us so I deemed him judge and maker of the charades cards. One by one we all got up to make fools of ourselves sending the others into fits of laughter. The game ended when Abigails boy had to be cut loose and thrown back to his family. The fire wood was running low and the next day would be our last at Glacier National Park. So we all went to bed early in hopes of making our last day count. I was very reluctant to get back in the car the following morning but in parks like Yellowstone and Glacier there is no other way to see their vastness but by car. We took the two hour drive skirting the park in order to get to the east entrance. The road was rough and unkempt. I annoyed Reed with my complaining as we stared out the window until we both were shocked into excitement at the site of two familiar cyclists headed opposite our direction. “James and Laura!” we both shouted. I begged my dad to turn around because we knew the two but before I could explain the whole story of how we met our biking friends we were another ten minutes down the road. Fortunately Reed remembered that James had a GPS tracking device with him at all times and we decided we would find and visit James and Laura that evening. It was a two hour drive before we made it to the East entrance of the park. The mountainous views did not disappoint and we were all eager  to stretch our legs to find some off road scenery. So we stopped at the first trail head we came to inside the park. The trail crossed under the road giving us the option to go in two different directions. We thought we would try the shorter trail to the waterfall first and then chose another trail if we all wished to go further. The long drive had put a bur under Abigail’s saddle . She hurried us all along rudely  so we pushed her to the front of our crowd where she would create great gaps and then stand in a dramatic posture with one hand on her hip as she waited for us to catch up. She was even more frustrated when we made it to the waterfall because it had been such a short distance. We all ignored the annoyed teenager that seemed to be more focused on the calorie consumption of the hike than the relaxation and beautiful scenery. The waterfall itself reminded me of Lateral  Falls in the Columbia Gorge. It jetted out the side of the cliff where the rocks had pushed the falling creek sideways. Opposite the crooked falls  was a tilted rock the size of a large old growth tree that created sort of a balcony for one to climb up and view the falls from.  It was a more than worthy destination for such a short hike.  When we got back to the road where we had parked we all decided that we would like a bit of a longer hike and instead of going down into the valley we would travel up. The trial started out very steep and at first we weren’t sure that we wanted to go on at such a grueling incline so Reed ran up ahead to see if the grade changed in any way. After just a few seconds Reed returned to report that the trail did get easier ahead so we pressed on. The trsil was through an alpine woods with thick brush and trees well clothes in mosses of all colors and textures. As we were noticing the trees and their decoration we also noticed that one fallen tree had been overturned by a bear searching for insects. Our awareness of a possible bear encounter became more acute when further up the trail we spotted some bear skat that appeared to be less than a day old. We ordered Abigail and Tessah to stay close enough that we could see them. We only had one can of bear mase and we didn’t want to use it so Tessah whistled as she hiked intending to warn any nearby bear of her presence with the tune of “Deep and Wide” . We started to wonder just how long of a hike we had embarked on when we noticed that the hikers passing in our opposite direction were heavily loaded with gear and walked with hiking poles.  One of the passers by was nice enough to stop and chat with us a bit. He informed us that we were on a trail that went over a mountain pass and was about fifteen miles long. We knew that we couldn’t complete the trail that day. It was already nearing three o’clock and we had a hour long drive back to camp. The lone hiker assured us that is would be well worth it to continue at least another two miles where the creek would split in a wide valley and climb up a cliff into three great waterfalls. We were sold on the adventure so we waited for my parents to catch up and told them of the wonders ahead. As we pressed on the trees began to thin and bow down to the ever present wind there. The trees were subdued into strange bush like forms until there were no trees at all, just emerald grass that rolled out like a lush shag rug. The few pine  trees that dared to grow this high were twisted and deformed by the wind. Mountain flowers sprang up all around in shapes I had never seen before. One resembled a dandelion that had gone to seed, the kind you make a wish on but it’s stamens appeared to be covered in tiny feathers that swirled in and upward in motion. It so reminded me of something Dr.Seuse would have dreamed up. We hiked on through the lush grass that only ended for the mountain side shooting up on either side and in front of us.  The beauty of this place is so hard to describe. It’s places like this that fuel the heart to go, they command every heart to discover, to seek out who and what made them and what made the mountain valleys with the twisted trees and wild flowers under sister waterfalls. But maybe it wasn’t even the view of nature, maybe it was the view of my family, my loved ones beside, behind and in front of me walking in praise of the awesome creator that made my throat swell into a lump as I licked and pursed my lips to keep the tears from leaving my eyes.  The mountain flowers, Gods bouquet wooing our hearts.  When we came to the split in the creek the walls of the pass looked as if they  had been formed by some ancient civilization. They rose straight up with geometric shaped pillars. It was like God had raked the valley forming the creek and then left the rakes pattern in the cliffs.  I took every sight in with tender care knowing that our trip was soon coming to an end. With my parents far behind and my sisters up ahead Reed and I walked hand in hand, both of us praising the maker of our heavenly surroundings. There is something so special about mountains, they are wild, rugged and dangerous but in their agelessness  they offer an ever constant reminder of faithfulness and strength. My God never fails to amaze me in the many millions of ways that he has created this world and all the beauty in it to point to Him and tell me what He is like. The mountains are a monument to Gods strength and faithfulness, a grand gesture of heart.
After a while of walking together Reed and I caught up to the girls and decided that we had better head back to see how my parents were. Ab and Tessah jogged on down ahead of us and missed spotting my parents cooling their feet under one of the small water falls in the creek. The two looked so free laying their on a water smoothed rock together, my dads hand resting on my mothers stomach and her hands over his. The sound of the waterfall blocked any noise as we approached. The couple smiled and kissed with their socks and shoes scattered about.  I savored that moment of watching my parents in such a state of peace and love together. Even in all the hardships my parents had faced and will face I know now that’s truly where their hearts live, hand in hand together in awe of God and all He is.
We made it to Oregon the very next day but Reed and I decided to stop for the night just an hour away from home in the Columbia River George while the rest went on. We wanted to be truly welcomed home by the morning sun. We didn’t want home to miss us if we had slipped back in at night. We enjoyed one last summer sunset on the road together. It was the most beautiful out of any the whole trip. As I watched the sun go down with my Columbia river racing by in the window I felt the sun going down on a portion of my life. My childhood was laid to rest and my hurt from the past four years in the Army sank in a symphony of orange, pink and lavender. So often the years slip by unnoticed, we miss the funeral so to speak only to realize years later the passing of an era. My summer across North America was a beautiful celebration of the end of a quarter of my life and the beginning of a new journey.
Reed and I would move into a small and very old cabin on the Sandy river a ways up on Mt. Hood. That fall Reed would catch steel head from our back yard and we would watch the salmon spawn in the Little Eddy creek a few blocks from our house.  After a beautiful winter new life would find it’s way to the waters of my river. We expected the birth of our son that coming fall when the Salmon would run.
Part 2
I laughed without even looking up, “ha! Or we could name him Kenturion.” I was joking with Reed as I looked for ideas for baby names in my Strongs Exhaustive Concordance. I didn’t like it at all but it stuck and the name grew on me. “Commander of many men” and after the centurion in Luke seven who Jesus is astounded by his faith, that’s what we named our blond haired, blue eyed boy the day after my dad buried his best friend of forty years. It was a hard labor described not by me but my doula sister and my delivering doctor but I wanted the very best opportunities for my son and I wanted to learn what Jesus had to teach me about suffering for my child so I did the twenty four hours of labor including four hours of transition without so much as an IV but instead with the dedicated support of my husband, sister and mom.
A month before, my dad got a phone call from Dougs daughter Sarah. Doug had a heart attack while he was out in a remote part of Oregon rounding up the fourth of July weekend. He died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital but his body was kept alive for another few days before the doctors were willing to deliver the very final news to Dougs son and two daughters. His youngest, Sarah and I grew up as best friends until her parents split and our lives took different paths. Our dads were like brothers since the summer before their eighth grade so my dad drove down to be with his friend in his final hours. The day before Kenturion was born they scattered Dougs ashes on a hill where my dad and he used to hunt. I screamed and my dad cried as we both brought fourth new life, the life of my son and the life without his brother. Dad came back the next day to hold my son on his heaving chest as his tears dripped a baptism of grief and joy over this child that would see so many tears in his first year of life.
I am a daughter, a second of four to a man with a thick mustache that hides his baby face and soft heart. This position has shaped me more than I could express. Even if I worried these keys for a lifetime, the story could not be told in full how a boy became and man became a husband, father, friend. When you know a man you know him from where you sit and that perspective alone. I own only my view of my father. At three I was terrified of him but in a way that somehow I still knew it was safe to crawl up in his lap on the couch to watch the Waltons with my head on his sternum. Doug died of a heart attack that was more than preventable and with his death my dad was obligated to enquire on the health of his own heart. Diagnosed as a murmur as a child the doctors now found a deformity in one of his valves, two flaps instead of three to open and close and allow his blood to gather oxygen. After years of being over worked the bicuspid valve had become brittle and worn and in need of replacement. That sternum that I had rest my head on as a child would have to be sawn open to save my dads life.