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.
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