West

June seems a distant memory.  There's a saying that stories only happen to those who can tell them. I'm not sure that's true, but this summer is so full of "stories" I've gotten a bit overwhelmed.  I still haven't told the bear story... or Deception Pass... or the River Runs Through Our Tent story.  I haven't sat down for the dull moments that capture parts of my heart and fill my cup full of happy.  My kids have milked goats and hiked on glaciers, we've seen bald eagles, golden eagles, outran two forest fires, had an epic water fight, and driven through 19 states (I'm iffy on that number, I think it's higher)... yet no stories.

It's not for lack of fodder, there's plenty of that.  It's because even here, on the road, with life stripped down to what fits into a minivan and a Honda Insight, things get crazy.  Pressures and expectations weigh in.  Today, as we got back onto the highway, for the first time in weeks following the sign that read "west," I felt myself take a deep breath.  It wasn't because California has my heart (it doesn't but I like it more than others if I'm honest).  I took a deep breath because for the first time in weeks, expectations and "plans" were once again fluid, back in the realm of mine.

On paper, taking to the road can seem romantic and fabulous, but for me, the thing that's far more appealing is to be expectation and obligation free.  To know that I need to get done today what I determine to get done, nothing more, nothing less.  I have four kids, so there's never going to be an obligation free time.  And I wouldn't ever want that.  But there's a very large difference between having a to-do list that includes a few meals, some clean-up, and keeping the zoo animals from killing each other and a to-do list that is more 'traditional'... work, meals, cleaning, washing, practice, ballet, commuting, checking in with kids and partner.

I'm such a terribly slow person, my personal time-frames are so warped because of that, and it makes me so very much a cultivator of moments.  I settle into watching my babes together (those rare times when they're being absolute angels to each other) rather than taking a quick picture or noticing and moving on.  It's why I don't drink hot coffee anymore, I don't want the distraction of even worrying about my coffee getting cold to distract from the possibility of the day and all it might hold for me.  I snuggle into a great moment.  Sit along side it, silently share a sunset because moments can last hours in my opinion.  There's this great phrase in a particular translation of a verse in the New Testament-- a slave to hope.

I've often mused that I think my evangelical tradition did a grave disservice to my generation by putting such a heavy emphasis on where you'll go after you die because by default, if that's the question, then that means that temporal, right now, here, today, moments, aren't as important as THEN... somewhere out there, down the line, at those Pearly Gates.  I'm not arguing theology or anything crazy like that, I'm simply saying I wish there was a second narrative, another story besides just that one.  I wish there had been validation for pausing in moments, for sitting and enjoying a stream, watching the lightning bugs for hours, laughing at a child with a muddy bum at 5 am during an unexpected rainstorm (while you're camping and caught unprepared).  Not just noting a marvelous moment and moving along the conveyor belt of life, but deeply settling into the moment, fully occupying that space.  Pulling up a chair and bearing witness rather than making a footnote.     

I got on the interstate today, under a sign that read "west" and claimed, even if just a centimeter more, my rooting as a slave to hope... completely and foundationally chained to the idea of hope for the possibilities of today, hope for the potential of right now, hope that there's more than expectations and obligations, hope for myself and my babes, hope that the loudest narratives isn't the only narrative, hope that bearing witness is just as valid because God is just as present in this moment as Love will be at those Pearly Gates.  I'm utterly enslaved to that idea that there's more to look for then someday... that the One who Was and Is and Is to Come is just as present today as He will be on that day.