Denali

In case you were wondering about this guy, the answer is yes!

Yes, as in, the pup to the right is the newest addition to our apartment. His name is Denali (which is the Inuit name for the tallest peak in North America) and he's an 8-week old Siberian Husky.

This pup was quite a surprise and yet an answer to prayers! As some of you might have known, I'd been thinking of getting a dog. But part of that involved moving to a place that would allow me to have a dog and an area big enough for him to play outside.

Needless to say, I got word from a friend that he was in need of a home. He was living with a family with kids, but was quite a handful on top of raising kids! But the timing seemed all off - I hadn't even gotten to talk my landlord. After lots of praying, I got another message asking me to give the parents' a call and talk about the potential of "adopting" this little guy. I called the parents' and, after speaking with them about him, decided he was the dog I'd been hoping for. After a stressful day of waiting to hear from my landlady, I got the approval to have him stay with me until the end of my lease in the summer. Which was such an unexpected gift!

We (my roommates and I) welcomed Denali home last night into our apartment. He's still a pup, that's for sure! But he already has some basic commands down and is smarter than your average pup. He'll need lots of love and lots of runs as he grows, but I think he's going to be quite the gentleman as he gets older.

Thanks for all your prayers about him - hopefully you'll get to meet him someday!

My Stumbling Block of Hope

The funny thing about a stumbling block is this: it's always going to make you stumble. If it was just another ordinary block, you could jump over it. Or go around it. Possibly even crack it open by throwing another rock at it. But that's not the point. The point is, it's placed in your way for a reason.

To make you stumble.

As I've yearned to leave the city and explore new opportunities,  I'm convinced God has placed a stumbling block in my life. A block that always makes my life difficult. That convicts me of my selfishness and points out how stubborn I am. I think I mostly just want to stand there and kick it. I've named it, recently. "Colorado". Yet I'm learning that stumbling blocks (at least mine) aren't always bad. Refining block may even be a more suitable name.

Let me explain:

I've been trying to live in the mountains since I was old enough to comprehend pictures of mountains. My mom thought a trip to the Rockies in high school would cure this, but needless to say, it didn't. I graduated college in a career that practically requires mountains, yet the job that God laid before me was in the heart of a major city. Stumbling block sighting numero uno.

The truth is, living in the city and working in the mountains has taught me. A lot. I've learned to navigate around always being with people, figure out how to drive the winding streets of Pittsburgh, understand how to be in the middle of nowhere one day and in downtown the next. I see why the kingdom of heaven will be like a city, full of God's people all living together in community. I see the brokenness of the woods in a different way than the brokenness of the city. I see the hope in both places differently now too. "Colorado" and my hope for the mountains faded as I tried to learn to love the place I was in. I committed to three years in this place.

So this year marks my third year. I started re-evaluating. I spent a chunk of my summer in the high places of Wyoming, which got me thinking of the mountains all over again. Suddenly, the possibility seemed like it could be a reality. Maybe this time around, Lord? Is now the right time? These were my questions as summer faded and fall began. And I felt a kind of urgency to say "yes" to the mountains. There were lots of reasons, but a major factor was the location and my lack of full-support over the years. I talked with my supervisor about the possibility of me leaving. A few days later, an email showed up with a woman asking if there were any positions available in my department. The crazy part? She was looking for a position identical to mine. That seemed like affirmation from God to me!

Yet there it was. Right in the middle of the path. My stumbling block. My "Colorado". As I started filling out applications, having discussions and kept on living life - things started shifting. For one, I was actually in the same place at the same time with my boyfriend. Which was a change from our status of being in different countries for four months. And it was good. Then there was my support-raising, which, without any prompting or due diligence on my part, suddenly increased in monthly donations. I went from 32% to 95%. In less than three months. That was most definitely good!

And that's when I began questioning my leaving. Or at least, questioning the conflicting signals I felt I was receiving. A green light to go. A green light to stay. How can opposing traffic lights have the same signal? I wondered aloud.

I prayed. I talked to people in my community. I wanted to know that leaving was okay. That I wasn't crazy. Yet after all the talking was done and the time to give a decision came about, I realized that all the answers pointed toward...my stumbling block. They all entertained the idea and notions that I could go around it, over it, or just plain move it; but that perhaps the best thing was to simply - stay. Stay right there, in front of it.

Seemingly arbitrary placement of rock - you'd be puzzled too!

What the heck, rock! is what I wanted to shout. There's a thousand other places you could place yourself, but you always place yourself between me and the mountains! I just stood there. Staring.

And I realized some things standing there. Staring at my "Colorado". My stumbling block had nothing to do with the actual, physical location of Colorado. Or any mountain state, for that matter. It represented my desire for that place. It was as if God placed all my selfishness into a single rock, one that He set right before me every time there was a decision to make. (Thus, one could conclude that apparently a lot of my decisions revolve around moving to the mountains.) And boy, it is hard to stare at your own selfishness!

So I am staying. 

Not because I am settling, but because I see hope. Hope that the good things God has started here will continue. Hope that God is chiseling away on my stumbling block so that there will be a time when I can walk right over it. It still frustrates me in a way that that time is not now. But if I have waited this long, I can wait a little longer.

Things at work aren't going to stay the same. I'm moving out of the city a little ways, to a quieter place. I'm changing positions, as the woman I mentioned above has accepted my current position. As of this summer, I'll be moving from a part-time resource for XD to a full-time resource. Which means, among other things, more trips to the mountains...

Same shoes, different day.

Aloha from the Ditch Trail in Kaua'i, friends!

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God." (Hebrews 12:1-2)

Snow, gentle and white, whirled outside in the gray when I awoke this morning. I put on the tea kettle to get water boiling for breakfast and coffee while I got ready for work. This morning, the attire I chose to wear was different than the past month. I donned not a blue synthetic shirt but a blue cotton top and sweater. I slipped into jeans rather than running shorts. Yet the wool socks and trail runners remained the same. As I finished eating and drove to the office to start work, I thought about how appropriate it was that this part, my footwear, would remain the same. For a runner should be ready to set out each day on the race set before them.

For me, the race I've been running this past month has been on the island of Kaua'i. The course set before me was to educate eight college students on encounters: with God, self, others and creation. Its been a privilege to have instructed this course for 3 years now (including the most recent one). Being able to spend a month backpacking, living and challenging college students to live out their faith in every area of their life is exhausting, yet incredibly enriching. We spent 21-days traveling around the island, listening to stories of people that live there, walking their trails and being attentive to encounters we have - however big or small.

This trip held a distinct feeling of God being present. In a way that encouraged us on the long hike days. That allowed for humility as help was asked and pack weight redistributed. That gave strength to ask,"What's the point of investing if only for a short time, anyway?" I saw a group committed to allowing space for God every morning. One that learned to care for each other. One that, when we left them on their own for a few days with nothing more than a skeletal plan, took the time to discuss whether or not they wanted structure; and, realizing the value in it, implemented one. And when the time came for the group to adjourn, I saw a group of individuals choosing to stick together even if their individual races were different. The distance was negligible; it was the way they chose to run the distance that made me the good work that God is doing in their lives.

We are home now, far from the lapping waves of the Pacific and crowing roosters. But the shoes are the same; just as is the faith race that is set before us. I am still called to run it and run it well, regardless of whether I am instructing a course or working in the office. I see that as continuing to marvel at encounters I have daily all around me - whether its the snow, the people walking or just listening for God's voice. One of the songs that resonated with the trip was by Jason Mraz and it talks about the depth that people hold. As I regain my footing here in this place, I hope that I too, would be able to look at the snow and the streets and the people living here and see the depth in each of them. For like my students, each person holds so much life.

"When I look into your eyes, its like watching the night skies, or a beautiful sunrise, well there's so much they hold." (Jason Mraz, I Won't Give Up)