Garden wanderings

It was free day at the Denver Botanic Gardens yesterday. Though there were a lot of people, it was still a lovely way to spend an afternoon. I was reminded why working in a greenhouse was one of my favorite jobs of all time. Enjoy...

There were markers and balloons...

My coworker and I were at the warehouse today -- away from all our office mates.
We missed them.
But fortunately there were markers and balloons....

Ride on!

Ever since I met my friend Josh Cunningham, he's told me of this dream of his to ride his bike through all 50 states in one year. Last weekend, he visited me in Colorado, arriving on the two wheels that will roll him toward completing this goal. I'm so proud of him.

Here he is pictured with all his gear about to take off for Oklahoma and beyond. If you want to follow his journey, check out http://joshcunninghamsride.blogspot.com.

Ride on, Josh!

Away from it all

My friend Sarah and I packed the car and headed for the mountains a few weekends ago. For me, the weekend was simply -- sweetly -- going home. I am home in the mountains; and I am home in Wyoming. Here life is slower. For Sarah, the weekend was a new adventure in a new state. Funny how getting away from it all can look so different.

I built a fire. I boiled water. I made some amazing oatmeal. And I ate it. Gladly.

Lake Marie nestled below Medicine Bow Peak in the Snowy Range Mountains west of Laramie, Wyoming.

We begin our ascent of Med Bow.

These piles of stones marked the trail.

Near the top. Sarah and I were both impressed by the boulder fields we had to scramble over. We think God threw giant boulders from heaven to create Med Bow.

Thunderstorms rolling in. Amazingly, it didn't rain until we were down the mountain and in our car headed for coffee in Laramie.

At the summit -- 12,013 feet. What a view!

Mountain climbers need energy. I used to dislike Clif Bars, but they tasted strangely good on this trek.

Fellow hikers at the top. Sarah and I both work for Operation Christmas Child and were amazed at how many people we met on the hike whose church participates in the ministry. How encouraging. Go God! Fill those shoe boxes, people!

View from the top -- away from it all.


View from the bottom. The hike is an 8-mile loop through an amazing array of landscapes.

Wyoming. Land that I love.

Tap-tap

Saw this while I was perusing the Tattered Cover Book Store in downtown Denver. It just made me happy.

Lest you forget...

THIS IS BRONCOS COUNTRY!

My friend Josh is on a year-long, 48-state bike tour. He left Nebraska just over a week ago and stopped in Colorado for a visit. We headed into town today to see what we could see. Eventually we ended up at Invesco Field at Mile High. That's where the Denver Broncos play, in case you didn't know.

But it's not like you could forget with orange and blue plastered everywhere. This is, after all, Broncos Country.

We took a tour of the stadium, learning various sundry facts along the way. Mainly I learned that I'm not rich enough -- nor do I drink enough beer -- to be a true Broncos fan. An Executive Suite at Invesco Field costs anywhere from $85,000 to $185,000 each season, with a 3-year contract required. That's a lot of mullah. A Party Suite to entertain/schmooze your pals or potential business partners costs $9,000 to $22,000 per game -- not including drinks or catering. At any given game, 800 kegs of beer are consumed. That's a lot of beer.

We also saw the visiting team's locker room, learned that the cheerleaders make $150 per game, and discovered the owner's suite is akin to the Bat Cave -- with a secret elevator hidden behind a wall with a button known only to the owner. That way he can go straigt to the field and avoid the commoner crowds. Still, I must admit, it was fun to view the field from the press box (go press!) and stand on the grass/astro-turf mix beneath the goal post. Definitely an entertaining way to spend an afternoon.

Josh in an executive suite.

This is where all the cool people hang out.

I was cool in a former life. This is me in the press room.

This is one of five giant coolers where kegs and kegs of beer are pumped to over 500 beer stations.

This is Broncos Country!

We're standing in Broncos Country!

They make touchdowns in Broncos Country!

Have we mentioned this is Broncos Country?

Invesco Field at Mile High -- in Broncos Country!


GO COLTS!

Satisfied

I sometimes think that writing Bible commentaries or devotions would be one of the hardest tasks a writer could tackle. Who wants the responsibility of elaborating on God's Word? Won't my words merely get in the way of God's expression of His character, promises, beauty and love?

But, alas, we try anyway. And there is something awkwardly admirable about our efforts. After all, we are created in the image of God. Just as He sculpted mountains and splashed yellow onto daisies and inspired poets to exalt him in written word, we sculpt and color and write. Our imitations seem hollow next to creations that carry the glory -- the weight -- of God, but I think they bring Him honor.

This last weekend, my friend Sarah and I packed our car and headed to Wyoming to do some camping and hiking in my old stomping grounds. We had a wonderful time, and I will share more about it later (with more photos, of course). Right now, though, I want to talk about Psalm 104.

Each day at work, all the office staff gather to read a Psalm and pray. On Monday, after Sarah and I had returned from the Snowy Range and summiting Medicine Bow Peak, we read Psalm 104. A captivating depiction of God as Creator, its words will not leave me. I read them throughout the day. I think about them. I feel like they have planted themselves in my heart and produced something beautiful where so often there is only weeds.

* O Lord my God, you are very great; you are clothed with splendor and majesty. He wraps himself in light as with a garment; he stretches out the heavens like a tent and lays the beams of his upper chambers on their waters. He makes the clouds his chariot and rides on the wings of the wind. (Verses 1-3)
* He waters the mountains from his upper chambers; the earth is satisfied by the fruit of his work. (Verse 13)

Friday night, Sarah and I slept in our tent beneath the starry tent flung over us by God. Wow.

Saturday, we watched God water the mountains from his upper chambers. We saw earth satisfied by the fruit of his labor.

Now if only I can be satisfied by the fruit of God's labor in me.

Verbage

SHOUT for joy to the Lord,
all the earth.
WORSHIP the Lord
with gladness; COME before him
with joyful songs.
KNOW that the Lord is God. It is he who made us,
and we are his;
we ARE his people,
the sheep of his pasture.
ENTER
his gates with thanksgiving and his courts with praise;
GIVE thanks to him and PRAISE his name.
For the
Lord IS good
and his love ENDURES forever;
his faithfulness
CONTINUES through all generations.

--Psalm 100

Serious Food...Silly Prices

Three weeks have passed since my lament about the lack of supermarkets in suburbs. I have since found a Wal-Mart, a Safeway, a couple King Soopers, an Albertson's, and a few Super Targets. I will not starve in the big city.

In fact, as I discovered today, my food intake will thrive here -- courtesy of Sunflower Farmer's Market. I found this gem of a grocer on my way home from work today. It is small and full of organic goodness that is quite reasonably priced. (I bought a can of coffee -- that required a can opener to open! -- for $2.50 today.)

Anyway, I was so happy, I pulled out my cell phone and snapped a few photos of the bulk aisle and my basket full of pita and hummus and yogurt. Really, you can't beat a supermarket with the slogan: Serious Food...Silly Prices.

Milk heaven

If you will allow me to be an uber-dork for a moment, I'd like to share one of the highlights of my week. I mean, yes, work was great, and yes, I cycled Boulder, and yes, I caught a Rockies baseball game and Mercy Me concert this afternoon -- and I shall write about each of those in their turn -- but this event demands immediate spotlight attention.

Okay, let's just cut to the chase. I can't stand this tension. Drum roll, please...

This glorious morning, I had Royal Crest milk. What? You haven't heard of it?

Well, neither had I until I moved in with the Mattsons. But, after today's exquisite cereal experience, I now know what I've been missing in my nearly three decades of milk consumption.

This milk is hormone free. It is produced here in Colorado. And, get this, it is bottled fresh and delivered to the Mattson's doorstep in reusable containers.

It is milk heaven. I want to chug it from the bottle. I want to visit the dairy farm and see it in the making with my own eyes. I want to eat Oreo cookies every day just so I can get some more.

Alas, that would be greedy. And fattening. Nevertheless, I am grateful to the Mattsons for sharing their blessed dairy bounty.

Now, where are those Oreos?

Airplane stars

One of my favorite things about traveling is the way details make an imprint on my mind. A few examples:

* I can still see the way my very first bubble tea jiggled as I walked away from the street vendor in Singapore.
* While driving through the streets of a small town in El Salvador, a man carrying a basket on his shoulder cocked his head as our truck zoomed past. I remember his eyes.
* In London, the sun was setting as I walked along the River Thames. I remember the way the sun hit the words "London Bridge" as I walked by.

Tonight, I went for a bike ride after work. And somewhere in that sea of tan houses that is my suburban existence, several details emerged.

* On a hillside bordered by condos, a swath of bushes blushed yellow amidst green grass swaying in the wind. Fall is coming.
* A drop of water from a sprinkler hit my glasses and suddenly one stoplight became thirty as my vision fragmented like a fly's. It looked like Christmas.
* The low rumble of airplanes coming in to land at Denver International Airport drew my gaze upwards. There twinkling in the sky were half a dozen airplane stars.

And that's when I realized that every place on earth -- even the soulless suburb -- holds beauty. Sometimes we just have to look for it...or wait for it to reveal itself in the smallest of details.

A little tomfoolery

My friends and I have a lot of fun together. I miss them like crazy.

This was our tribute to "Garden State." And tomfoolery.

Mexican Train to Hungarian Blessings

Sometimes -- most times, maybe? -- blessings come in the most surprising packages. There is a swirl of whipped cream on the latte brought by a friend -- a spontaneous expression of love. There is the smile you can't suppress when scrubbing toilets as an act of service. And then there is Bob and Marge.

My co-worker, Sarah, lives with Bob and Marge. When she and Kaitlin and I went out on the town yesterday, the day's events included an invitation from Bob and Marge for dinner. It wasn't what we'd planned. We were thinking of a nice dinner downtown. But, well, okay. Maybe we could drop in and catch a late movie after the obligatory chow and chat.

The dinner was nothing spectacular -- a stew and some bread -- but, somehow, it tasted gourmet. Seriously. Think I had thirds.

Bob and Marge were old. Marge could barely see. Or hear. Or walk. But she was beautiful. She was one of those people who wears the Holy Spirit on her sleeve. I looked at her and saw Jesus.

Bob was cantankerous. He is a Hungarian immigrant who takes a certain amount of pride in knowing English better than most American speakers of the language. But he loved us. Genuinely. I could have called him Gramps and felt completely natural.

We chowed and we chatted. Offers of cake were made. Questions of our evening plans were asked.

Well, you see, we were going to go to a movie.

Would you like to stay and play Mexican Train?

Play what?

It's a domino game.

Ahhh, nifty. [Raised eyebrows.]

They looked at us like they'd offered drinks and live music. It was a sincere invitation.

Sarah, Kaitlin and I exchanged glances. We shrugged our shoulders and tilted our heads.

Well, okay, sure. Why not?

Bob and Marge smiled. Marge shuffled her walker to a nearby chest of drawers. The game was on....

And what a game it was. We laid dominoes end to end. We talked about sewing and practical jokes and mission trips and Jesus. Bob and Marge argued in that way only old people can: feisty and completely endearing. The time to go came too soon.

I think I'd like to ride that Mexican train to Hungarian blessings again. Maybe it can become a tradition. And maybe I can offer a few blessings in return...

Sarah, Marge, Kaitlin, Bob and me playing Mexican Train. Good times.

Road Tires

Me and my new road tires. Bring on the urban cycling!

Here are my road tires on their virgin trek in Denver. I stopped on this little hill to capture the moment.

*****
In preparation for becoming an urban cyclist in Denver, I bought some road tires for my mountain bike. When they landed on my front porch courtesy of UPS, I could barely contain my excitement. I tore into the box and pulled the thin (1.5-inch), slick beauties from the wrapping. Visions of cruising toward the Rockies, leaning hard into corners and leaving Mr. Cool Guy with Shades in my rubber dust, filled my mind.

Today, dear folks, I did just that.

After work, I traded my skirt for some shorts and donned my helmet. And then I rode. And rode. And rode. I have no idea how far I went. That's the allure of new paths and new places. The tires purred. I fist pumped and whooped and hollered.

It was grand, and I can't wait to do it again...

Goodnight Denver-land

I've lived in the Denver area for three days now. Well, more like two and a half, but who's counting? It's been good. And it's been bad. There's a lot of adjusting for a small-town girl moving to a big city. Yesterday, which was definitely a Monday for me, I had, in all my wisdom, broken city living into this: Traffic happens and suburbs suck. Let's just say I was in a very bad mood.

Today, however, God has proven yet again that He is the Lifter of my head. Work was steady; traffic moved along to Count Bassie; I found TWO independent coffee shops on my way to and from work; I discovered where some grocery stores are hiding out in my suburb; and I went on a lovely walk with my new roomie.

As I bid farewell to a much better day than yesterday, I wanted to share this gem of a sunset my roommate and I enjoyed on our walk. Goodnight Denver-land!

A proper farewell

Here I am bidding a proper farewell to my coffee maker. We've had many good times. I really wanted to kiss it goodbye, so I did. And I'm not ashamed.

*********************************************************************************

I've never been good at goodbyes. I avoid them, hurry them, or mar them with much awkwardness. I hold back the exuberant hug and kiss I want to give. Or I stumble stupidly through the physical motions. I wish I had more grace in such times. And guts.

A few examples:

Bye-bye best friend: I was 14 when I moved from my childhood home, leaving behind my bestest friend in the entire world. I was stoic as I lightly hugged her and waved as she drove away from my house for the last time. Too stoic. Did she even know I felt like I was dying inside? Did I ever tell her that, after she left, I ran down to my room and packed all its contents in a fit of teary teenage angst?

Do I regret such raw emotion? No. I just wish I'd let it show more. Lindsey, if you read this, please know that was a stinky day for me. And I missed you like crazy before you even pulled around the corner.

Couldn't hug my camp crush: When I was 15, I worked at a Christian camp in Montana. I was a crew girl. And, by summer's end, I was madly in love with this certain crew boy. We're talking major crush. But I was shy. I never even hinted I liked him. He never knew I admired how hard he worked, or that I thought he had the sexiest hands I'd ever seen.

Then came the goodbyes. It was my last chance to leave an impression on him. You know, shoot for some far-flung chance at a late-blooming letter romance. We were both moving down the line of hugging camp staff. I side hugged a counselor. I patted a fellow crew girl on the back. I was determined to be cool when this boy and I came face to face.

And then, he was there. "Hug?" he said. "Yeah," I answered, eking out a smile. This was it. This was my chance. I went right -- but so did he. I went left; so did he. "Wanna dance?" I joked, nervously. "What?" he answered, barely able to hear my mouse whisper.

Never mind. The line moved on. I felt like a ninny for years.

But, in an up note, we did write letters. Lots of them. And we're friends to this day.

Splittin' quick: Have I mentioned yet that I'm kind of shy? I tend to wither under too much attention. And not just mentally. My face gets red and hot. My heart moshes within. Any capacity for coherent words is lost.

Okay, maybe I exaggerate just a bit. But attention isn't my favorite thing. Typical writer, I guess.

When I left my post as a features reporter at the Casper Star-Tribune, I had to leave a really wonderful church family. But, in some attempt to divert attention, I didn't tell them until my last Sunday in town. Then I told just a few folks and split that afternoon.

I wish I could do it again. I wish I could convey my deep appreciation for all the people who inspired me there. If any of you happen to read this, please know I would have loved to bid a fond farewell. I would have loved your attention because your very existence made mine better.

Kiss him, fool: I'll keep this one short. I just want to say that I think kissing your boyfriend goodbye is perfectly acceptable. Be it a peck on the cheek or a leg-lifting, hands in the hair smacker, go for it. I wish I had. Because I desperately wanted to.

Now that we've peeked at some of my sayonara slip-ups, let me try to do it right this time.

I recently took a job in Denver, Colorado. For that, I'm excited. It should be a sweet job with solid co-workers. I'm looking forward to some urban living, some coffee shop goodness, and some new adventures. I move in a week.

But, I'm moving from my small Wyoming town. And, frankly, that sucks. I've been fighting those tumultuous good-bye emotions all week, feeling ashamed at how much I'm struggling to want to leave.

Today, though, I realized I shouldn't be ashamed of my sadness.

My parents are here, and I love them dearly. I am thankful for all our times together, and for all they've taught me. And I never really minded sharing a bathroom. There is bonding in group tooth brushing.

My mentor, Liz, is here. We have lunch and prayer time every week. I am going to miss that more than I can even express. I love you, Liz.

My good friends are here.

Sarah, I will miss your questions and enthusiasm. I will miss your hospitality and honesty. I will miss your depth of thought and your ever-ready willingness to have an adventure.

Dave, I will miss the way you tilt your head when thinking about what to say. I will miss the way you can ham it up for a photograph. I will miss your balance of practicality and go-get-em attitude.

Becky, I will miss our walks. I will miss the spontaneity of our friendship and your encouraging words. And your hugs, sister. You give the best hugs.

Nathan, I will miss your quiet example of what it means to be a God-fearing man. Please hug Becky extra for me.

Josh, I will miss your stories, borderline unbelievable though they are. I think that just means you've really lived life.

John, I will miss you. I will miss being able to throw about any idea at you and having you be game to give it a try. I will miss coffee and biking and softball and movies and road trips. I will miss just talking and joking.

I have been abundantly blessed here in small-town Wyoming. I look forward to the future. And I look forward to keeping up with you all via phone and facebook. But gosh dang, I'm going to miss seeing you.

I just want to be honest about that.

I want to say everything I want to say. I want to bid a proper farewell -- in word, at least. If I collide with you in our final hug -- or step on your toes or cry a bit too much -- you'll have to forgive me. I mean well.