River walk

I went for a walk along the river today. It was below zero, but the sun was shining and the air still. Windless days in Wyoming are rare, so I got out and enjoyed it as much as I could. This is what I saw. And, since words sometimes cloud the picture, I'll simply say: Thank you, Lord.

go west, young man

Tree branches don't sway here;

they bend

and wheeze

like an old man reaching for his toes,

creak, creak, creak.

Snap?

Tumbleweeds don't tumble here;

they fly...

until they bump into some friends hanging on the fence,

and then they hang too.

Their wives know they won't be coming home tonight,

or the next.

Mountains don't look majestic here;

they look old

and wise

as they smoke their pipes,

and blow 'O' ring clouds

high into the sky

and far, far over the horizon.

People don't exist here;

they live.

They help,

they hurt,

they love

Wyoming.

Dog borrowing

This is Lily. I'm borrowing her this week. I mean, her owners think I'm dog-sitting and house-sitting, which is true, but those terms make it seem like Lily is work. She isn't. This yellow lab/husky mix is pure fun. She makes me laugh. She makes me play. She makes me feel energetic and childlike. And until we met just days ago, I hadn't realized how much I needed all those things.

Now, as I sit here with a borrowed dog at my feet in a house I don't normally call my own, I realize that sometimes humans need a change of pace. And, it seems, some humans need that change more often than others. I think I fall in the needy category. I so easily get stuck in ruts -- in my mind, in my daily habits, in my conversations, in my pursuit of God.

Mind rut: I dwell on the same joys or sorrows of my past and fret about the same unknowns of my future. One might think, upon traveling through the ruts of my mind, that I've only lived a few years of wild ups and downs. In truth, I've lived 27 years of everyday food and drink and human interaction. Yes, those years have been laced with moments of pain and elation, but mostly they've been simply living. And that is good! Living is good, and I would be better off to do more of my living and thinking in the right now.

Habit rut: I get up, put on long pajama pants and a sweatshirt, eat breakfast, check my email, shower, do some work, eat lunch, work some more, take a walk, eat dinner, watch a movie or read a book, go to bed. Maybe tomorrow I'll watch the sun rise. And maybe the next day I won't check my email. The day after that I'll call a friend at midnight and ask her to eat breakfast with me right then. And some time I'll skip the walk and roll down a hill instead. I am realizing that changes don't have to be dramatic. Just a small shake-up will do. (If I have dreads the next time you see me, you'll know I decided to "shake it up" and not shower for a while =>).

Conversation rut: I feel a need to tell everyone I converse with that I am looking for a journalism job because that will convey that I am put together and in control. Nevermind it isn't quite true. Nevermind the fact I spent hours in prayer and felt God leading me to stay put while I edit my novel and work to get it published. Why am I so afraid to say that in conversation? Do I fear it doesn't sound grown-up enough? And, more importantly, why am I so concerned with appearing the way I think people want me to appear? Why is anyone? Have we forgotten the beauty of vulnerability and the adventure of being real? Aren't those the things that make for truly enjoyable conversation?

God rut: The God rut is a treacherous one. It forms quickly, goes deep, and feels so right I hardly realize I'm stuck in it. I read my devotional, pray my prayer, go to church, sing a song. Those are good things; I realize that. I also realize they are safe things when done inside my rut. It is easy to read the devotional or the Bible without thinking about it. It becomes harder when I admit I don't understand or *gasp* like what I'm reading. It is hard when my prayers are messy...especially when God answers in a "messy" way, which, if I'm honest, is any way contrary to what I thought should be the answer. When I'm not in my God rut, I sometimes don't want to go to church. It's too scary. There's a lot of pressure there to be, well, happily rutted. It becomes awkward when I'm kind of messed up, and I'm praying messy prayers, and pondering messy, unsafe thoughts about God. Still, I'd rather pursue God while running across the dusty, wide open plains -- fully realizing I may stumble on scraggly sagebrush -- than love Him inside a rut. What's fun about that? Following God should be an adventure. And I, for one, am ready to go...as long as Lily the Borrowed Dog goes with me and makes me laugh along the way.

In it

Here's to life!

There is a scene in the movie "Garden State" that I've always loved. It's between Natalie Portman and Zach Braff. They are sitting by a fireplace and Braff is staring straight ahead, seeming to focus on nothing in the room but rather something in the recesses of his memory. Portman looks at him and says: "You're in it right now, aren't you? My Mom always says that when she can see I'm, like, working something out in my head. She's like, 'You're in it right now.' And I'm looking at you, and you're telling me that story, and you're definitely in it right now."

Though Braff is "in" his head trying to figure out his mom's death, his relationship with his dad and other problems, I think that concept of being "in it" applies to life in general too. So often I feel like I'm skimming over the surface of my life. Only sometimes do I dive deeper and truly connect with the people and scenes around me and the emotions inside of me. But when I do, those are the moments I remember as I reflect on a day, a week, a month or a year.

This January, as I've spent some days looking back on 2008, I have enjoyed going through those moments when I felt completely connected and alive. I only wish there were more. I can only hope I slow down in 2009 and strive to go deeper than the surface, deeper than merely making a living in order to live a life only God can make.

In retrospect, here are a few of those moments I was "in it" in 2008:

* Solo snowboarding excursion in February. At one point in the day it was me, the falling snow, and a toe edge turn that had sent me sprawling down the hill many a time in my snowboarding past. But not this day. I squinted, let out a determined breath and made it. I felt like I was flying.

* Sipping hot cocoa while sitting at my kitchen table, my bare feet chilled by the cold flooring but my hands warmed by the mug.

* Motorcycle ride up Casper Mountain this summer with a friend. We hiked at the top. With all the rain, Wyoming's hills were greener than normal. It was beautiful. And on the way down, we weaved through a neighborhood where many folks were watering their lawns. The mist cooled us down, and I can still recall the smell of moist earth.

* Working on articles on deadline with a cup of good coffee by my side. Deadlines bring such clarity of thought sometimes.

* Handstands and cartwheels on the beach of Guernsey Reservoir at sunset with my friend Sarah. Follow that with barbecued pizza, home-brewed beer and a night under the stars, and life really is sweet.

* Cherry picking in the Flathead Valley on a warm summer day with my family. Surreal.

* Watching Willie Nelson fans hoist their beers to the legendary singer/songwriter at a concert in August with my friend John. If you didn't love Willie in that moment, you weren't alive.

* Listening to the whistle of my Amtrak train before sunrise one morning in Nebraska. It sounded like adventure wooing me deep into the unknown. Taking risks, it seems, forces us to enter into our life with gratitude for where we've been, hope for where we're going, and trust for whatever is happening the moment you "step over the edge."

* Oddly enough, sitting with a woman I had just met after she broke up with her boyfriend. She cried and ate ice cream while two of her friends and I offered comfort. The emotions, good and bad, were so real I felt privileged to share them with someone who was, more or less, a complete stranger.

* Typing "The End" on my very first novel, written in a creative 30-day flurry. Long-time dream: accomplished.

* Pushing my best friend's little girl on the swings.

* Playing chess late at night with my Dad.

* Walking the dog with my Mom. Especially when we stopped for coffee.

* Hearing my brother tell me he loves me on the phone. When he says it, he means it. Do you ever feel more "in it" than when you know you are loved?