Spelunking my way to coolness

Somewhere around the age of 20 years ago, I went spelunking for the first time. It was my brother's birthday party, but I, as younger sibling, was automatically included in the fun.

Back then, I was fearless. I was a tomboy who idolized my brother who idolized Indiana Jones. (I use idolize here in the most innocent of childlike senses.) Never mind that I'd be attempting to keep up with boys three years older. And never mind that I had a broken arm. The cast would protect it from further harm. I was ready to plunge into the the depths of Carter Mountain, the depths of Spirit Mountain Caverns, the depths where depth means nothing because you can't see it anyway.

We straddled crevasses. We stepped, then stooped, then slinked on our bellies through what can only be adequately described as a toilet bowl. We scaled rock faces. We spelunked (warning: that was a blatant attempt to use spelunk one more time.)

All this we accomplished with only a bike helmet to protect our heads and a flashlight to show the way. Could it get any cooler?

Well, yes. Yes it could. You see, our guide, a young man my father was helping mentor through "Young Life," who sported long hair and short belly shirts in the summer (it's okay; it was the 80s), also sported the most coveted of spelunking gadgets: a headlamp. Banded over his long hair, his headlamp made him look like a fierce Indian warrior. (Actually, looking back on his task of leading a tribe of prepubescent boys and a little girl with a broken arm through a cave laced with 40-foot crevasses, I think he must have been braver than a warrior.)

Anyway, I wanted one. As I looked at Jerome Ebarb in his headlamp, I felt as if I were looking at Indiana Jones himself. I know Indy never wears a headlamp, but that's how my 9-year-old mind saw it. Headlamps now equaled the epitome of cool.

Thus you can imagine my sheer joy when I received a headlamp for my recent birthday. Likewise, keeping in mind that I just marked my 28th year, you can also imagine my parent's bewilderment at my delight. But never mind that now. It was a headlamp. That's all that matters for the purpose of this story.

I pulled the lamp over my head, Indian-warrior like, and went outside to see what I could see. Dreams of leading a group of prepubescent kiddos into the depths of adventure filled my mind. Oh the thrill...

And someday, I believe, such dreams will come true. Until then, please don't be alarmed if you see a grown woman trekking through nearby woods, shining the beacon of her headlamp into dark corners, quietly humming the theme to Indiana Jones. She is simply celebrating her newly gifted measure of coolness.

Hm, hm, hmm, hmmmm, hm, hm, hmmm...

New every morning

It is of the Lord's mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.
--Lamentations 3:22-23

Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.
--Ralph Waldo Emerson

I woke up to this sunrise the other morning.
I threw the covers back, slid into my flip-flops, grabbed my camera and ran outside.
There, with the dewy grass chilling my toes, I felt for just a moment the full joy of God's mercies being new every morning. In that moment, I drank the wild air. In that moment, I felt fully alive with God's life in me.
It was so sweet. Momentary -- with the day's tasks and struggles at hand -- but sweet. And to think God's glory will shine far brighter for all eternity in heaven!

If I ever

If I ever...

Open a coffee shop...

I will train my baristas to be connoisseurs of both coffee and kindness.
I will offer comfy couches and chairs with the hope of promoting community.
I will not close early.
I will value you because you are you, and because you came to see me and drink my coffee.
I will give you a real mug.
I will offer to heat your muffins and scones.
I will give you a fork.
I will have free refills so you know you are welcome to stay, friend.
I will always talk coffee and books and travel and life and sports and struggles.
I will know you by name, not just by drink.

The Artful Dodger

Loss, no matter how small, is felt.
Interactions, though seemingly inconsequential, matter.
And so, I write in memory of Dodger Bird.

Dodger dropped into my family's life -- quite literally -- a little over five years ago. He flew into our back yard one summer day, then flew away. We didn't think we'd see him again. But, being the Artful Dodger, he'd discovered our back yard contained food and water just for the birds. He came back the next day -- looking bedraggled after a night in the wild.

We caught him, nursed him back to health, and put out ads to see if he'd been lost by someone nearby. No one claimed him, so he became ours. And what a bird he was.

He liked to sit on our heads, but not on our hands.
He was a carb junkie.
He loved my Dad and would often sit on his shoulder and sing songs just for him.
He became crabby if put to bed after eight.
He could swipe something off someone's plate before they even noticed.
He had a favorite radio commercial -- one he always whistled along with.
He liked a good head rub -- especially Mom's -- and a good sip of coffee now and again.

He was spoiled.
He deserved to be spoiled.

He will be missed.

Dodger Bird: Birth date unknown -- October 6, 2009

Uno

I am a lover of anniversaries.
I think it is important to remember where we've been in order to anticipate where we are going. As 1 Chronicles 16:12 instructs: Remember the wonders God has done. Perhaps that is why the Bible contains so many songs, prayers and stories that recall God's presence in past events.
So, following in the footsteps of such great tradition, I am spending today, October 3, 2009, in remembrance.
The date is not accidental.

One year ago, October 3, 2008, was my last day as a features reporter for the Casper Star-Tribune. I learned much in two years of conducting interviews, pounding out stories, meeting deadlines and drinking lots of coffee. It was just time to move on...

I moved out of my very first apartment -- and back into my parent's basement. I never thought I'd be one of those kids who graduated college, got a job, then moved back in, but I was. And, honestly, the time with my folks was sweet. I cherish it now.

Just over a year ago, I started writing 'Blind Bartimaeus' to log this crazy trip I'd planned. You see, I've got a wanderer's heart. My Grampa was a wanderer. My parents are wanderers. It's in my blood. So, beginning October 7, 2008, I rode the rails for a month, staying with friends and friends of friends along the way. I saw much and learned even more. All told, I walked in 24 states. I've got four left in order to hit all 50. Someday...

I went from the coast of Maine...

To the coast of Oregon. Portland to Portland, if you will.

When I returned after a month on the move, I dubbed my parent's basement 'The Igloo,' crawled into it, and wrote a novel in 30 days. I was unemployed; I had to do something.

My guidebook, 'No Plot, No Problem' by Chris Baty, described a novel as a fictional work 50,000 words or more. I hit 51,412 words mid-afternoon on my final day. Whew. Made it.

It's official. I'm an author, and I have a t-shirt to prove it. Oh. And a manuscript.

My friends and I welcomed 2009 with an Ugly Sweater Party. Choice.

In February 2009, my brother's movie, 'Dead Noon,' was released on DVD around the nation. What a kick it was to walk into Wal-Mart and see his movie on the shelf! Though Hollywood changed (ruined) it, we are still so proud of Andy. And now he's working on one called 'The Wylds' that is going to rock the screen -- guaranteed. I love you Andy and Marianne!

This last year was a time to develop some really great friendships. Becky, John, Dave, Sarah, Nathan and Josh became so dear to me. We've headed separate ways now, but I will always love them.

The year was also full of good ol-fashioned fun! I was reminded how good it is to laugh and be silly. I too often forget that God is a God of joy. I think He smiles when we enjoy the lives He gave us.

I gave up my car for Lent this year. It was the first time I'd ever participated in this tradition, and I found the sacrifice quite refreshing. We have so much; we should sacrifice way more than we do.

In March 2009, I got caught in a freak snow storm. I drove off the road several times, cried a lot, and eventually made it to a gas station in Glendo, Wyoming. From there, the Leach family rescued me, and I stayed with them for two days while the interstate was closed. This is a photo of them using their Polaris Ranger to deliver me safely to the road where my folks picked me up and took me home. I thank God for His protection and for bringing the Leaches to my rescue.

Through the winter and spring, I worked a few jobs. I was a chauffeur. I did some freelance editing. And I worked for the government as a crew leader for the U.S. Census Bureau. Here my Dad and I are trying to find cabins in the boonies so we can make sure every last person in the nation gets counted. I'd like to tell you more about my job -- but then I'd have to kill you.

In May, John, Dave, Sarah and I went to Yellowstone for my friend's wedding. We explored. We camped. And...

We broke down. My trusty steed's ignition failed. And so, Yellowstone-on-the-cheap became Yellowstone-for-just-over-one-thousand-dollars as we were towed out of the park, to Cody, to get my car fixed. We missed the wedding we'd originally come to attend...but we made the reception, and I even saw the first dance. Lemonade from lemons, right?

And margaritas from limes. Dave, Sarah and John were so great during the whole ordeal. They even bought me my first margarita to soften the pocket-book blow. See? We got it on film.

My friends had babies this year. Lindsey, with Karina and Marcus, and Jessica, with Russell, make for an adorable pic, hm? Weren't we all 12 years old just yesterday? How sweet it has been to watch God leading in the live's of my friends.

In June 2009, Dave, Sarah, Barb and I went to El Salvador with Living Water International. We worked on drilling two water wells, and God granted success with one. Now the people of Campenaro Numbero Dos have clean water to drink.

That means kids like Dani won't have to suffer with chronic diarrhea or miss school due to having to walk miles carrying water from a distant well.

Ever since the trip, I have tried not to take water for granted. I don't throw half-drunk glasses down the drain. I don't let the water run while I wash my face. And I sometimes cry at the sight of sunlight sparkling on water, praying that the people we met in El Salvador will someday also drink the Living Water of Christ's salvation.

This year, like every year, my family meant so much to me. We took a summer vacation to Kalispell, Montana, and simply enjoyed each other's company. This shot of my Dad on an alpine slide on Big Mountain is one of my all-time favorites. Call us the Wild Wiests!

My family is growing up. Andy hit the big 3-0 this year...and I'm only a few years behind him. Here's to many, many more decades of life with the best family in the entire world!

My friends and I had a meeting with the presidents in July 2009.

My friend and co-worker Sarah Perrott and I climbed Medicine Bow Peak in August. This is us at the summit of 12, 013 feet. That's the highest elevation I've ever walked upon.

In August, I became a cowgirl lost in a sea of greenies. A.K.A. I moved to Denver, Colorado. Here, I look upon the city from Red Rocks, a popular outdoor concert venue.

Why Denver?
Honestly, when stuck in traffic or unable to escape the swarms of trendy greenies, I ask myself the same question. But, simply, it's because God wanted me here.
A year ago, when I left the Casper Star-Tribune, I told my editor it was to work with Operation Christmas Child. I had a heart for this ministry of Samaritan's Purse that delivers more than 8 million gift-filled shoe boxes to hurting kids around the world in order to share God's love with them.
Little did I know then that I would travel the states by train, and write a novel, and work for the government, and make lifelong friendships, and climb mountains, and serve in El Salvador en route.
But, alas, I made it. One year later, and here I am living in Denver, working for Operation Christmas Child. It's been an amazing year, and I can't wait to see what adventures God and I have in this next one...