A brush with death on the mountain

None the worse for wear

“I wonder what sort of a tale we've fallen into?” Sam to Frodo in The Two Towers

This past Sunday night a bunch of us from Refuge and Chetek UMC rode up to Christie Mountain for a couple of hours of some serious snow tubing. During one of the runs, seven of us joined our tubes together and were careening down the hill at what felt like Mach 1 speed when someone noticed James, my friend Austin's first-grade son, was standing at the bottom of our run smiling and waving at us. Our first reaction was to laugh and then almost in the same breath we started screaming at him to get out of the way before he became Christie's version of road kill. At the last second he did. At the end of the run while we were laughing at that close encounter of the snow-kind, his eighth-grade sister, Mary, quipped, “Well, at least we now have a story to tell.”

Later in the warming house, Austin and I were visiting over a cup of Joe. Right now we both have daughters who are on the outreach phase of their respective Discipleship Training Schools so made famous by the international para-church ministry Youth With A Mission (YWAM). Austin's 18-year old daughter, Rachel, is in South Africa near Capetown and our 25-year old daughter, Christine, is in northern Thailand. Both will graduate from the five-month spiritually intensive school in March. And then? Christine's plan is to remain in the Madison-area, get a job at a day care there and work and save up for her next great adventure. For Rachel, Austin's not sure what his daughter is thinking. Maybe stay in the YWAM-world (there are a plethora of various schools they offer all over the globe), maybe go back to work or pursue a degree. It's pretty much up for grabs.

Ain't it grand?

Rachel's the smiling Mexican on the left

James the Magnificent

That conversation – and Mary's quip about “a story to tell” - got me thinking of my own journey when I was Rachel's age. I was 18 and didn't have a clue where I was headed. My grades had been good enough in high school to be accepted at UW-Madison but from Day 1 I felt lost on the sprawling campus of 45,000+ students. Of course, the first two years of any university's undergraduate program is all about getting your generals out of the way but somehow I had it in my head that I had to know what my major was then and now. But I was clue-less and so now I like to tell people that my three semesters at UW-Madison I majored in wandering. And I got the grades to prove it. At most schools if you succeed academically you get a computer generated letter from the Dean that essentially says, “Good job. Keep up the good work.” In three semesters at UW-Madison, however, I made the other Dean's list. So poor were my grades that I got to meet her twice. Yeah, it's not a good thing. 

 

I think of Christine who's five-month gig at YWAM has re-cultivated her joy in Jesus and with life. She graduated from high school in 2007 and apart from a month-long stay in South Korea in 2008 since that time has worked in day care. She lived with a girlfriend down the street from us for about a year between 2011 and 2012 but then the girlfriend got married and the new husband moved in and Christine had to move home. She's been itching to spread her wings ever since. Upon her completion of her DTS, she has plans and part of that plan includes keeping Chetek in the rear-view mirror as much as possible. It isn't that she hates it here. It's just that right now as far as she knows her life is out there and she's got to find it.

These girls look like they're game for anything

Jim and Jessica are a couple from our fellowship who are on something of their own pursuit of finding life far from here. Last fall, after a lot of prayer and consideration, they checked out of life as they found it here – a beautiful home in the country, good-paying jobs they enjoyed and a very active family life that revolved around their five children – and metaphorically jumped from the plane otherwise known as the American Dream into Guatemala to pursue the kernel of a ministry dream there. A friend of theirs from our area had moved to the environs of Guatemala City a few years ago to begin an orphanage and Jim and Jessica felt inspired and led to help her in that endeavor. At the moment, however, the orphanage remains mired in governmental red tape so just like their friend they have sought to bloom where they've landed. They found a safe place to live, a good Christian school nearby for their kids to attend and a faith-family to join and be a part of. At the same time, like the four Penvensie kids exploring Professor Kirke's castle, they have felt at times that they have been feeling their way through the wardrobe into Narnia which in their case looks a lot like Guatemala. It's quite a story they've fallen into.

This is what Jessica posted on her Facebook page just the other day:

 

Had a friend say to me today, “Your story is like reading a good book! I can hardly wait to see what the next chapter holds.” To which I can only say in prayer, “Okay, Lord! You are the Author, work in us and write the story of our life with You.”

No matter how long their journey in Guatemala lasts be it this school year (the length of their original commitment) or something far longer is too soon to say but one thing's for sure: like Mary said after nearly plowing into her little brother at the bottom of Christie Mountain, at least they'll have a story to tell when it's over.

She's quite a story-teller

Our youngest daughter, Emma, left for college last fall in pursuit of a degree in theater from Bethel University in St. Paul. Now that she's made it to the Cities (that is, the Twin Cities), I just don't see her ever looking back to our tiny hamlet of Chetek except to check in with the old folks here. The world and her dreams, after all, are also out there and won't be found just by walking across the long bridge on the north side of town. She was the Salutatorian of her graduating class last spring and on Graduation Day she challenged her classmates and the rest of us in attendance that day with this bit of sound advice: “In the story of our lives that each of us are writing make sure it's a story worth telling.” I couldn't agree more. In fact, with the yarn that each of our kids is busily spinning I'm like Jessica's friend anxious to discover just where all this is taking us.

Our caravan of snow tubes missed James by a second or two the other night. If he had been paying attention he might have gone home and told his mom he nearly died out "on the mountain" and that he saw his 7-year old life flash before his eyes. But I'm pretty sure he's totally oblivious to the fact that had he remained where he was standing a moment or more longer he would have gained altitude and this little anecdote would have ended differently. Instead we all had a good laugh, picked ourselves up and drug our tubes over to the lift for another go at the hill with James leading the way. Those are the kinds of stories that moms like to read about – you know, good times had by all. But Austin looked at me and said under his breath, “Was it wrong of me that for a moment I kinda wanted to hit him just to see how far he'd fly?” Nah, sounds like a dad to me. 

"Remember, James: don't tell Mom about this. Let's keep this between you and me."