Colorado Learnings: The Upward Way

I'm a flat-lander.  I readily admit that.  A child of the Midwest, that region is my home in many senses.  I'm rooted and grounded there and love its seasons, flora and fauna.

But i like to travel, too.  I enjoy seeing different parts of God's good earth.  This summer I've seen the Carolina coastline, northern Ohio farm fields, and Colorado's mountains.

Yesterday I did something I would not, on my own, choose to do.  I went on a ride at Colorado National Monument.

Now unlike the the Washington Monument, which I have seen many times whilst in DC, there is no ... um... monument at Colorado National Monument.  There's no stone spire there, no man-made monolith.  Instead the whole place is a geologic monument.  With sheer cliffs dropping 2,000 feet.

That last part is why I would not choose to take a ride there.  I'm not a big fan of sheer drops of 20 feet -- let alone 2,000 feet.  But my sister Julie and her husband Dave wanted me to see this particular part of their state and my sister Linda who is almost as heights-impaired as I am, said she was game, so off we went.

I was fine at first.  Didn't really think much about it.  But they kept talking on the almost 2 hour trip from Montrose to the park entrance about how it wasn't so bad and which side of the car I should not sit on and how I could keep my eyes closed on the way up, if I wanted.

All that made me a mite jittery.  So did, upon our arrival at the park entrance, Linda saying, "Okay, let's switch seats."  She said it was so I could have the best views for photos, but it was really because she wanted to be on the side of the car facing the solid rock walls instead of the sheer (I have I mentioned that the drops offs are sheer?) drop onto the rocks below.

I was still pretty much okay.  Until a car pulled up next to us.  The driver and passenger looked up at the roads clinging to the side of the rock face, looked at each other, looked up again, looked back at each other ... and turned around and left.

I took a deep breathe, we pulled up to the ranger station, got our sticker and started up a gentle climb.  I looked at the map the ranger had kindly given us just as the road took a decided un-gentle angle of descent and all guard rails disappeared (to make it easier for the car to plunge all the way to the bottom of Fruita Canyon I guess).  According to the map, ahead lay Dead Man's Curve.

My goal was to make it there -- and past. 

My hands were sweaty, my breathing shallow.  I wanted to lean to the inside to "help" keep the car on the road (unknown forces were probably at work trying to suck us off the road).  I wanted to close my eyes.  But instead, I reminded myself to breathe deep.  I sat back.  I wiped my hands on my shorts.  I stole small glances out the side window while Julie and Dave "ooohed" and "aahed."  I admitted to myself and them that I was scared.  And I told myself that soon I would be at a place that was more comfortable to me than an automobile climbing along the edge -- and would be witness to some vistas that I'd never witness any other way.

Like life, I thought.  I'm in the midst of a sort scary trek now... after having left a long-term, solid, well-paying, fulfilling position with a wonderful organization to do ... to do what?  To find another  solid, well-paying, fulfilling position with a wonderful organization?  To write, edit, speak, lead retreats, consult with churches? 

The road I'm on looks pretty scary in some ways.  But the safety of the flatlands is behind me.  I'm on the climb.  The cliffs look pretty sheer.  But, like yesterday, I'm in good company.  Many other of God's children are traveling similar paths, and some are with me on mine.

And, like yesterday, I have a driver and guide who's trustworthy and knows the terrain, even if I don't.  So, like the old gospel hymn says:

I'm pressing on the upward way

New heights I'm gaining every day;

Still praying as I'm onward bound,

“Lord, plant my feet on higher ground.”

Now, if I can just make it past "Dead Man's Curve."

-- Brent

We Ain't the Amish -- Quaker Quest

“We’re Not the Amish” Say the Quakers

Many people have stereotypes about Quakers – that they dress like the man on the Quaker Oats box. That they ride in horse-drawn buggies. That they don’t use electricity. That, in other words, they are just like the Amish. While Quakers have great respect for the Amish, they want to dispel any ideas that Quakers are Amish! West Newton Friends Church will be addressing that issue at the April 25th & May 2nd editions of “Quaker Quest.” The theme those nights is “Quakers and Everyday Living.”

“Quaker Quest” is a series of free sessions that gives people a chance to learn about Quakers today. “Quakers and Everyday Living” will be held at West Newton Friends Church at 6800 S. Mooresville Road in Indianapolis at 6:30 p.m. on April 25th and May 2nd. Two Quakers from West Newton Friends Church will be sharing short personal presentations on Quaker life based on their own experience.

The Quaker Quest sessions are open to the public and are held on Wednesday evenings. The programs include small group discussions, time for questions and answers, and an opportunity to experience a bit of Quaker worship. Refreshments and childcare will be provided as well. Advance reservations aren't necessary and the sessions are free.

All visitors will receive a complimentary autographed copy of Mind the Light: Learning to See with Spiritual Eyes by Quaker author and West Newton Friends Church member J. Brent Bill.

The schedule for Quaker Quest is
April 25 Quakers and Everyday Living
May 2 Quakers and Everyday Living
May 9 Quakers and Jesus
May 16 Quakers and Worship


The Friends, as Quakers are formally known, will also be available after the sessions for further visiting, answering questions, and hearing from folks who attend.

People interested in attending, or learning more about Quakers, should contact West Newton Friends Church at 317-856-5967 or brentbil@brentbill.com

West Newton Friends Church
6800 S. Mooresville Rd Indianapolis, IN 46221
http://sites.google.com/site/westnewtonfriends/
317-856-5967

On Being Attentive -- Daily Miracles

Miracles

By Walt Whitman

1819-1892

---

Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at night
with any one I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet
and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring;
These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.

To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.
To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion of the waves--the
ships with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?

*********
Thanks to Jacob Stone (Walt Whitman scholar and aficionado extraordinaire) for sending this to me.

-- Brent

Quaker Wisdom for Today

"Do not look for such great matters to begin with; but be content to be a child, and let the Father proportion out daily to thee what light, what power, what exercises, what straits, what fears, what troubles he sees fit for thee; and do thou bow before him continually in humility of heart... Thou must join in with the beginnings of life, and be exercised with the day of small things, before thou meet with the great things, wherein is the clearness and satisfaction of the soul. The rest is at noonday; but the travels begin at the breakings of day, wherein are but glimmerings or little light, wherein the discovery of good and evil are not so manifest and certain; yet there must the traveller begin and travel; and in his faithful travels ... the light will break in upon him more and more."

-- Isaac Penington