The summer season is upon us and Alaskan days are warm, bright, and long. As I was reading Donald Miller's, Blue Like Jazz at 11:30 last night, I had to pull the blinds down to keep the brilliant daylight out my eyes; there’s nothing like the midnight sun…
Yesterday, Toby took our pup, Abbey, for a walk up to Flattop Mountain and across the trails to the second peak. A couple of guys from the Air Force base joined him and together they climbed passed the point where green grasses give way to snow-covered trails. At one point, they were within 10 feet of a momma black bear and two, infant cubs the size of 5 lb sugar bags. Tiny and curious, these little creatures were already climbing in trees and exploring their new world of scents and sounds.
It is an ethereal experience to climb above the world and look down on oceans, rivers, glaciers, volcanoes, and distant peaks. From here, you can see hundreds of miles West toward the Pacific Ocean, and North toward the tallest mountains in North America. The higher one rises, the more faint life's troubles become. The jeweled city below becomes a hazy memory of reality and one’s entire world is swallowed up in the magnitude of clear air and captivating views.
Wherever we live, we must always find a place where we can rise above our world; a place where we can retreat, to slow down and breathe deeply. Like a welcome oasis in an expansive desert, these places offer solace from the stress of life and the rush of mundane commitments. They give us the opportunity to withdraw and see our world in a new and fresh perspective. They allow us to feel strong again and make our struggles grow faint.
Perhaps this lofty retreat is a city park, a sidewalk restaurant, or simply the big oak in the backyard. Wherever it is, we must find our way to it as frequently as we can.
For in this peak of retreat, we find the strength, insight, and courage to come back down the mountain and rejoin our world once again.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
From the Tundra to the Sun and Back Again
This weekend, we were visited by my amazing brother and sister-in-law. Roger and Kim Yadon were stopping through on their way back from a visit to Kim's family in Sacramento.
Living in Interior Alaska (Fairbanks), visiting the sunny state of California is a true welcome relief. There are few things that Alaskans enjoy more than blue skies and warm breezes.
However, if one can't seem to get away to the "lower 48", the next best thing is listening to the tales and stories of those who have returned from their voyage South. Sharing their experiences, news of friends and family, and stories of life in another world, Roger and Kim brought us with them on their venture.
We traveled to Sacramento and enjoyed warm laughs with Kim's family, we jaunted off to San Francisco to visit Roger's old roommate, Brian LePort, and we traveled back again on a crowded plane, late into the night.
This sharing of stories is what bonds us all together. We can't all escape when we need to get away, but we can grasp ahold of the rejuvenation and hope that others bring back with them. Through this, we all become connected and whole.
Thank you, Roger and Kim for sharing your trip with us. It was almost as good as the real thing.
Hum and Buzz of the Religious Rogue
They are the sounds that fill the backgrounds of our lives: the incessant whirl of a refrigerator, the chirping of birds, and the whispers of thoughts. While our lives are often structured by the obvious factors, easily identified by the eye, ear, and touch, it is the hum and buzz that fill in the gaps and create a full sense of reality.
If one were to have peeked into the breakfast nooks of pre-WWI Germany, the true story of the Great Wars could have been predicted and followed through the thoughts and conversations of everyday people. It is in this menial chatter that we begin to see the heart of people and faint pictures of the future are created.
My husband, Toby, is currently writing a book about the Hum and Buzz of the religious rogue. We are the generation who truly believes in the power of traditional Pentecostal prayer and worship, yet we are stretching to apply the ancient truth to today's culture and world. Desperately loving the truth found in God's word, many are torn after sincere questions have gone unanswered and beliefs systems are slowly reworked. It is here that we become outsiders or rogues - unable to live in the traditional ideals and unwilling to let go of essentials that keep us from true postmodernity.
This union of past, present, and future is the breeding grounds for the hum and buzz can be heard over kitchen tables, silent email conversations, and late night coffee house encounters. As the questions, thoughts, and searches persist, the hum and buzz becomes a silent signal of something to come. What? We don't know. We just know it is coming. It is the cry for authenticity of truth and the power of God to be honestly lived in today's world.
Have you heard it? The hum and buzz?
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Boogie, Spike & other reinventions
We were supposed to be getting ready to go out. Toby and I were jostling for mirror space in front our single pedestal bathroom sink, laughing and chatting about the random thoughts flying through our heads as we primped.
“So how did you get the nickname, Boogie?” he asked.
“Well, originally it was a much more elaborate name: Bee-buga-boogula. Then, my dad decided the name was too long, so it became Boogie, for short.” I went on to share my father’s penchant for placing extravagant nicknames on his family: mom was “Wee-wonkus”, my little brother, Roger, was knighted “Podjo”, and my sister Debbie originally answered to “Dingle-berry”. (Until it was discovered that this was slang for fuzz caught in unmentionable areas of the body. Then her name became, “Dingle-flossie”; or “Flossie” for short.)
When I asked about my husband’s childhood names, I was shocked to learn that he missed out – although he did recall the need to develop one. Apparently, he and his two sisters decided they needed aliases, and after much discussion, Kacey became “Booboo”, Keri became “Bobo”, and Toby selected “Bubba”. (So much for creativity.) However, much to their dismay, none of the names really took off.
The challenge of the renaming venture came in convincing others to call him, “Spike”. (Once preteen wisdom kicked in, he saw the need to shift from Redneck names to Thug names). However, it’s hard to shift from “Toby” (he never made it to "Bubba") to “Spike” without orally tripping; you can’t just ease into it. Besides, nicknames are not to be picked out by one’s self – they are deemed upon us by those around us. We are at the mercy of other’s choices for our pseudo-identity. Suddenly requesting to be called, “Wasatooatay”, “Moose”, or “Zsa Zsa” is presumptuous and odd, if not a sign of unhappiness, insecurity or instability at best.
Later, as we were riding home from our evening out, my mind wandered back to the bathroom discussion, and an entirely different question arose: At what point in our lives do we first feel the need for reinvention? How is it that a ten-year old can determine the path his life has been on, picture the prospective future, and feel the need to make a direction change toward “Spike”?
As we meander through our lives, there are times when we desperately feel the need to escape from our identity into a more dramatic, elusive, subdued, or otherwise reverse persona. While this is normal and often short-lived, how does a person determine if the need for change is a healthy one or merely an attempt to run? Can we misinterpret escape as being freedom? Is it possible that our attempts to become someone new are merely relocating the original self? How can we ensure that our change is the real deal, and not merely a nicknamed guise or façade change?
I believe it is wise to evaluate our identity on a frequent basis, and determine if where we are headed is truly the direction we desire to be. It is in doing this that we can appreciate the places we’ve experienced and the life we’ve lived, and begin to understand how it contributes to our existence. The challenge in changing who we are is to understand that our past remains static and solidified in existence; what has occurred cannot be relived or revised. However, how we chose to interpret and apply it to our future is ours to determine.
Embracing who we have been with who we are today, develops honest and whole changes – increasing the probability for effectiveness and permanency. It is in the marriage of our past, present, and future, that we do not reinvent, but redirect. In this we do not become a reverse personality or 180 of our nature, but rather a unique blend of our history, our truest self, and our hopes and dreams for the future.
“Spike”? Probably not. “Tobias the Crusader”? Now, that’s a possibility.
“So how did you get the nickname, Boogie?” he asked.
“Well, originally it was a much more elaborate name: Bee-buga-boogula. Then, my dad decided the name was too long, so it became Boogie, for short.” I went on to share my father’s penchant for placing extravagant nicknames on his family: mom was “Wee-wonkus”, my little brother, Roger, was knighted “Podjo”, and my sister Debbie originally answered to “Dingle-berry”. (Until it was discovered that this was slang for fuzz caught in unmentionable areas of the body. Then her name became, “Dingle-flossie”; or “Flossie” for short.)
When I asked about my husband’s childhood names, I was shocked to learn that he missed out – although he did recall the need to develop one. Apparently, he and his two sisters decided they needed aliases, and after much discussion, Kacey became “Booboo”, Keri became “Bobo”, and Toby selected “Bubba”. (So much for creativity.) However, much to their dismay, none of the names really took off.
The challenge of the renaming venture came in convincing others to call him, “Spike”. (Once preteen wisdom kicked in, he saw the need to shift from Redneck names to Thug names). However, it’s hard to shift from “Toby” (he never made it to "Bubba") to “Spike” without orally tripping; you can’t just ease into it. Besides, nicknames are not to be picked out by one’s self – they are deemed upon us by those around us. We are at the mercy of other’s choices for our pseudo-identity. Suddenly requesting to be called, “Wasatooatay”, “Moose”, or “Zsa Zsa” is presumptuous and odd, if not a sign of unhappiness, insecurity or instability at best.
Later, as we were riding home from our evening out, my mind wandered back to the bathroom discussion, and an entirely different question arose: At what point in our lives do we first feel the need for reinvention? How is it that a ten-year old can determine the path his life has been on, picture the prospective future, and feel the need to make a direction change toward “Spike”?
As we meander through our lives, there are times when we desperately feel the need to escape from our identity into a more dramatic, elusive, subdued, or otherwise reverse persona. While this is normal and often short-lived, how does a person determine if the need for change is a healthy one or merely an attempt to run? Can we misinterpret escape as being freedom? Is it possible that our attempts to become someone new are merely relocating the original self? How can we ensure that our change is the real deal, and not merely a nicknamed guise or façade change?
I believe it is wise to evaluate our identity on a frequent basis, and determine if where we are headed is truly the direction we desire to be. It is in doing this that we can appreciate the places we’ve experienced and the life we’ve lived, and begin to understand how it contributes to our existence. The challenge in changing who we are is to understand that our past remains static and solidified in existence; what has occurred cannot be relived or revised. However, how we chose to interpret and apply it to our future is ours to determine.
Embracing who we have been with who we are today, develops honest and whole changes – increasing the probability for effectiveness and permanency. It is in the marriage of our past, present, and future, that we do not reinvent, but redirect. In this we do not become a reverse personality or 180 of our nature, but rather a unique blend of our history, our truest self, and our hopes and dreams for the future.
“Spike”? Probably not. “Tobias the Crusader”? Now, that’s a possibility.
Friday, May 12, 2006
The Beginning of an Alaskan Summer
The beauty around me is so brilliant it is tangible. You can see it, feel it, smell it, and almost taste it.
It is the beginning of summer in Alaska.
As temperatures soar to a welcome 63 degrees, the mountains surrounding this coastal town are a patchwork of blooming green and snowy white, against a backdrop of deep blue skies. Here in the Last Frontier, every day feels as though you are living in a postcard.
Soon our days will be filled with landscaping our wooded yard, playing among the wildflowers, climbing nearby mountain peaks, fishing icy, rushing rivers, biking Anchorage's miles of trails, and enjoying friends late into the midnight sun.
While I'd love to stay and chat for a while longer, I feel a higher calling today - a pull I can't resist...
...so I'm headed out to walk the beach with my husband and beautiful blonde pup, Abbey.
It is the beginning of summer in Alaska.
As temperatures soar to a welcome 63 degrees, the mountains surrounding this coastal town are a patchwork of blooming green and snowy white, against a backdrop of deep blue skies. Here in the Last Frontier, every day feels as though you are living in a postcard.
Soon our days will be filled with landscaping our wooded yard, playing among the wildflowers, climbing nearby mountain peaks, fishing icy, rushing rivers, biking Anchorage's miles of trails, and enjoying friends late into the midnight sun.
While I'd love to stay and chat for a while longer, I feel a higher calling today - a pull I can't resist...
...so I'm headed out to walk the beach with my husband and beautiful blonde pup, Abbey.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Prepping for a New Life
Okay... So it's been awhile since my last post. Although its been silent, there's been much scurrying in the Stevens home.
Knowing that learning to say "No" cold turkey would result in miserable failure, I decided to create a list of tasks, commitments, and roles that I felt were holding me back from my goal, and then set a final date upon which all the tasks were to be completed.
With two months ahead of me, I went to work: designing websites, finalizes accounting projects, mending clothes, developing data maintenance systems, cleaning closets, and a million other odd sorts of jobs.
When May 1st arrived, I celebrated two amazing days: first my 35th birthday and second, the welcome of my new life.
There were no flashing ribbons of aurora borealis color in the sky. No bells sounded their cheer. And I spent the next day doing the same things I've done for the past 15 years. But still, something changed. It was internal. A joy, a hope, an awakening.
It was my life.
Knowing that learning to say "No" cold turkey would result in miserable failure, I decided to create a list of tasks, commitments, and roles that I felt were holding me back from my goal, and then set a final date upon which all the tasks were to be completed.
With two months ahead of me, I went to work: designing websites, finalizes accounting projects, mending clothes, developing data maintenance systems, cleaning closets, and a million other odd sorts of jobs.
When May 1st arrived, I celebrated two amazing days: first my 35th birthday and second, the welcome of my new life.
There were no flashing ribbons of aurora borealis color in the sky. No bells sounded their cheer. And I spent the next day doing the same things I've done for the past 15 years. But still, something changed. It was internal. A joy, a hope, an awakening.
It was my life.
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