Reflections: Hwy 89 Road Trip 2.0

I’m sitting in the Salt Lake City International Airport. I have an hour before my flight boards heading back to Nashville. There is a moment now to reflect on the week. My adventure on Highway 89 began seven days ago. In those seven days, I drove 2,200 miles. Those miles took me to the Grand Teton, Canyonlands, Arches, Valley of the Gods, Capitol Reef, and Bryce Canyon National Parks. I started each day before sunrise and ended each day after sunset. Sleeping and eating were necessities to accomplish my mission, to take as many pictures as possible.

I haven’t seen any of my pictures yet. I don’t know for sure that I have any pictures in my camera. Driving and hiking are all I’ve had time and energy for. Thinking about it, not having any pictures would be highly disappointing, but not devastating. What I have experienced, seen, felt, and heard will remain in my memory. Well, for a while, at least until dementia sets in (or advances).

Two encounters have topped my list of most awesome.

The first was an overarching heaviness hovering in my mind on May 6, which was the anniversary of Jan’s death. Her absence permeated every inspiring sight that was processed in the activation of each of my five senses. I miss her companionship.

I remember standing in the morning cold east of the Tetons watching the sun set. I watched the mountain’s shadow move toward me until I, too, was consumed by its chill. What a profound moment that was! The next morning, I stood in the same spot, ready to get my once-in-a-lifetime picture of the sun gripping the peak of Teton Mountain. The temperature was below freezing. Not much below, but enough to stiffen my fingers and sting my ears.

Again, I watched the movement of light and shadow move toward me. This time, I was startled by the warmth that settled on my back.

Shadows and light are a part of life. They are a part of my grief. Sorrow and joy, an odd yet potent combination of emotions, make life vibrant. Each has its own purpose, its own promise, and its own announcement. Sometimes the shadows become debilitatingly cold, and sometimes the light becomes scorchingly hot. But that is where life is shaped and honed to be all that it was given flesh to become. It’s part of that God-given task to “rule” Creation.

(I’ve got to tell you what just happened! As usual, when I start writing, I lose the concept of time.  Pausing to ponder, I saw the time and was just able to shut the computer down and get in my number 37 slot in the A group. That was close! I would have had to go rent another car.) 

In the flow of emotions, it became apparent that I did not need to amplify one over the other. It becomes a harmonious blend, producing a magnificent orchestration of praise and well-being. In short, God manifested Himself in the very center of living on earth.

It’s not that God performed a miracle in me. No, He Himself was the miracle in the midst of my stumbling and stuttering, though living out my average human lifestyle. He did not do anything special in my life. I believe He led me into a spectacular thing He was already doing. God did not decide to anoint me with His “blessing.” He allowed me to enter into His blessing!

One of my favorite old hymns was published in 1895, written by Clara H. Scott, “Open My Eyes, That I May See.” Here is the first verse.

Open my eyes, that I may see

Glimpses of truth Thou hast for me;

Place in my hands the wonderful key

That shall unclasp and set me free.

In my consternation, God had invested his comfort as He conforms my rebellious mind to the image of His Christ. He created me to hold that image as well as trusted me to give it back to Him.

I am nothing but a lump of clay, and He is every bit a potter, the Potter. He will act toward me as he pleases, and I am good with that because He never does anything that is not glorious!

(I’m going to have to write another post to get to the second encounter.)