I fight the unknown. I attempt to move everything, as quickly as I encounter it, from the unknown to the known. I now see that there are things that remain a mystery. There is much about God and life that is paradox. I understand that a bit better and am more willing to push forward into the unknown. But that is now. Once I was not open or able to see that by choosing a life that required one thing, faith, that I had chosen a path that would stretch me, make me more uncomfortable, not less, and plunge me into the deep end of the sea of unknown. And so I fought it… and kept sinking under the water.

Before embarking on this huge life upheaval, I went through quite a lengthy discernment process with a group of seasoned folks who knew about living in the unknown. This process helped make it clear that I was to head off into the unknown in a much bigger way. I needed it to be clear because this was where I was at that point; I needed some assurance when faced with this blank page stretching out in front of me. I also thankfully couldn’t see it for the large change it has become. They saw it; I didn’t/couldn’t. And I don’t think I would have had the courage to keep living into it when I lost heart and my faith trembled, had I not been certain I was to go, and keep going.

I didn’t know much about what and why, how long or where, except that I wanted to learn more about God and how he speaks to me, to learn to trust his voice, to learn more about how I was made, to push myself to brand new places in my writing and to see more of the world. It took me awhile (still) to accept that God wanted to delight in me and delight me, with experiences that I never thought that I would know. I didn’t have the kind of childhood that helped me grow strong and secure in the world and it seems that God has taken special care to give me so many ‘childlike wonder’ moments in my journeys. I would ask, ‘but what use am I to you right now lost in the rhythmic crashing of the turquoise waves; what use is it to you that I toss a caber in the Highland games just because I really, really want to?’

I have begun to see that just being with him, delighting in him in a childlike way, is of immeasurable importance. Walking with him, listening, talking with him, asking questions is what he created us for in the first place. He loves to see us smile and to lift our hearts, to play with us, to comfort us, to show us the majesty of his wild, miraculous creation, of which people are his wildest and most beautiful.

As I find my heart renewed from being in nature, my heart opens more fully to the unknown. It is often then that someone will cross my path, on the trail or in a café, or will sit beside me on a ferry, bus or train and we begin talking and they share their heart with me and I them and somewhere along the way we both realize that this wasn’t random, our connection. I am delighted and surprised each time, as if this is an accident instead of the point of it all, this love and kindness, this authenticity, between people.

These experiences help me see that this is how God does what he does; it’s part of how we are crafted. We all have the opportunity to navigate the unknown guided by faith rather than fear. But we are all different in how we live out that life; the terrain of our lives is unique. Our hearts long for different places and we are given different people across our paths. We have a different part to play. We have different passions and different ways that our souls are rejuvenated for the journey that is life.

For me, I long to, need to, explore in nature. Outdoor adventure energizes me, meeting new people and doing new things in my travels open me and expand my heart. This is how he knows me… as he made me. These things call me for reasons even I don’t fully know, part of that mystery. However we are made, wherever we are in life, there are people and opportunities for connection, for giving and receiving, for needing and being needed, for helping and being helped. It is food for our hearts and souls to honor how we are made, to be nourished and renewed in the ways we are meant to be, to serve where we are with whatever we have and also to humble ourselves to be served in our present need, no matter how small it seems.

Yet, I still struggle with ‘being still’ and feeling useful. I feel self-indulgent sometimes when I go off hiking in a beautiful place because I can barely accept the joy of God at times. Or when I linger over a cappuccino at a café. Shouldn’t I be doing something more than putting words on paper or gazing at a sunset? Yes, there is more learning and deepening of faith to do. To stretch myself beyond where I am today, to reach out and invite people for a meal, to really see them, meet their needs, give whatever I have to give; to be faithful with what is before me… and I also need to gaze at breathtaking sunsets, feel seaspray on my toes and put words on paper (or a screen) so that I do not do things because I ought do them, but do things because my heart is full of love and delights to do them.

It is then I realize that I am no longer afraid in the unknown because Love has hold of my hand and knows the way home.

Hand in hand, jumping over sidewalk cracks and crunching leaves on the long, weekly walk to the library. Big boy ‘work’ time in the café together—one writing down words and the other absorbed in a Nook. Night night kisses—one on each cheek counted with our few Italian words—uno, due. Hiking over and under fallen trees to the top of Giggle Hill, crawling carefully through the owie barbed wire fence, high-fiving safely on the other side, lying on a cushy picnic blanket and gazing up at tall trees that sway and crackle in the island breeze while munching on fresh pineapple and upcountry strawberries, baking a fancy cake full of organic coconut and fresh lime for the ‘rents… perfetto (one of the other Italian words we know). Memories with Jaden are some of the best treasures that I will take from Maui.

Sometimes we are ready to go when it is time to go. Sometimes we are never ready. Sometimes we are only apart geographically and see the same moon in the night sky. Sometimes the ones we love pass from this earth. We remember small details that seemed so insignificant in the moments they happened, a word, a glance, a sideways smile. These small things find their way back home to our remembering… and we are together again.

So much has happened on this tiny island in these few months. Jaden and I shared many firsts for him, some will be remembered, some forgotten in his young mind, but yet they will remain as a knowing in his heart, and in mine, of who we are to each other. We share a love of hiking and the outdoors, playing hide and seek among the forest trees, climbing and jumping off old logs. Loving trail cycling as I do I couldn’t help but buy him his first tricycle. He’ll be tearing down singletracks in no time. (Scottish Highlands, here we come!)

‘Hot sand on toes, cold sand in sleeping bags. I’ve come to know that memories are the best things we have.’ ~Ben Howard

Sometimes we get to choose whom we love and sometimes life chooses for us. My daughter has this great thing she does where she writes short-term bucket lists and actively creates memories she wants to take with her and share with the ones she loves. It is good to think about what experiences and memories we want to create with those we have loved for a long time or have come suddenly to love through circumstances that have bound us together, and not leave it all up to happenstance.

Life in the here and now—sometimes it’s just plain painful and sometimes it’s painfully perfect… both experiences pass through in their own time. Although island life is not a permanent choice for me at this time, I have created a life here with my family and it has come to rest in the painfully perfect category; I sometimes wish it could last just like this forever. But it was not meant to. Life moves us all forward and go we must. The going part comes, and then the coming back together part comes once again, sometimes soon and sometimes longer than we feel we can bear. When one’s life is rich with treasured memories and experiences, it seems they find their way home as small mercies when needed the most.

I have just had a birthday spent camping on the shores of Hana and many memories have become treasures in my heart, from getting no sleep the entire weekend (but tons of writing on one of my books) due to the couple who not only smoked but inhaled and stayed up ’til dawn laughing their arses off, and the people who chose to set up camp next to my tent in the middle of the following night in spite of a dozen empty sites, to the bliss of a long hike in the forest (Jaden made it the entire way), Jaden hanging out in my tent after sunset talking, munching on snacks and laughing ’til our stomachs hurt, fresh strawberry papaya for breakfast and cafe-quality cappuccinos on the edge of the ocean with a trusty Bialetti and stovetop frother. Memories… this songwriter knows what he’s talking about.

Epic. Small. Once. Eternal. Significant. Fragile. Mundane. Brilliant. Lonely. Lovely. Repressed. Sensual. Brutal. Blessed.

Life.

Open up. Risk. Be the fool. Learn. Steady our fearful shaking. Grow strong enough to be weak. Love boldly even when it is certain that our hearts will break. May it be that each of us chooses to journey into the mist of the dark and frightening night that is where the soul has learned to hide and take the bends and turns that give us no clue to what awaits us around the corner. Let us journey on and meet the dawn that is breaking beyond the visible horizon… believing, even as we doubt, that it will come. May we see that loneliness and heartache do not come emptyhanded; they come bearing gifts. Yes, they arrive without invitation. Yet when we are true to our heart, to our life, they faithfully help bring us to the dawn.

To ‘protect’ ourselves from others’ pain by causing our own, to be unfaithful, untrue, by wounding ourselves first through a distorted sense of obligation to a life that is not our own, by giving free rein to the poisons of apathy, distraction, diversion or disregard, is to mortally wound our heart and by our own hands extinguish from our life the light that calls each of us to the great journey. Our heart and soul are left to anguish in the grip of the poisons that flood our system; our true self remains shrouded by the mist through which we have declined to venture. The pain that we were driven to numb with poison of our own making now owns our soul. And we find we must now also spend our precious life energy to silence the added pain of the poison itself. We tell ourselves to be happy with the layer upon layer of compromise we have made within–to remain a stranger to ourselves, to become more entrenched in the things we do to cope. We tell ourselves that there is no other way and there is no other choice.

Yet… it does not have to be.

May it be that there would be something or someone to inspire each of our souls to the great journey to face and to know the deep and glorious mystery that is who we are meant to be. To choose to feel life and to endure the pain of healing, to cease striving and walk one step at a time. To sit on a bench and rest along the way without feeling left behind or forgotten or insignificant in our resting. To embrace the seasons of a well-lived life and trust the gifts and pain of longing, of love yet unmet, of loss that is not made whole. To enter into the darkened patches of forest and keep walking when the wild sounds of the night bring terror. To take the bends in the road believing that we will not face monsters too terrible to overcome but somehow, even though we cannot see or understand, the light of dawn will soon rise before us and peace will come to rest within us. May it be that we come to trust that all that we need will come just when we need it as we take the long journey home.

May It Be–Enya
‘May it be when darkness falls
Your heart will be true
You walk a lonely road
Oh! How far you are from home.

Believe and you will find your way
A promise lives within you now.’

Throughout the last year and a half I have shared many of the moments and experiences of my life on these pages. I have found that I have struggled with writing my book and writing here. I thought that it would work out to do both but it still seems to be one or the other.

I have decided to step away for a time and focus on my other writing at least until I complete the book that I am working on now. I will miss the connection I feel with many of you who have faithfully read my writing and I hope you will meet me on ‘the other side.’

Thank you for reaching across the miles and walking with me among the olive groves of Italy, watching the sun set across the caldera in Santorini, cycling the back roads in the south of France, listening to traditional bands in pubs across Ireland, enjoying winter gluhwein next to an outdoor fire in Germany, hiking the sweeping Highlands of Scotland and even taking part in the Highland Games.

It was the most gracious gift that so many of you came closer when I was vulnerable, raw, passionate, quiet, loud, goofy, serious… me. I have found courage, buoyed by your support, that I did not imagine I could have. I have done things that I would not have thought I could do. I am more of who I hoped I could be. My life is forever transformed, not only because of the experiences I have had out there in the world, but also here… with many of you.

I am returning to the States soon, for how long I do not yet know. Will I travel on from there to new places or return to lands I have come to love? It is yet to be seen. I do believe that wherever home turns out to be, I will find my way there… home will find me.

When I boarded that first plane to Dublin I didn’t really know what was before me. I didn’t imagine how much deeper the unknown could go. I had a certainty of my general direction and purpose, and very few specifics. It turns out that some of the best experiences, memories and friends came out of mishaps… getting lost, missing a bus, volcanic eruptions. Making ‘mistakes’ and not having a plan were incredible gifts.

I still don’t know what it all means or where it will take me… just that the steps I take are going somewhere that is meant for me to go, even when it feels like I am wandering in a circle at times. But that is precisely why it is a magnificent adventure.

Some of what I learned:
Journey through the forests, mountains and canyons of your fear. The good stuff is in the midst of all that.

Be willing to be a fool for love… (secret–those who really love are never fools.)

Try new things and discover what sets your heart on fire. Do that.

When given a choice of accepting something because you’re afraid it can’t be different or risking and going for something you’re afraid won’t work out, risk and go for it. Don’t wish you had and wonder what might have been.

Lose your map sometimes. Give destiny a chance to do its job.

Whether by my own choice or others, I am often the navigator when hiking or cycling. Inevitably I will halt in the middle of a path and say that I’m not sure if we’re going in the right direction and less than a minute or two later a sign or some other indicator will reassure that all is as it should be and we are indeed on the right path. This has become a bit of a joke with those whom I hike with frequently. When I stop, someone will say, ‘Well, a sign should be right around the corner.’ The junction or turn seems to always take longer than the map and directions indicate and I second-guess my understanding of the path. Recently I was hiking with friends and the directions I had and the actual path were completely incongruous. I was trying to get us to some falls and also to a viewpoint. We wandered around in the forest for quite awhile and discovered things that weren’t on our map, never making it to the falls but we did find the viewpoint over Loch Ness in the photo above.

There are times in life when the path is clear and I can see more than one step at a time and other times where it just seems to meander around, going nowhere. Still other times I have a sense of what the bigger picture is… I can see a light in the far distance calling me forward but have no idea how the path is going to go from where I am to over there, which looks pretty far away. But the meandering isn’t in vain. Cliche as it may sound, the journey has a job to do, and also a lot to offer if we slow down to experience it.

Selling my house was a good example of this. The process was time-consuming and, therefore, frustrating for me. Some days I wanted to bag the whole thing as nothing seemed to be happening, and I like things to move. Other times there were intense waves of activity and high levels of interest; I would think we were close to a deal and it wouldn’t go. I struggled with wondering if I got it wrong and wasn’t supposed to sell. Other times I was filled with a calm certainty that all would be alright. In the midst of this up and down process of a crazy real estate market and hope/let down, I finally got a solid offer… and then rejected it outright with no negotiation. I didn’t feel good about it; the people didn’t feel right for my neighbors based on the potential buyers’ behaviors and attitudes, the offer appeared good but I had a feeling that these buyers would be unreasonably difficult. It was just not the right deal. I had an indication that another offer might be made but I had nothing certain. But I felt certain of my decision. In due time, an offer shaped up and came forward that has proven to be the right thing for all involved.

What I only realized after all of this was over is that the process was always as it should be. The process was working itself out, giving time for the resulting buyer to come forward, giving time for me to build greater faith and patience. I was also learning to trust and take bigger risks in the face of money and what I thought I wanted, which was the kind of offer that the first buyers made. Sometimes something seems to be what you want but you begin to see that it’s not the right thing for you. How the end result happened and the details of it I had not imagined, and I had imagined a number of possible outcomes at the start. Although my feelings ebbed and flowed, I held onto the sense that I was to sell and that it would work out for the best… and it did.

I find that I sometimes get the big, broad brushstrokes of a direction with no clarity on how it will go. Other times I see a next step but don’t know where it’s going, where I’m going. But I am learning through entering into new experiences that most things are as they need to be even though it doesn’t always make sense or feel good. What is mine… to welcome the fresh wind that gently moves me forward, fight for what needs to be fought for, give what needs to be given, do what needs to be done. And release and accept that the rest is as it needs to be and its purpose is to move each of us forward to who and what is ours.

Finding one’s way in this world and this life… again I see a greater sense of ‘destiny’ at work that is taking me places that I have, and have not, imagined. I have had experiences that I dreamed of having–going to my dream destination, Santorini, Greece for one–and many more that I had not imagined. I have met people whom I cannot see my life without and whom have remained, and others have moved through my life and I through theirs as we find our own direction, intersecting for a time now and then. And it is as it should be.

Recently I attended the Highland Games near a small village about ten or fifteen miles outside of Inverness. There were so many families and children there. It was a true community event. This veg and fish eater happily ate a venison burger with sautéed onions straight off the barbeque.

Little did I know that I would be IN the games. And in the Heavy events as well as the hill run relay. Having been to the Braemar games last year I had seen the heavy events (in one of those odd twists in my adventures I ended up sitting near Queen Elizabeth and Prince Charles). Watching someone else throw the Scots Hammer or toss a caber is nothing like trying to do it yourself. The Hammer was incredibly difficult to master in my five-second instruction. Never mind the darn thing was heavy! You’re supposed to keep your arms straight and swing it round your head and then twist your body and throw it. It’s too heavy to keep your arms straight when you’re new at it and when you get it going it throws you completely off balance. The momentum threw some women competitors to the ground. I managed to stay on my feet but didn’t place in the top 3 out of the field of about 8-10 women. When I went to the Highland Games here in my own town this past weekend I noted that the Heavies (those competing in the Heavy events) all wore these metal things on their boots that they dug into the ground to keep them from being thrown on the ground or over the line and being disqualified. Those boot-thingys would have been nice to have.

The Stone Put, which is like shot put but with a large stone, was pretty straightforward. The organizer didn’t have any of us, men or women, spin around to do the Stone Put. We simple had to pick it up, position and launch it. I took second.

It was girls against guys for the Tug-of-War. The girls won both times.

And then there was the Caber Toss. This is one of my favorite Highland game events. I was excited and nervous. I couldn’t believe that I was expected to actually pick it up, balance it, run with it and toss it over… on a first go. This was a definite challenge. The hardest part is to get the thing off the ground and balanced on your two hands, which you have to get underneath the caber. Then you have to hoist it and balance it; its weight makes you sway and swerve. You need to get running with it balanced, lift it forward and toss it so that it flips completely over and hits as close to 12 noon on a clock dial as you can. The caber toss closest to noon wins. I was ecstatic that I successfully balanced and flipped it but it landed at about 10. I didn’t end up placing in the top 3. But not too bad a showing for my first Highland Games.

There were many teams in the Hill Run Relay. I’m not a runner and was dismayed to discover that the 2 people in front of me weren’t there at each handoff, so I had to keep running. Some confusion had ensued at one point and some people who were not participating had been assigned a leg and so they weren’t at their handoff point. One of the legs included running across a very narrow log several feet off the ground. I couldn’t even hoist myself up on the log by myself after running full tilt but once up I managed to balance and run across without falling (and having to start over), pushing hard through the final legs to the end to help our team to second.

This was an incredibly cool event for several reasons. My assigned leg was #8 and was high on a hill as the sun was setting. Since I had so many runners before me I had time to soak in the crazy amazing view. Loch Ness shimmered and stretched out below me to my right as it met the gorgeous Scotland summer evening sky; the diffused light made the distant hills seem to glow. Dotting the hill across from mine were white puffs of sheep and I could hear people laughing and encouraging each other on at different parts of the forest in their charming Scottish Highland accent. As I began to run I heard them calling my name and cheering me on, which gave me what I needed to finish strong.

It was a beautiful night running down the soft green hill, through the trees and across the clear, grassy meadow. One man turned to me and said, ‘I’ve lived in Scotland near all my life and this is the first time I’ve participated in the games, and here you have already. Well done.’ And I thought, ‘Well done Scotland for having a community event like this. What fun! And what an unforgettable night.’

To cap it off a woman approached me and asked me if I was at the gym in Inverness earlier that week. It turns out she was in my class and we ended up partnering up the next time we were at class. It’s a nice feeling when you’re new to an area and you start to run into people here and there. I can’t always remember because everyone’s new all the time so it’s nice when they remember you and start a conversation. It was really a wonderful thing that night as I was away from my own town and I was actually hesitant to go to these games as I wasn’t sure if I was up to being around strangers that night. It was so great when someone there ‘knew’ me. And people turned out not to be strangers at all. So welcoming and friendly. I hope that I am back in Scotland again to go to these games.

Clip of amateur heavies and the real heavies

Photos

These trees are on the land of Clan Donald, which is in the Sleat Peninsula on the Isle of Skye off the west coast of Scotland. These trees are incredibly tall and have been there for a long time. They have lived many years together and have borne witness to countless things. They sway in the wind and creak and rub against each other… it’s as if they’re talking to you.

So many people I have talked to lately have expressed in various ways the ache of their heart from brokenness and isolation. These people are alone. All have been married at one time. They all have a measure of joy in their lives in different ways but underlying all of their life’s moments is a deep pain, a need. A normal need that I don’t think we take seriously enough. The need to be close to others. To go through life together. To see each other frequently, if not every day. To share our lives, not just an occasional lunch. Sometimes that is a spouse. Sometimes it’s a brother or sister. Sometimes it’s a good friend.

But more and more people live individual lives. There are so many who go to work, run their errands, walk the dog and go home. They see friends once in awhile but they are essentially going through life alone. More than ever I know what this is like. I realize that I had people whom I could say were living life with me. There were only a few of them but they were there, and it makes a huge difference.

What of those of us who have lost that, or never had it? Some have lost their close people, their family and friends, through divorce or death of their spouse, loss of siblings or parents, or friends. It can be devastating to try to put your life back together. Isolation comes. Isolation is much deeper than loneliness. It is not the way most of us are geared to live.

I was never one of those people who needed to be around a bunch of people. I enjoyed my alone time. I worked well at home, was much more efficient actually. But something has shifted. Something has been irrevocably altered. I don’t know how or when or why. It just is different.

Talking to others and listening to their stories I recognize what this is. What we long for isn’t just ‘company’ or someone with whom to go to the movies. What we long for are people who will go through life with us… the ones who will be there ‘til the end. We desire that strong bond and connection, that sense of family, that brings us to live near a child or parent or friend or to marry. We need family—whether we were born to it or create it. We need people we belong to and who belong to us. ‘Our’ people. People to whom we are a top priority and they are to us. And most of us need that one person, that life partner, whose life is joined with ours and intertwines as we grow together.

How many people’s depression, sleeping problems, overeating, medication dependencies, and general poor health could be resolved through deep love and connection? Through living life with others? Being part of a loving family? Family is much more than the one you came from, thank goodness. It is created more than born. But why is it we spend so much time and money fixing the symptoms of loneliness and isolation instead of investing in each other and being there for each other? It seems that in most of the cases with the people whom I have listened to lately, their primary need and longing is for someone to be in life with, who is there behind the closed doors, where they can be vulnerable and completely safe. Someone who draws close to them and shares their life and heart and dreams; a person who can, and does, become deeply intimate, where there is a true joining of hearts and lives.

I think that this life partnership is of such importance, and yet so many relationships that are meant to last, whether it be friends or family, are betrayed and broken, leaving people bereft and increasingly isolated as they get older.

I have lived alone and loved it. But I don’t see myself doing that much longer. Whether it’s sharing a home with flatmates or family, or sharing my life through marriage someday, I’m following that longing for community, for engaging more deeply, for seeing my family and friends more often, for sharing life more intimately…

Let’s see where it takes me.

Believe.

Believe that it will come to be even though in this moment it looks like it will not.

Believe in the amazing. Miracles. Little ones. Big ones.

If we don’t see the amazing, does that mean it doesn’t exist? Being able to see what is there in the seeming emptiness reminds me of the photos scientists took of the ‘empty’ space in the sky. When they probed deeper into those spaces they found that within every dust-size speck from earth’s perspective were a thousand galaxies… numerous galaxies in a speck believed to be empty. How many ‘empty’ spaces can one see in a clear night sky? How many specks of dust would fit into those vast spaces? How many galaxies, planets, stars, moons? It’s amazing.

How much do we have yet to understand?

It seems that sometimes even those of us whose hope has been tinged with cynicism or those of us who are cautious and skeptical are gifted with sight… and we see what was there all the time. Miracles. Things, events, experiences that ‘violate the laws of nature’ as David Hume defined a miracle.

Miracles seem often to be quite personal. Suddenly you find yourself in the presence of the amazing. A person in a brilliant flash sees their life as it really is and walks away from the alcohol, drugs, gambling, addictions. A baby ‘beats the odds’ and lives when the parents are told he will not make it through the night.

Several years ago I got a severe bout of the flu. I was under tremendous stress related to managing a huge work project that was on deadline. I was managing home life as a single parent. It was also Christmas time. I was sick all day and into the night, growing weaker with each passing hour. I knew something was going wrong beyond the flu and I reached out to a friend to come and watch my sleeping children so that I could get myself to the emergency room at the hospital.

It turned out that my system was massively overstressed and additionally weakened from the hours of vomiting. The medical team got the vomiting to stop but I had developed a rapid heart rate and irregular heartbeat at the same time; this is what I had felt at home. My heart rate and irregularity were at dangerous levels. Normally, I have the resting heart rate ‘of an athlete’ and low blood pressure but an illness and other contributing factors can bring on a reaction like this.

Cardiologists were called in and couldn’t get my system to respond. They finally made a decision to use a defibrillator, which is apparently quite dangerous to use on a conscious person. One of the risks that they informed me about (and I had to sign consent forms) was that I stood a good chance of having a stroke, among other things. But if they didn’t get my heart back to normal I would suffer devastating consequences or would die. It was the choice of no choice. They called in their senior cardiologist from home as he needed to authorize the procedure in a case like this.

I signed the forms and was prepped. I talked to my oldest child, my daughter, by phone. My pastor had come to the ER and was allowed to come in to see me before they wheeled me out to another room where they could deal with any issues that occurred during the procedure. Everything had been done that could be done, or had it? Medical staff were in the room as I asked my pastor to pray for me. He prayed that my heart would return to normal and that I would be well. As he said ‘Amen’ the monitors in the room signaled a change. All the medical staff started talking to each other. ‘What is it?’ I asked. They turned to me, incredulous. Everything in my system immediately, in that single second, had returned to fully normal. They monitored me for a considerable time after that but I remained stable. Everyone was visibly relieved that they hadn’t had to go through with it. A physician told me that they do everything they can and, then, sometimes there are miracles; things that just defy everything they know. He told me that I got one. I agreed. (After being monitored for a year following and annual exams, my heart and system have had no lasting effects whatsoever from this incidence.)

A person could argue with me that it was coincidence that my heart returned to normal at the precise moment that my pastor prayed, but then my entire life would be a massive coincidence, yet that I was somehow also participating in. I have seen too many things come together as a direct result of faith, prayer, a hope kept alive. I see countless things that can only be described as amazing, as miracles. And we get to participate in them.

It is your heart fiercely believing with indomitable hope and faith that the person you love will one day awaken from their addiction and allow the waves of pain that they’ve been numbing to wash through them, cleaning and healing the wounds… and one day, long after you have opened your hands and set them free, they do. And kindness and love blossom.

It is the unrelenting hope that someone you care about will choose love instead of getting what they want at any cost to others; one day you pick up the phone and hear their voice filled with humble awareness; they have suddenly seen themselves and with a newly broken heart have discovered a powerful longing to learn to love… and you begin to see the person you had glimpsed behind the façade come to life.

It’s the experience of a reality that isn’t what you see and touch… and yet is. You begin to see that your ‘physical’ reality is only part of the world. It’s coming to know that when you take your hands off the wheel and pray for truth, for guidance, for what you need to believe, to see, to know the miracles of life, that Someone takes the wheel and your life becomes a miracle. You discover your heart’s longings, move toward them without seeing where, or if, they will meet you yet feeling guidance, and what you long for rises up to meet you… seemingly waiting for you, and yet, it couldn’t have been there all the time, could it?

You can’t exactly explain the numerous and increasingly ‘cool’ things that you experience as you give up more and more control but in the uneasiness of not knowing how or when things are going to happen, you know that it will be alright. And your heart bursts open with the knowledge that you are living IN a miracle. And you pray to simply be awake, eyes wide open, to see and to know what is always there. Love. Miraculous, healing, amazing love coming toward you, longing for you even more than you long for it, moving in you, transforming you.

There is an essential knowing that has come to define my existence that doesn’t need religion or a building or a structure to be known. This knowing has come from leaning into a belief with a seed of faith: simply that God is Love, not ‘is loving’ but is Love. That all the things he is, the many names, all come from the essential character, intent, act, being, of who he is… Love. Entering into love is entering into God. One cannot enter in and remain unchanged. So is the power of Love to change the world. Love is always asking, inviting. Answer Love’s question and all other questions find their answers.

And with every day of knowing Love more it gets clearer that what I know about love is only a fraction of how much there is, how much I can learn, experience, understand. It’s not dangling in front of me like a carrot to taunt me but is a gift within my reach, a miracle that every part of me was meant to long for, was made for, is moved to seek with all of my heart. And as I do, Love whispers the beautiful promise to my heart… ‘I will be found by you.’ Amazing.

My flatmate, his work colleague, Chao, and I headed out with me as designated driver for our weekend in the Lochaber region. We were headed for Aonach Mor near Fort William, Scotland, the site of the Mountain Biking World Cup, for x-country mountain biking lessons.

The bike school informed us that full body armour for x-country lessons was overkill so we only had our bike helmets. (Given our experience, they might want to revise their protocol for the future.) I learned quickly that what you need to do for mountain biking flies in the face of what my instincts want to do to protect myself. I want to lean forward going over an obstacle but if I don’t balance or lean on my back tire I will land on my front tire and can flip myself off of my bike. I naturally want to avoid obstacles, find a way around instead of over or through. I want to slow down instead of speed up and learn that going slow means a greater chance of catching my tire on a rock instead of sailing over it… slowing down at the wrong time increases my chance of injury. I fought my fear for much of the day. I had to open my mind and ‘rewire’ it to learn and be truly safe, because what I thought would keep me safe put me in danger.

The instructor started us out with a brief lesson on the basics of braking, use of gears on ascents and descents, and other essentials. We began our practice on a relatively easy Blue course, which is two levels up from the easiest. It involved several boardwalks and a couple of bridges, and some ascents and descents with a few rocks but no significant obstacles. One of the descents required a sharp turn at the end to make it onto a bridge. My flatmate had his first crash as his bike didn’t turn (okay, he didn’t turn his bike) and he ran into the side of the bridge. Ouch. Pretty scratched up but alright. He persevered, taking on each challenge with calm determination, even after flying off the Red trail into the air and faceplanting about 15 feet down an embankment; fortunately his helmet saved him from serious harm and his body landed perfectly between a fallen log, a tree and some scattered rocks.

After we managed to make it through the remainder of the Blue course, we spent some time negotiating a simple obstacle, a log. We had to learn the proper body posture, timing and lift of our bike to safely and easily roll ourselves over the log. I made a mistake and instead of lifting my wheel over the log I hit one of my brakes. Not a good idea to hit your brakes as you encounter a log. After this lesson it was time to face the Red skill-building trail. Red trails have rock-strewn ascents and tricky descents with larger rocks and trees, tight turns, small drop-offs, rolling hills where you can get up speed and catch some air. There is one level up from Red and that’s the Black trail, which has huge boulders, large drop-offs and rock slabs, among other challenges… places that it seems no bike should ever go.

Our trail started with an ascent that took us up rocks and challenged our balance, turning, timing and fitness. At the top was a relatively steep descent with a difficult path requiring a slight turn, popping over some larger rocks and maintaining balance and position to make it over the next set of rocks and retain momentum for an immediate ascent up a rocky hill. Looking down the first descent I couldn’t see how I could do it. I had no skill, no confidence. But the instructor was completely calm and no nonsense—you’re here to learn, you learn by doing, so do it. You don’t learn and build up your confidence by staring at obstacles.

I took the first hill and did not do very well but I didn’t crash. I stopped on the way down. I have to say, even the smallest drop-offs, rocks or bundle of tree roots loom large when you’re going over them as a beginner; pair them with tight turns and it can feel overwhelming. When I got to the top of the second hill and saw the descent in front of me I had a sick feeling in my stomach. Had I had bitten off more than I could handle? It was a steep and twisting descent with rocky drop-offs and trees bordering one side of the skinny, singletrack, tight turns with the ground falling away on the other side, the embankment littered with logs, trees and rocks. Crashing or falling off was going to hurt.

I was the first one down again and caught my front tire in between the rocks on the first turn. I knew I was going down and I was scared to hit whatever I would hit so I reached out and grabbed hold of the nearest tree with my left arm, which ripped me off my seat. I wrapped my other arm around the tree to catch myself, hugging it now and somehow managing to keep hold of my bike with my legs. My immediate thought was that this might not be the best way to get down the trail, like ‘okay, you’ve used up that option. No more outs’… let alone how ridiculous I looked.

I was shaking badly at this point and knew that I now had to do this trail. I began to see that I wasn’t afraid of getting hurt as much as my fear was just talking loudly, telling me that the rocks and obstacles were too much for me; that I wouldn’t be able to successfully navigate them… that I didn’t have what it takes. I was heavy with a feeling that no matter how many times I did it, I wouldn’t succeed; that my fear was too strong for me this time. If you’re going to give mountain biking a go, fear is not your friend. You can’t afford it, so you have to face it or walk away.

The instructor kept telling me it’s all mental and requires confidence that it can, indeed, be done. He instructed me to review the obstacles and then pick my line and select focus points that were always beyond each set of obstacles. Once I had passed each set of obstacles, move my attention immediately to my next focus point in my line. Never focus on the obstacles or I’m a goner. Stay right on my line at all times.

It seemed to me that if I didn’t look at the obstacles as I approached them that I would be caught in them and crash. I also wanted to go slow but was informed that this would not help me. I needed speed to get over and through the obstacles, instead of getting caught in them, and momentum to get up the next rocky ascent. I was taking lessons for a reason. I didn’t know how to do this; he did. So I listened. I decided that I’d probably get hurt for sure doing it my way, so if I was going to get hurt, might as well be when I’m trying to do it the way he was teaching me.

I made it back up to the start of the trail and surveyed the first descent. It was a fairly wide trail. I picked my line with his advice. I stayed away from the ‘safer’ looking dirt on the sides and headed straight through and over the rocks, which required turning fast on the craggy jumble. My body was shaking harder by this time. I almost bought it on the first turn (if you don’t turn properly you run straight into a large boulder) but managed to stay on my bike and on my line, sailing over the tiny drop-off ahead and the next group of rocks and then up the next ascent, shaking but thrilled that I had made it through. Now to the bigger hill.

Do or die, I was taking this hill. Because the only thing that stood between me being able to have more freedom in mountain biking or being only able to do the simplest of trails, was fear. I needed to know that I could do it and stay on my bike and on my line, although it seemed certain that I would crash. Again the shaking worsened and I couldn’t get it to ease up. It wouldn’t stop and it was simply time to go. I picked my line and my focus points, forcing my mind and eyes to ignore how narrow the trail had become, the more numerous trees at the tight turns, the drop-offs and the other rocks in my way. There was little room for error on this trail. I was going to trust my instructor completely and do it exactly as he said and see what happened. I decided to accept whatever outcome–success or failure, staying on my bike or crashing. I pedaled into it picking up enough speed to either take me through it or… well… there was no point of return. My bike and my body were committed. I sailed through and over the first drop-off and landed safely, making it around the tree and setting up for the next larger drop-off and tight turn. Again through and over and around and I was zooming through the smaller obstacles to the final tunnel and the end, letting out loud whoops of triumph.

The feeling of accomplishment, the feeling of increased faith and confidence is the best. When you’ve conquered that place in yourself that tells you that you can’t, and then you do it… it’s as if you know people are born to feel this way. Not every moment, but for many, many more moments than we do.

What seemed like a skill challenge was just what the instructor said it was—a trust, belief and confidence challenge. Yes, I can get better at it but it requires trusting others’ wisdom who have been there and know what it takes, believing that I can do it and mustering up the confidence to give it a good ‘bash’ as our instructor would say.

What I learned that day applies to so much in my life. Many people have succeeded at something not because they were the most talented but because they found and clung to a belief that they could and mustered up the confidence, even if only a thread, to give it a serious go. Maybe someone else would have been better at it, more skilled in the end, but they may have let fear make them a spectator, or they couldn’t get their eyes off of the obstacles; they crashed and didn’t want to try again.

Whatever calls your heart, find a way to meet it. Look your obstacles square in the face. Choose your line and stay focused on it. Then give it a good ‘bash.’ And even if fear causes you to take your eyes off your line and you fly off the edge and faceplant in a ravine, tell your fear you’re giving it another go. It can come along for the ride but it doesn’t get to drive. And take that line like it’s all or nothing. Life is sweeter when we challenge ourselves and realize that who we are and what we do with our life is worth all or nothing.

Life… give it a good bash.

The instructor on the left, Chao and me as we head out at the beginning of our day of mountain biking lessons. The expressions on each of our faces… don’t you sometimes wonder what someone is thinking when you see a photo?

Reach out. Ask. What can it hurt? Would you like to go for a cup of coffee or tea? I’m going hiking. Would you like to go?

Sometimes life feels so lonely but it does not always have to be. Yes there are those times where it comes and remains for longer than seems necessary. But it has its purpose, if we listen to it. It can draw us or drive us to face ourselves, to cry out to a God that we don’t fully understand or believe is there. Loneliness can connect us. It can move us out of our comfort zone, away from our common distractions. It can propel us toward others. So many people just hope, long really, for someone to hang out with, to take on new adventures, to laugh with so hard your abs still hurt the next day.

My group of friends are so eclectic. If you had asked me to read their interests and backgrounds before meeting them and to say whether I would have become so close to some of them, I would have thought not. The differences on paper seem incompatible. Acquaintances maybe, but not ‘completely at ease, hang out anywhere, anytime’ kind of friendships. One of the best things that has come from this path that I’ve taken is that it exploded my ideas of who would be the kind of friend whom I could be comfortable with, and who I know ‘has my back’ and I have theirs.

The common thread in these friendships is stronger than cultural or language differences, interests or education, age or gender. The friendships that have become closer and stronger are about mutuality. Mutual authenticity—getting real with each other. Mutually giving and receiving trust. Mutual respect. Mutual investment of each person—staying in touch, traveling to see the other, choosing to spend time together.

It doesn’t matter if one person is in their 20s and the other in their 40s like me and my friend Nadine, or if one person has young children while the other’s are grown like me and my friend Lesley, or if one person spends time practicing folk and classical music on the piano and the other creates heavy metal music like me and my flatmate… when it works, it works.

The thing that we must remember is that life goes through seasons. Friendships do as well. The people who are in our lives are there for a reason and it is wise to invest our life and love in them. Too soon, our paths diverge and they may not be so near as new chapters open for them and for us. We tell ourselves that we’ll do something together soon and before we know it, three months have passed. Too late we discover that we actually were blessed with a luxury of time–24 hours each day to choose where we make time–to linger over a cappuccino or take a leisurely walk by the river with them.

Sadly so often we are too busy or something else demands our attention. Yet over and over I witness people who have extraordinary demands on their time making time for their friendships. The reality is that we do order our lives for the most part. We choose our jobs and lifestyles, our interests and hobbies. For most of us, we are slaves to no one when we step out into adulthood. We are given freedom to choose what to do with our time; what to do with all of our resources.

The hallmark of a great friendship: mutuality. If mutuality is absent, the relationship is something else. If I am honest, how many people are really more acquaintances than close friends? Am I investing in my friends? Are they investing in me?

We can love without it being returned and that is what love requires—to be given without assurance it will ever be returned. But to have a great friendship is something different. It means that both are in, even if not entirely equal, but both are giving to it, honoring the relationship and each other; there is an ebb and flow, a mutual giving and receiving. The stories of how time got away and things were so busy are infrequent. Life is forever busy and time ceaselessly marches on. But in the midst of this, good friends feed and grow their relationship with mutual time and commitment… not finding time, but making time.

May I remember where my treasures lie. May I order my life to make time and make commitments. May I give and receive. May I share my heart and listen. May I be a good friend.

‘Rings and jewels are not gifts, but apologies for gifts. The only true gift is a portion of thyself.’ ~Ralph Waldo Emerson