It was good for me to get these reminders and lessons about life and death on my recent trip south. I often tend to approach things with a task-list mentality. What do we really need to get done and what is the quickest and best way to accomplish those things? That really caused me to question the utility of sending my wife to southern California for the week to help her Mom and family with the memorial service and related items. It also caused me to question the utility of me carving out 4 days to help with the same with our two young children. But these are the sort of life events where it is best just not to question and just do whatever is asked of you, if at all possible. So that is what we did and I think it was good all the way around on a whole bunch of different levels.

It was good to be able to reconnect with dear family and friends who are normally too busy and too far apart to take the time to appreciate and enjoy one another. We so often take these people for granted. It was good for my kids to be able to get to know the people who have come before them in the family and to be part of remembering their great-grandmother. It was good for my wife to be able to serve her mother in a number of ways at a difficult time. It was good for me to be able to support my wife and her mother. It was good for me to be challenged in the way I approach things and to have to think about all the things related to death and family relations.

It was also good to see the legacy being left behind by my wife’s grandmother. Like it or not, we are all going to leave a legacy behind when we die. Some of it will be good and some of it will be not so good. Some of it will last a very short period of time and some of it will last for generations. Again, depending upon your world view, certain things may be more important to leave behind after you are gone than others.

Even the home left behind by my kids’ great-grandmother is part of her legacy. The things she filled it with give us a glimpse of who she was, how she lived her life, and what was important to her. The fact that it will soon all be disbursed and the home sold is a reminder of how temporary those things really are–as is the condition of parts of this old home. Even the structure told us a story. The plumbing backed-up the night before the big reception and required lots of professional attention to address. There were two different additions made to the house at different times over the years–one clearly up to code and the other likely not. I heard stories about both additions and the things that happened in them over the years as the plumber was working to also address something that happened slowly over those same years.

The people at that home that weekend were also part of this woman’s story. As we looked at pictures of the family taken over the course of several generations and then looked around the room at the different generations, you could easily see the results of genetics, environment, and life experiences–perhaps more clearly than I have ever seen at any other time in this family. Mannerisms, looks, body language, how they treated one another, were all influenced in some way by the woman they were gathered to remember.

So, what are we doing with our lives? What happens to us when we die? What will we leave behind when we go? How confident are we in the answers to these questions? Do these answers force us to confront some difficult realities or to make some changes in what we are doing today, tomorrow, and the next day? I certainly don’t have it all figured out. I am not sure anyone every truly does. But the journey is not about ignoring or not giving sufficient attention to these challenges in our lives. On the contrary. The death of someone close to us is a great time to remember them, celebrate their life, and reflect in a meaningful way on if we need to make any changes in our own life–long-term changes. We never know how many more minutes we are going to have here to make such changes before it is too late. Don’t take time for granted.

Continued from prior post…

The death of someone we know always reminds us of our mortality. What we do with that reminder is another story. Do we try and avoid it and ignore it and just keep doing what we are doing? Do we reflect on it and make adjustments in what we are doing? Do we explore and examine our relationship with God or renew our convictions that He does not exist? Do we accelerate our pursuit of things and experiences or do we invest more in others? Do we focus on our own questions and needs at this difficult time in our life? Do we try and care for those around us who are in pain due to the passing of a loved one? Are we an example to others at this challenging time? If so, is that example a positive one or a negative one?

My concern, with the busyness of life in America today–the pace at which we are constantly moving and the number of distractions readily available–is that many of us, when confronted with the death of someone close to us, will not make any long-term changes. Small or large–whether we are living our lives well or not–there is always room for improvement or change. And a death in the family will naturally cause us to pause and think about this for at least a moment. But then most of us will either avoid dealing with this often painful process or will make a change that only lasts for a very short period of time.  Is that really what we are supposed to do? Does that really honor the memory of someone we love who is now gone from this earth? Does it create the lasting change that can improve our remaining years?

And it is not always about right and wrong. Sometimes it is just about different ways of looking at things and appreciating those differences. My wife grew-up in Anaheim. I lived in that area for about 10 years. The memorial service and reception we recently attended were there, as is the home that is being cleaned-out and readied for sale. That house was near the edge of town when it was originally purchased by my wife’s grandparents in 1954–a short distance from large orange groves and strawberry fields. It was part of one of many southern Californian urban experiments in suburban living where they ran the power poles through people’s back yards in an effort to improve the look of the neighborhood streets. The home was often left unlocked and the garage door open without incident over many decades.

Today, the house sits in the heart of urban sprawl that epitomizes how southern California elected to grow over the years with one city simply merging into the next. One street over is now a large modern elevated freeway with brick sound walls. From the front window of the home, an electronic billboard with changing images on it can be seen poking over the sound walls vying for the attention of passing motorists who can now be heard 24/7 from the yard. Next door is another small tract home built in the early 1950’s that is currently the residence of several families–one of which wanted to cool the room of the house in which they reside so they used a hammer to bust a hole in the side of the bedroom wall that faces their neighbor and shoved an old air conditioning unit into it without any bracing or finishing work. It just sits there precariously perched in a hole in the wall. The neighborhood has certainly changed over the years.

But it is also just like many other neighborhoods scattered around the world where people are living their lives. To be sure, there are some unique characteristics to this neighborhood. It was built before the widespread use of homeowner associations with CC&R’s and enforcement mechanisms intended to take away some personal freedoms in exchange for what is expected to generate a higher standard of living and higher property values overall (the pros and cons of which is another issue for another day). And this neighborhood has become largely Latino in composition over the years, which gives it certain characteristics more prevalent historically in that particular culture and tradition.

But, regardless of your background, it is also just like your neighborhood and mine. There are homeowners who take deep pride in the appearance of their home and yard and invest heavily their time and resources in those areas. There are also homes inhabited by persons with less concern about fresh paint and good lawn care or who do not have the resources to be able to dedicate to those endeavors. There are quiet neighbors you hardly ever see or hear. There are noisy neighbors who you regularly see and hear. There are outgoing and social neighbors who are actively involved in trying to make the neighborhood a community. There are neighbors who just want to come and go and otherwise be left alone. There are neighbors who are really struggling to keep up with the demands of life and there are neighbors who seem to have everything under control. There are neighbors with loud dogs. There are neighbors who go to church every Sunday and there are ones who don’t. There are neighbors with healthy marriages and families and there are neighbors in dysfunctional family situations. In short, it is another American neighborhood full of unique people each living the life they have been given.

What will happen when they die? The same thing. What does the neighborhood around you look like? If you are a follower of Jesus, do you view your neighborhood as the mission field? Are you being the hands and feet of Jesus in your neighborhood? As our culture is changing, this is becoming more difficult. But even just the simple act of taking a walk can provide opportunities. On my recent trip to Anaheim, after tensions started to rise, it was decided a few of us would go for a quick walk around the block. On that walk, we stopped to admire all the detail and care given to the front yard of a particular home. When the owner noticed us, he came out to say “hello” and we had a very brief, but very nice conversation. Had that been where I lived my life, I could see that brief exchange developing into a friendship between neighbors. Is that something I should be investing my time in? Is that something you should be investing your time in? I guess that depends on our world view–on what we believe happens when we die and what we believe we are to do with our time on this earth.

To be continued…

But, every time a dear family member dies, there is a smaller group within the family who spends their time dealing with all the details. Things like making the arrangements for the remains, planning the service, organizing the reception are handled. Then, as you dive deeper, you find the government bureaucracy of getting the required Certificate of Death, providing required notices to agencies, and running the estate through the required probate process or trust administration. Bills have to be paid, bank accounts closed, and the household still requires management. Tasks and decisions are both plentiful at this time.

Then there is the process of cleaning and emptying the house. In some cases, we are talking about a house in which a family was raised, grandchildren visited, and great-grandchildren got to know–a house full of memories and things that have significance to people. Those things now all have to be distributed, the house closed-up, and a new family will ultimately move in to begin this same journey on a piece of dirt that fades into the prior owner’s family history.

This all often takes place in a very short period of time. And it sometimes happens when no one in the family is expecting it to happen–the call in the middle of the night about a loved one you had just been talking with the day before. It is a recipe for high emotions that will magnify any weaknesses in family relationships and/or weaknesses in our world view. If we have unresolved differences with people in the family, they are likely going to rear their head at some point in this process–even if it is just us biting our tongues or venting to someone safe. Similarly, if we have not fully come to peace with what happens when we die and what our time on this earth is for, we are going to confront this issue head-on when we are dealing with these relational issues in the family. If we are also in the inner-circle that is having to deal with all of the details of a death in the family, it is certain we are going to be tested in all these areas.

Religion usually enters into the picture in some way during any such process. Whether the decedent believed in God, and at what level their beliefs were practiced, will all be part of the discussion in making the final plans. This inevitably reminds us of where we are on that journey, how confident we are of those beliefs, and whether those past experiences have brought us pain and/or joy. Our love for God is a source of comfort and joy in this situation or our disdain and hatred of the church causes us to lash out or react in different ways — perhaps it is a bit of both in some cases.

In short, our faith, or lack of it, is going to be a huge part of how we process through and deal with the death of a close family member–whether we recognize it or not. What will we choose to focus on at this time? What is their legacy on earth? What is going to happen to all their stuff? Where are they now? What was their life for and how did they live it? Does this encourage you or discourage you about your own life?

I recently got a very unique view of all this in action as it unfolded on my wife’s side of the family. In supporting my wife and her family at this challenging time, I was able to be near the inner-circle without having the emotions of actually being in it. I could respond to needs and help without having to make any of the difficult choices at a time when my emotions would have been clouding my judgment to some degree. I could support without really ever having to assert a personal opinion on how something should be handled. It was a unique view of the family I have never experienced before. It was a huge reminder to me of what matters and what does not. It reminded me that everybody deals with things in different ways–not necessarily better or worse, just different. It reminded me of what lasting memories are made at these times in our lives and how important they are.

To be continued…

Continued from prior post…

Thankfully, I made it back to the trailhead without incident and ahead of the rest of my party I was afraid of holding-up.  My knee held together fine, the weather was nice, the trail in good condition, and it was an exhilarating walk down the mountain with my pack.  I quickly disposed of my trash, made some adjustments in my gear, purchased mementos for each of us who had made it to the summit of the highest peak in the continental United States, and used the first toilet I had seen in three days.

One would think that would end the trip, but it did not.  First, we had to drive back into town to return our rented bear canisters.  While we were there, we could plainly see in the distance the forecasted storm was blowing in and had already enveloped the very top of Mount Whitney—where we had camped and then hiked to the summit from.  Anyone who had not reached the summit yet that day was not going to make it and the camping conditions had to be brutal up there in that storm.  We learned later the storm brought snow and ice to the upper part of the mountain as we were returning those canisters.

This was the day our original permit would have had us heading for the summit.  Had we not taken a chance in pushing for the summit a day ahead of schedule and then been lucky enough to get our permit changed at the eleventh hour, we might not have made it to the summit and the experience would have been far more harrowing for us.  The weather forecast was correct this time and our response to it days earlier helped make this adventure possible.

We then drove to a famous roadside restaurant up in Bishop for a hearty late lunch and headed home.  We had discovered, during all our training hikes, that the quickest route, so long as were driving through at non-peak hours, from Sacramento to Mount Whitney, is through Yosemite National Park.  We were looking forward to cutting through that scenic park again on our drive home.  However, when we reached the Tioga Pass Gate, the ranger was kind enough to inform us that a fire was burning in the park and they had to close the road to through traffic.  We were welcome to drive into the park as far as the road was open, but we would be forced to wait an undetermined amount of time once we got close to the fire.

Our group elected to turn back around and head back to Mono Lake to take a much longer route home, but be able to keep moving.  We witnessed some beautiful scenery, listened to some great music in the car, and talked about the adventure we were completing together.  Although it was not the plan, it was the perfect way to end the journey together.  As with all good trips, it was sad when it ended, but it was also good to get home.  I miss my wife and kids when I go backpacking, but I absolutely love coming home to them.  Not sure what the next backpacking trip is going to be.  The season is done now for those of us who don’t backpack in the snow.  Permits and reservations will start going quick in a few more months.  Hopefully, something good will come together for 2012.

I guess I can Blog now on other topics again…

Continued from prior post…

As is my practice whenever I go camping, I had done some of the prep work of organizing and packing before heading to bed on the last night of the trip.  Therefore, once I was up and moving in the morning, it did not take long to get camp broken down and loaded into my backpack.  As I had wanted, it looked like I was going to get about a half hour head start on the rest of my group.  Hopefully, my bad knee would behave itself on the way down the mountain, but that half hour of buffer would help make sure I was not slowing anyone down. ed from prior post…

The last thing I packed was a plastic trash bag that contained all the waste from the trip.  I lashed it horizontally to the lower outside portion of my pack.  On one end was a sealed Ziploc bag with the packaging and other waste from all my meals.  On the other end was the sealed WAG Bag containing the portions of my meals my body was unable to use.  This arrangement would make it easy upon reaching the trailhead later in the day.  I could quickly unlash the outer bag and then place the two inner bags into the proper receptacles for the different kinds of waste.  I also felt better about having these bags on the outside of my pack in case there was a leak during the journey to the bottom.

The trip back down the mountain to the trailhead that morning was relatively uneventful.  The day-hikers were already coming through the camp when I left shortly after sunrise and many more were right behind them on the trail.  In addition, there were a number of other backpackers heading down the trail at the same time as me at varying rates of speed.  Toward the bottom of the trail, I also started meeting up with the backpackers who were hoping to reach our campsite that afternoon.

The problem was, by this point on the trail, the weaknesses in my horizontal lashing job became quite apparent.  While the outer trash bag was still secured well, the inner bags had each escaped the lashings and were now dangling out opposite sides of the lashing job and were hitting the back of my legs as I took strides down the trail.  Although this was not a huge issue in and of itself, the psychology of knowing one of the things striking the back of my leg every few seconds was a bag of my own excrement was a bit disturbing.  I just hoped the sealed bag was holding tight.

To be continued…

Continued from prior post…

Now that our bodies had some time to recover from the physical punishment of the day and we each had a warm meal in our bellies, it was time for sleep.  We each did a little work before fully retiring—getting our things cleaned-up and beginning the organization process that would help us the next morning.  Then, I climbed into my tent and sleeping bag for some rest.  Much like the prior night, the temperatures were forecasted to get down into the 30’s.  And our tent arrangement really gave us a lesson in air movement.

As I noted in a prior Blog post, the wind would blow through camp at night in such a way it sounded like somebody was walking right by my tent.  Further adding to the illusion, our tents were arranged under a rock ledge in precisely the path the cold wind would follow as it fell to lower altitudes from the high mountain looming above us.  This caused the wind to ruffle my tent’s rain-fly first.  A second later, I could hear it moving the outer shell of my neighbor’s tent and then his neighbor’s tent.  It was a cycle that repeated itself all throughout the night.  The cold air above us on the melting snow and ice would swoop down the mountain in waves and rush through camp on its way to lower elevations below.  It would have been pleasant white noise to sleep by, except for the fact it sounded like a person walking by the edge of our tents when it happened.

Trail Camp was on a small plateau surrounded on three sides by large mountains that collected the cool air and sent it rushing through camp on its way to escape on the fourth side to lower ground.  It was quite a lesson on physics for all of us.  When I would go outside to admire the stars and take care of some biological needs in the middle of the night, it made all the sense in the world and was actually quite amazing to experience.  But once I was sealed back up inside my bag and tent, it became an odd phenomenon that kept waking me up as my brain kept telling me there was someone walking by the tent within inches of me.  It was quite the odd phenomenon.

Ultimately, despite my natural body clock being set for later, I was awake at dawn the next morning.  Much like our summit day, I was a bit apprehensive about the knee I had injured on our training hikes and not wanting to hold up our group on the way down.  Therefore, I wanted to try and get out in front of everyone.  It was still quite cold at that hour, but I was up and working in short order.  I heated up some water for tea and breakfast and started the process of getting everything repacked to ride down the mountain on my back.

To be continued…

Continued from prior post…

As I opened the small package of freeze-dried ice cream that had been riding in my friend’s backpack the last few days, something became painfully obvious to me that should have been clear long before I opened the package.  Freeze-dried ice cream, unlike other freeze-dried products, is not reconstituted for consumption by adding water and mixing it in a little pouch.  Instead, the dry chalky bits of Neapolitan ice cream, sans any trace of H20, are simply placed in the consumer’s mouth and reconstituted with saliva, before passing down the throat in a form that ever so vaguely reminds the taster of the named ice cream flavor.  I guess this is what it is like to be an astronaut—eating freeze-dried food in the wilderness of space.

I cannot say the ice cream was unpleasant, but it was completely different than what we typically experience when consuming ice cream and was certainly different than what I had expected.  When the bites first enter your mouth, they have the consistency of light-weight chalk.  Not very appetizing.  In fact, just picture a wad of Lucky Charms Cereal Dried Marshmallows without all the sugar and milk on them and you will get the picture.  But, as your saliva slowly goes to work on the bite, it begins to taste more like gritty room temperature ice cream.  This still does not sound too appealing.  But when you are out in the wilderness living on trail mix and reconstituted lasagna bits, it is an interesting variable to the diet and menu of options.  I expect it would be much the same for astronauts in the wilderness of outer space for days at a time.

As we sat there in the starlight enjoying this delicacy, a guy came stumbling up the trail and into Trail Camp.  He was a backpacker who got a late start on the day.  Now he was arriving after dark and would have to find a camp site and set-up his tent and gear for the cold evening in what was already becoming low temperatures.  This was exactly the situation we tried to avoid by pushing hard up the mountain on our first day.  It is no fun to try and set-up things in the dark and in the cold and have all the good sites already taken by those who had arrived earlier in the day.  We pointed out the areas where we thought there were still some sites left as his buddy came up the trail behind him.  I did not envy their position.

As for our group, we wrapped up our bonding conversation shortly thereafter, cleaned-up our dinner dishes, and retired for the night, where we would again get a lesson in cold mountain air wind currents.

To be continued…

Continued from prior post…

Yes, unfortunately, the picture that was part of the last post was the last image ever captured by my friend’s camera.  He was kneeling at the edge of a small inlet into the lake, pumping out fresh water.  When he stood up, the camera dropped into the water.  We were able to retrieve the images from the memory card, but the camera could not be revived.  We hoped that would be our only casualty on this trip.

Although it was tempting for me to continue sitting there by the stream, enjoying the moment in solitude, I knew there was still work to be done and it was getting colder by the minute as the darkness took over the small canyon where we were camping.  So I made my way back to the camp site where my two friends were each already preparing their dinner.  I did the same.  It was another night of freeze-dried fare reconstituted with hot water.  But it really did not matter what it was.  There is some unquantifiable and not easily understood law of nature that anything eaten outdoors tastes much better than it would under any other circumstances—especially if you are camping.  I am not sure why that is, but it almost always proves to be true.  The only exception I have found, thus far, is freeze-dried eggs.  Disgusting no matter where you are!

Given the fact this would be our final night on the trail, one of my friends brought along freeze-dried ice cream of all of us to enjoy after dinner.  I had heard of such a thing before, but was never brave enough to try it.  That evening, we all sat in a circle next to our tents and ate our dinners.  We talked about the accomplishment, how we were feeling, some of what we had observed during the day, the plan for tomorrow, and just how great it was to be sitting a day’s hike from the nearest road, eating hot food under the stars just after accomplishing our main goal for the trip.  It was just a great moment of three guys bonding in the great outdoors.  Good stuff!

Once our main food had been consumed, we each moved on to the small package of freeze-dried ice cream we had been given.  The package indicated no preparation was necessary.  We were to simply open the plastic pouch and enjoy the ice cream that had been sitting inside of a Wal-Mart for who knows how long and then packed up the mountain in my friend’s backpack.  It did not make sense to me.  How could this be ice cream?

To be continued…

Continued from prior post…

With my body feeling better from the short rest, I set out to pump and filter some water from the nearby lake for meals and personal hydration.  One thing that was interesting to observe here was the fact everyone just seemed to filter their water out of the closest spot to camp.  It did not matter if you were a day-hiker or a backpacker.  Almost everyone went to the edge of the small lake closest to the trail and to camp.  This would make sense except the fact that the lake was being fed by snow melt coming down into the lake on the other side.  That melting snow filled the lake on the far side and then also emptied into a stream on the far side.  So, there was fresh moving water to be had on the far side of the lake.

On the closer side, the water was nearly stagnant and growing moss and had plenty of particulate matter floating in it.  It was still perfectly good water to filter and drink, but it seemed like the freshest and cleanest water you could possibly get on the mountain was available for just a few more steps of effort.  Why was no one choosing to take them or perhaps even noticing the opportunity?  The three days we were on the mountain, my group was the only one that walked to where the snow melt was flowing into the lake to replenish our supplies of water.  I found this curious.

On this particular evening, though, the exercise of filtering water—something that takes some physical effort—was remarkably peaceful and relaxing.  I was the only one on the far side of the lake.  My two friends had pumped their water out while I was resting in my tent.  The sun was setting behind the mountains.  The faint sounds of the water flowing across rocks rushing to lower elevations could be heard.  There was the sound of a slight breeze picking up.  My body was fatigued, but satisfied from just having climbed to the highest point in the continental United States.  Across the lake could be seen a few other backpackers quietly cooking their dinners and otherwise getting ready for the evening on the mountain.  It was kind of a surreal moment for me as I thought about where I was and what I was doing.

After pumping and filtering my needed supply of water, I actually sat back and just enjoyed the moment.  I reflected on the experience, on the location, on the “soundscape”, on God’s amazing creation, on the people I was on this amazing journey with, on my wonderful family back at home allowing me to take this adventure and have this experience, on this very special spot in the wilderness where I was sitting and just soaking in the moment, on the containers of fresh mountain stream water I now had sitting at my side, on our bodies’ ability to bounce back quickly from the demands of the day, and just the incredible gift we have to just experience life and creation.  It was one of those moments where you feel incredibly close to God.

I had no idea I was going to experience this when I did the short hike to pump and filter the water I would need for the next 24 hours.  As I sat there, I wished I had brought my camera with me on this short hike to memorialize the scene.  Little did I know one of my friends had snapped a picture from this spot an hour earlier when he was hear pumping his water—just seconds before dropping his camera in the mountain stream.

To be continued…

Continued from prior post…

As I started down, I was again struck by the amazing view afforded of the eastern edge of Sequoia National Park—a view only available from this short stretch of trail near the summit of Mount Whitney.  The clouds passing overhead seemed close enough to touch as they just barely cleared the summit of this great mountain.  Other than the sound of my footsteps on the trail below me clicking off the steps back to camp, there was no other sound, except for the occasional breeze passing by my ears.  And, other than the trail, there was nothing manmade as far as the eye could see.  God’s creation is an amazing thing when we can get out to enjoy it.

Although my body was definitely feeling the strain of the morning’s push up to the summit, I was making fairly good time on my way back to Trail Crest, which is where the real down-hill push would begin.  Most of the elevation change on the trail today was the leg between Trail Camp and Trail Crest.  Due to the switchbacks, 97 of them, it did not seem quite as steep and perilous as the 2 trails that had caused me all the problems during my training for this adventure.  But it was still a lot of downhill in a very short period of time to test my healed knees.  Fortunately, my body stood up to the punishment until the last couple of miles.  At that point, I was starting to feel the twinges in my knees that were the early warning signs for problems ahead and my energy level was also dragging.  This is the point in the day when I started getting passed on the trail—including by one of the members in my group who had started back 30 minutes later than I did.

Fortunately, the twinges never developed into anything worse—possibly because of my slowed pace.  But I still staggered into camp and collapsed with absolutely no appetite to eat anything.  I knew I needed to, but wanted nothing at the moment.  I actually forced down a couple of handfuls of trail mix and some water, not knowing how I would be doing later in the evening and then collapsed in my tent to let my body rest and recuperate for a bit.  When I pulled off my socks in the tent, I found two of the largest blisters I had ever experienced in my life.  The push to the summit and back had definitely taken its toll.  I tended to these foot wounds as best I was able and was grateful they were not worse—although I was not sure what worse would look like.  I lay down and just enjoyed the exercise of being still for a while.  The sun was still up high enough to keep things warm and comfortable in the tent.

That changed quickly, however, as soon as the sun dipped behind the mountains we had just climbed.  As the temperature started to drop and the winds picked up again, I was feeling much better and was getting a second wind to be able to address a few things.  The first order of business was to go filter more water.  I was down to my last few sips and wanted to filter enough to get me through dinner and breakfast and the hike down the mountain the next day.  I grabbed all of my containers and my filter and headed toward the nearby lake to begin the process.

To be continued…