Inconvenient

I didn't know who Kobe Bryant was. 

I'm sorry. 

I haven't really paid attention to sports or celebrities since the 80s, but multiple people I love were pained greatly by his death so I'm learning.

I found myself choked up reading about all those lost in the helicopter crash and seeing pictures of Bryant with his arm around his daughter. My heart broke for all those who lost loved ones and all those who lost a hero.

And then my mind wandered to Stevie Ray Vaughan's death in a helicopter. It was years ago, but I had just seen him in concert and he was so alive and amazing and pulling his life together that it seemed unfair for him to be snatched in the prime of his life. That's when I remembered some wise words an imam once told me:

Death is inconvenient.

We were on a tour of the mosque in Dearborn, in the embalming room next to the nursery, and the imam was describing how a body needed to be buried within 24 hours. I asked about family that couldn't get there in time and he said, "Death is inconvenient." 

Amen. 

So I've been practicing being inconvenienced and uncomfortable hoping I'll be a bit more prepared. I'm not sure there is any way to be prepared for death pulling the rug out of the life you imagined, but it never hurts to practice.

I hike on Mondays as part of my day off and today it was definitely inconvenient and uncomfortable. It took a long time for me to get motivated to leave my cup of coffee and head out into the sideways precipitation and slush. The great gift of ritual is that I always hike on Monday whether I feel like it or not and the dog knows it. 

We headed out expecting to be miserable, but then surprise! The sun popped out, the temperature dropped a little so the slush was ice, and an eagle posed so we could get a good look at how beautiful she was. 
It's good practice to do the hard and inconvenient thing with some dread trusting that life and joy surprise us. 

I've had enough experiences like that to help me keep going when I'd rather curl up.

Then we turned a corner and the sleet and wind scoured my face. It was tempting to turn around, but we kept pushing because I knew around the next corner there could be a totally different experience. (It was different - we went from wind to post-holing in deep snow). I'm not going to say it was particularly fun, but it was a good reminder that sometimes you have to put your head down and keep pushing until you round the next bend.

I know none of that is helpful when people are in the throes of grief, but doing uncomfortable and inconvenient things might be good practice if you aren't. 

Fixing

I passed a snowman with serious issues today on my hike. Cassie barked at him and I considered fixing him. 

And then I asked the obvious question, "Why?" 
Why do I feel like I know the way things should be? 

Then I started laughing and Cassie barked more because I'm weird, but the snowman reminded me of the Jesus fresco in Spain that a parishioner tried to "fix" and Jesus ended up resembling a messed up monkey.

Here is my resolution on Martin Luther King Jr. Day:
I will not approach people as projects in need of fixing.

I think one of the first steps in violence and in racism is the dehumanization of the other and then the decision to either destroy or fix them. 

I will engage in relationships outside of my culture, age, gender, and all the other little boxes so my blind spots are revealed and my world becomes bigger. I miss our little interfaith group because this was one of the gifts we offered each other; we opened new perspectives and removed blinders. 

We didn't have to agree about beliefs or perspectives, but we could honor that folks were seeking to figure out salvation faithfully. I might find some things inaccurate or wrong, but I can only speak about what gives my life hope and meaning. 

I'm not in charge of fixing and we can look back at church history and see the many times the church tried to fix things and Jesus ended up defaced.

Real

I like writing on Mondays. It keeps me from thinking about my lists or getting one line from an addictive song stuck in my head.
Shot through the heart and you're to blame . . . 
On a train bound to nowhere . . . 
If you like pina coladas . . . 

I've come to realize that writing on Mondays gives me something to think about that doesn't cause me stress on my day off. I've also come to realize that the work of trying to publish something might be a bit too ambitious for me.

Today, I bundled up in the 3 degree weather and went for an amazing hike. It was so stunningly beautiful it didn't seem real. There are days when Alaska is crazy beautiful and I feel like I'm living in a post card, or with  a painted backdrop, or in a Cecil B. DeMille  drama. But then I realize I have snotcicles and it is all so very real.

I'm not sure if any other parents of teenagers struggle with the time spent on Fortnite, but I'm slowly figuring out how to compromise. Our basic guideline is that you have to experience as much real reality as you do virtual reality. You need as much time experiencing the aches of climbing, a frozen face, and the reward of a beautiful view as you do gathering axes, blowing things up and the other weird things that compromise the game I'm trying not to judge too harshly.

I enter virtual reality through books and my dear son enters it through games. We both need reality checks. Instead of delving too deeply into what is real, I tend to think that something is real if it involves a certain amount of discomfort or suffering. 

That's not masochism, but a recognition that reality takes an investment and risk; it means an openness to the elements and facing them on their terms. Reality is encountering the world as it is instead of a world designed and manipulated to keep us comfortable and spending money. 

The first thing I tell people when they are thinking of visiting us in Alaska is that it's not Disney. This isn't a catered experience sure to leave you mildly amused without leaving your comfort zone; this is real - sweat, snot, and some tired legs kind of real.