Snowy Life Lessons

My mother often worries about me when I'm driving for long distances and/or in bad weather conditions. This weekend she actually had a reason to worry. So did I.

Shortly after 3 o'clock Saturday afternoon we headed up CA-18 in route to Pinecrest Christian Conference Center for a few of my boys to spend the weekend at the Southern California District Kid's Winter Camp. Since none of our girls were attending, and I had arranged for a perfectly capable cabin leader for the boys, I was only dropping them off on the mountain. Once they were registered and settled into their cabin, I stayed only long enough to enjoy a few minutes of the fresh snow falling (it was chunky like dippin' dots!).

Around 4:45pm, with light snow, I began descending the mountain. Little did I know the trouble that was ahead...

I couldn't have gone a mile down the 18 when I came around a curve to see a Volvo caught in a snow embankment on the side of the road. Coming the opposite direction was a Fire truck who was stopping to help them. The two vehicles created a narrow pathway for me to drive through. As I was trying to determine my best way through, I hit black ice (presumably the same cause of the Volvo's predicament) and began to lose control of my vehicle. Without the ability to stop myself, my next priority became not hitting the other car! It's a difficult decision to consider if it's worse for me to collide with another vehicle or a boulder - especially since I had all of about 3 seconds to make up my mind. Thankfully, I hit neither. I was, however, caught in a great deal of snow with my tail end significantly sticking out in the road. Seeing what happened, the Fire truck drove up the road a little ways, I assumed to turn around.

Within a matter of minutes, a fireman was at my window. He checked that I was okay and informed me that they had southbound traffic blocked off up the road. His assessment of my little Ford Focus was that I would never be able to get out by myself. How encouraging. I had already discovered by this point that I had no cell phone reception, so he offered to call a tow truck for me. Not long after that, another fireman was at my window. I got the impression that he had seen me make my crash landing. He told me I did well in not hitting the other vehicle. His instructions were similar to the other fireman: Wait here, stay in your vehicle, a tow truck will be here shortly.

An hour and a half later....

No tow truck was to be found. Traffic had long been let through and cars were having to carefully make their way around me, taking turns with oncoming traffic. Flares were burning on the road, but it was still a sketchy place for driving. Other cars were slipping and struggling. I was certain I was going to be rear ended by at least two vehicles at separate times. Although I was patient enough to wait for someone to safely pull me out, I had one problem: I had to pee!

In the Volvo were 3 Brazilian gals, the driver of which came to my window after the first fireman to thank me for not hitting her car. I also remember her saying something about us being strong women who will get through this. With her thick accent and beefy form, I didn't know whether to be encouraged or intimidated. She was older and the other girls appeared to be my age. I saw them briefly when they decided to get out and take pictures of the predicament. Only the driver spoke English. At the point of waiting an hour and a half, my bladder could wait no longer. I approached their window with a favor. Between our bumpers was a gap large enough for me to walk through. They agreed to hold up some extra jackets while I crouched down in the embankment. Relieved, I returned the favor. My new Brazilian friends and I had each created a little yellow snow! Back in our vehicles, we sat waiting...

....and waiting.

Throughout the experience I was very calm and level headed, until I had been waiting for two hours. By that point it was very dark out, the flares had burned out and it began snowing very hard. Since there was still no sign of a tow truck, and my phone could not keep a signal long enough to call, I felt completely powerless. Text messages were able to go through, but sporadically. So I was at least in contact with a few people, with patience. When headlights weren't passing on the road, the darkness felt eery. The whistling wind gave me goose bumps. I was worried. I felt powerless. I felt abandoned.

About that time, another man stood at my window - this time a CHP officer. He assumed he was arriving at the scene of an accident. "Is your vehicle drivable?" he asked. I told him it was and explained this situation. As far as I knew, I was stuck and couldn't back out myself. "I need you to try for me, ok?" he told me. I agreed, putting my car in gear. With his guiding voice, and minimal struggle with my tires, I was out! My car could make it after all! The officer reassured me that road conditions would get better the lower I got. As I wished my new Brazilian friends luck, I was on my way. Road conditions were scary for the next several miles. With white knuckles and the use of my e-brake when needed, I eventually made it down the hill safely. A trip that ordinarily takes 25 minutes in good weather, took me nearly 3 hours!

Perhaps the time I spent "stuck" on the side of the road kept me from experiencing worse dangers up ahead. Or perhaps it helped prepare me for the other sketchy spots on the drive. In any case, one thing is certain, that as I pulled away I immediately began to consider the spiritual or emotional implications of what had occurred.

Caught in snow I sat waiting, helplessly, for someone to come to my rescue. I believed that if I waited there long enough, someone would pull me out. When in actuality, I needed someone simply to guide me out. It was good that I never tried to back out on my own since I could not see well enough to ensure another car wouldn't be coming. But I also believed I could never get out of there on my own. My sense of abandonment came when there was no one there to rescue me. Except I had the power in my foot all along - I just needed someone to encourage and empower me to do what I was already capable of, but just afraid to try. The same can be said for other dilemmas in life. While it's true that I cannot save myself from all things (it's why I need a Savior), there are some things which I am capable of digging myself out of, with the help of a guiding voice, making me stronger and better equipped for the journey ahead.

I may have a few scratches on my bumper, but I learned something significant about myself in the process. And I'm thankful for the experience.

Hobby Lobby

Tonight I watched the movie Julie & Julia starring Meryl Streep and Amy Adams. It was a movie I secretly rolled my eyes at when I opened it Christmas morning. I wasn't the least bit interested in seeing it when it came out and never pursued watching it since. Until tonight.

Tonight I was bored. I'm not bored often so when I am I hardly know what to do with myself. It wasn't that I didn't have anything to do, there's always plenty to be done. But with nowhere to be and noone with whom to interact, I decided I'd pass the evening watching a movie. With the tiny selection of movies I own, I was able to mentally browse my options while rummaging through my refrigerator for some dinner. As I threw together some pasta on the stove, I figured a movie about cooking might be nice. Besides...it was a new movie to me.

Culinary legend Julia Child's (Meryl Streep) life and cookbook provided inspiration to fledgling writer Julie Powell (Amy Adams) to whip up 524 recipes in 365 days. Julie decides to cook all the recipes in the Mastering the Art of French Cooking cookbook. Blogging along the way, Julie discovers "a new recipe for life". Read more about the movie here.

Much to my surprise, I enjoyed it. Moreso, I was inspired.

Aside from the beautiful idea of one life affecting another so profoundly, both women found something they loved to do. And from it they found joy (and much more).

So, it's gotten me thinking - I need a hobby.

It's been a long time since I've actively pursued a hobby. I used to scrapbook. I used to spend hours designing pages and "creating memories." Aside from how time consuming and costly it can be, at some point I even stopped taking pictures. Somewhere along the way I decided I wanted to enjoy the moments I was living instead of worrying so much about capturing them on camara.

My mother, on the other hand, looks at life through a camara lens. It's true. She's rarely not taking photos. It's a hobby she pursues daily. My brother is usually wrapped up in the excruciating details of Fantasy Baseball or his favorite sports teams. A friend of mine plays poker for his hobby. Other friends of mine make things like blankets or stuffed animals or even paint things. All very fine hobbies. But what shall mine be?

I hadn't thought about this as much of an important matter until now. And I guess it brings about a deeper rooted question: what am I passionate about?

Unlike the two leading ladies from the movie, I'm certain that cooking is not my passion. And judging by the frequency of this blog, neither is writing I suppose. I care deeply about organization and aesthetics, but I'm not sure how that would translate into a hobby necessarily. And I don't think Sudoku counts for anything here.

So whatever it is, I'll figure it out. And with the New Year approaching, what better time then to pursue something that will bring me great joy...

I Just Wanna

On a sunny Sunday afternoon, with a full tummy and a fan blowing in the room, I opened a book. Thumbing through the pages, it was my hope to soon read my way to sleep (Sunday naps are my favorite!). But as I continued to read, I was captivated instead.

Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert was the book of choice. Now I must admit, this is not a common genre for me to read. And I'm not even really that interested in novels turned into motion pictures. But somehow, I was drawn to this woman's search for pleasure, devotion and, ultimately, herself against the backdrop of a few vastly different cultures.

In the early chapters, she reveals the struggles she faced in leaving her marriage and a complicated love affair gone bad. She discloses details of her gruesome depression that followed. Although I cannot relate to the circumstances surrounding her lowest moments, over the last several months I have faced many low moments myself. Her words gripped my heart as she described some moments of crying out to God on the bathroom floor, remembering my own desperate prayers in the same setting.

Throughout this season of her life, Gilbert found joy in one simple hobby: Studying Italian.

Out of all the languages to study in the world, I don't believe Italian is high on the list of usefulness in many countries besides....well...Italy. But she decided to learn it for one reason...

She loved it.

After studying for some time and falling in love with each Italian word, she decided to visit....for 4 months. In fact, she decided to spend an entire year traveling and living in Italy, India and and finally Indonesia (what's with all the I's?). It was in Italy that she pursued what brought her pleasure, and found it in the culture, the language and the food. I loved that she did all this because it brought her joy in a much needed time.

For me, that might very well be this blog.

I love to write. Hand-written journaling is actually therapeutic for me. And I used to be an active Xanga blogger back in the day. But revisiting the blogging scene has not come as easy for me in recent years. As you can see my last post was nearly a year ago, and I'd created this account long before my first post. For some time, though, I've had a nagging desire to post something. The barriers usually take form in the pressure to write something of substance - something deeply profound or thought-provoking. I have asked myself about the reasons I want to write, but kept getting tripped up by questions like...

What is the primary purpose of my blog?
Who is my target audience?
What will I write about?
How often will I post?

Although these may be appropriate questions to ask for someone starting a blog, I can no longer let them obstruct my ability to do something I enjoy. Truth is, I am decidedly removing the pressures of writing (now if only I can do that in more areas of my life...).

Here's the plan....

Just write.


Topics may be sparatic, posts may be infrequent. I may have very few readers, if any at all. But I will find joy in the simple act of doing something I love.


What is something you do just because you love it?


P.S. I could use a litte help on a Title for this Blog....any suggestions?

"I can't stand your religious meetings.
I'm fed up with your conferences and conventions.
I want nothing to do with your religion projects,
your pretentious slogans and goals.
I'm sick of your fund-raising schemes,
your public relations and image making.
I've had all I can take of your noisy ego-music.
When was the last time you sang to me?
Do you know what I want?
I want justice - oceans of it.
I want fairness - rivers of it.
That's what I want. That's all I want."

Amos 5:21-24
The Message

"Hold my hand, daddy"

One of my favorite things about living in Southern California is the many places to discover and enjoy, even on a moments notice. This is especially true of the beautiful beaches that line the coast. Yesterday afternoon, I found myself at one of these places. Just south of Sea World, where the 8 fwy ends, I read a sign that read Ocean Beach. As I quickly found a spot on the street without a No Parking sign to leave my car, I couldn't wait for my toes to touch the sand. At first my impatience landed me at the Dog Beach, where the pungency of dog urine was overwhelming. But I soon made my way to other side where only people were enjoying the warm sand, cool breeze and crashing waves.

I rolled up my jeans, put my feet in the water and let them bury in the wet sand. And I stood. Fip-flops in hand. Thinking. Praying. Watching.

There were surfers, and boogy boarders, and sandcastle-makers all around. But what I noticed most was a dad standing knee high in the water, calling to his daughter to join him. She was standing safely on the beach, covered in sand, wearing a seemingly dry lifejacket. She was visibly tentative about the thought of going out into the water. But the dad kept calling, beckoning her to join him. This nervous child finally made her way to her daddy's hand only long enough for her pitter-pattering feet to run away when a wave came. But eventually with the woo-ing of her dad, the young girl was waist deep, laughing and jumping.

As entertaining as this little scene was to me, I couldn't help but think of my own relationship with Daddy God. Is there more that he's calling me to do or experience? Am I equipped, with swimsuit and lifevest, but still playing safely in the sand? Am I running from the ankle-deep waves when there is an entire ocean before me?

What about you? Can you hear him woo-ing?