Losing Faith: Finding Amy

After college graduation, I was armed with a strong resolve to be a counselor for troubled youth.I took an internship with a center for troubled kids, but after a month of battling the more difficult cases, I realized this was not what I was looking for in a career and I felt lost-- my sense of direction was broken, and faith in my own ability and Gods plan for me sufficiently weakened.

I was young and filled with enthusiasm for the journey ahead. I had plans and dreams, which I started to pursue with a firm determination, only coming up empty.

While I was trying to figure things out, I decided to start substitute teaching. Christmas was coming and I needed quick cash. I went and signed up on a dismal day, not in the best of spirits and upon entering the office, the secretary asked me several questions, one of which changed my life: "What about out special needs children?" Shortly thereafter, I received a call (not many people are willing to sub special needs children), which I immediately accepted. Just getting out of the house was a breath of fresh air, and the chance of a new start.

Kyle spit on me when I first walked in the door. "Kyle!" screamed one of the teachers (there was a class of 6 kids, with 3 teachers, I was subbing for teacher number 3). Kyle was autistic and his routine, when interrupted upset him very much. I wiped spit from the front of my shirt, and mentally sighed. Amy was the child assigned to me. She was four feet tall with black hair, green eyes and the face of a downs child. She clung to me as we went to the different classrooms, and seemed very pleased I was there even though Chaos prevailed in the classroom. This was a low functioning group that was difficult to handle, and I was amazed as the realization hit me that there were people patient enough to be with these kids every day. I was obviously not one of them, and as the day drug on, my patience grew thin for the group. However, my curiosity and affection for Amy grew stronger. She was so tender-hearted and sweet. She couldn't speak clearly, but seemed to be trying to tell me something. Still, dwelling on the present was not foremost in my mind. I was trapped and wanted desperately to be somewhere else, the worries of life stark before me. I wondered how a burning desire to be successful had filled me through and after college, only now to leave me confused and afraid. Something was missing; my mind tried to recall logically was it could be, and confusion overwhelmed me.

At the end of the day Amy looked straight at me, as if to say 'I love you, thanks for taking care of me.' I understood then that my heart had the answers that my mind did not. Suddenly the fog lifted from my mind, and I felt at peace. I realized that everything would be okay if I just had patience and faith--things that had been buried under my own ambitions the last four years. In Amys eyes, just for a second, I was looking not at a small downs child, but a full grown, beautiful woman, who was perfect in heaven, and had been sent to earth to help the faith of those who needed it. I was instantly reminded that the Lord will test us, but not past our limitations. Tears welled up in my eyes as I reached down and hugged Amy goodbye.

As I drove home, I pondered the Saviors love for me as an individual, in giving me specific trials and experieces to learn from. I knew that faith was the belief in things not seen, and by revisiting the spiritual things I believed in my faith was renewed, and I could go on living a happy life, because I truly believed I had the Lords direction and guidance. I realized that didn't mean guidance would lead me down a happy path all the time-- sorrow being essential to my growth in character and wisdom. It dawned on me that the teachers were not there to teach these special children; they were here to teach them, me. Amys innocent loving spirit buoyed these simple thoughts to the top of my mind and heart, where they've stayed ever since-- especially during the hard times.

Its been nearly ten years since that day in the classroom, and here I am with my family, twelve days before Christmas, standing over Amys grave. I think back to that day, which seems like a dream to me now, all the small details blurry and indistinct, but there is still one very vivid and beautiful memory. Throughout the day Amy kept pointing to a snow globe in the classroom. I would pick it up and shake it, while she stood watching the flakes slowly settle at the mini carolers feet. She would emphatically point at it, until I repeated the process. I did this all day, and when I went to leave Amy insisted I take it. The other teachers said she had never been as adamant about something before, so I took the Globe and it has since brought many happy memories to our home.

All those years ago, Amy's sweet spirit touched my life in a profound way. She gave me the gift of remembering my Heavenly father loved and cared for me. He hadn't left me alone, and never would. I shook the snow globe lightly and placed it on her head stone, leaving with it a prayer of thanks, and a few tear drops.

JT

The song he just finished before this "Fire and Rain" rendition was the Beatles "With a Little Help from My Friends", which was the bomb. I love to see artists giving tribute to each other and pointing out their own tastes in music. I've been a huge JT fan for as long as I can remember (not to mention the Beatles!). There is such a sadness in many of his songs that is strangly appealing to me, although in a happy way. I've seen him in concert three times , and although he's lost all his hair, he can still play like nobodys business. I bought a guitar eight years ago with the sole purpose of learning to play "fire and rain". The Guitar's currently got an inch of dust on it, but my intentions were good.

Angles

The banister post is not parallel with the fifth stair like I once thought it was. A glance always gave the impression that if I took a string and pulled it tight it would create an exactly straight line. I realized today that it doesn't and for some reason I feel bothered by it.

Slickrock

The sign at the trail head reads "This is the toughest trail in Moab, it is not for beginners. Unfortunately, many people have been seriously injured on this trail." You can understand my initial reluctance to carry on, having not ridden any bike since I was thirteen. However, I wasn't about to tuck tail and wait for my brother-in-laws in the car, so with possible maiming in mind I peddled awkwardly to the starting point. Up and down, up, up, up and down. The wind blew so hard even the downs felt like ups. I walked my bike like a sissy up many of the steep climbs. I even was passed by a couple girls, and just hung my head in silent shame.

All that being said, the scenery was amazing (of course!) and as it always is, looking back it was worth it - all 12 miles !

Which Ways North ?

Wind Rivers Stough #2

The Winds

I recently went on a backpacking trip to the Wind Rivers in Wyoming with a group of friends. Its an amazing range spanning 80 miles long and 30 miles wide with several wilderness areas throughout. We went to the Popie Agie (pronounced poposha)wilderness about 8 miles in to Stough Creek Lakes. Its a pristine alpine landscape with granite spires in every direction and lakes dotting the amphitheater floor. The trip was one of the best I've been on for several reasons: the trail was shaded the whole way. There were NO BUGS at all. The weather was perfect the entire time and I wasn't mauled by a bear.

We stayed 4 days, hiked probably 20 miles and saw some beautiful country. To quote a phrase from a favorite novel it became "more perfect" daily. On the last evening I slipped away from camp and sat next to a lake watching everything. A muskrat swam around in the middle, back and forth like a lap swimmer in a pool, then dove and reappeared with a fish. The sky was clear and I spotted a falcon miles away, circling a huge cliff face. I felt like Ralphie on Christmas night as he clutched his Red Ryder BB gun (with a compass in the stock).

Colie takes a hit

Paradise

"My idea of paradise is a perfect automobile
going thirty miles an hour on a smooth road to a twelth century catherdral"

-Henry James

It will be different for all of us of course.

Theres a chance I'll be on a backcountry lake eternally with other outdoorsman- plenty of fish for all. Every cast would be perfect and yield a killer strike. If I was in no mood to share the lake that day, people would just melt into the water, and be chalked up as a mirage. I would envision whoever I felt like talking to, they would appear and be talkative on demand or attentive to my ramblings as I saw fit. Noah would keep swimming close to the canoe, trying to dump me when I wasn't keeping a wily eye out. He likes the water now, and never held a grudge.

John Muir and I would climb the highest pine tree on the hill, letting the rain sting our faces in pure ecstasy while lighting crashed harmlessly around us. The animals would come to the fire at night- a regular garden of Eden, where smokey the bear is real and has a killer singing voice.

No aches, or pains, just a perfect body in a perfect place for eternity.

Barbacoa

I wonder if the Indians
Wanted to be somewhere
Else during these festivities
Like we do today –
Never content with the current company.
I bet they envisioned (after a few peyote hits)
Texting and talking to other tribes on cell phones
Letters and words ricocheting from tepee to tepee
Attempting to get through somehow.

Zorba the Greek

Last week as I rinsed off my sweaty face with cool water and looked into the mirror I thought of Zorba. I pictured him staggering down the mountain with a coal blackened face, grinning ear to ear at the boss, which made me wonder why I was not grinning ear to ear after laboring in the heat all day. I read this book about five years ago and loved it. I think back then it was the theme of friendships unraveling and lost forever that touched me, and helped secure a spot on my favorite list, but what stuck out this time was Zorba's insatiable zest for life. No matter what he's doing its 110%, and its as if he's seeing the world for the first time everyday.

"He has been all over the racked and chaotic Balkans and observed everything with his little falcon-like eyes which he constantly opens wide in amazement."

His fun loving and free spirited attitude is envied by the boss. He loves to talk to Zorba and take everything in because living a studious knowledge driven life has left him bereft of life. The boss waxes philosophical in many parts throughout. He just can't wrap his mind around the time he's wasted not seizing the day, and regret eats at him constantly.

I loved the tid bits of truth, by both men, which the book is full of:

Zorba - "What is a woman, and why does she turn our heads? Just tell me, I ask you, whats the meaning of that?"

Boss - "I felt once more how simple and frugal a thing is happiness: a glass of wine, a roast chestnut, a wretched little brazier, the sound of the sea. Nothing else.

Its a fun read that was thought provoking and has made me more Zorba-like in my approach to daily life.

Musical Mystery

Bits of random lyrics sometimes strike me. Walking through the grocery store today I heard a song that pulled my mind to Subway, closing the store ten years ago as a Sandwich artist. The lyrics are what grab me when any song plays, striking a deep chord of truth. Clark and I would always hear the song Closing Time at Subway and I loved the lyric:

"One last call for alcohol so finish your whiskey or beer,
closing time you don't have to go home but you can't stay here."

I love what that says, its not profound or deep, but simple and true. I don't like entire song and never have, but there are millions of lyrics out there, that bring grins to faces that only you understand. Special moments you share internally when in the store, or car.

I thought about finding good in everything we can, even a crappy song with a few good lines.

Why Bother

I've come to dread nights. The woods are a retreat, an amazing escape from the hum drum of city life. I always hear people say the fresh air is fantastic, but I've never really understood that. Its the scenery that overwhelms me, takes my breath, and further endorses my belief in God. I wrote in my journal several years ago about the preparation and experience of camping: packing, planning, fighting mosquitoes (literally), and laying in a tent for 15 hours while rain pounds your tiny world, wind refuses to let you sleep, and every noise brings the word bear to mind.

I was worried that Mikayla (because of her gene pool) might experience the same night anxiety and thus add another crux to Nicks already sleepless camping nights. Nichole and I took the little sweetie to Taylors Fork campground in the Uintas last weekend, and she proved to be her mothers daughter, sleeping all night without even a twitch. I think she was dreaming of flies lightly brushing the surface of a calm lake, enticing fat trout to eat.

I came to the same conclusion after last weekend that I did years ago. Its the quite moments of solitude that sustain me, keep me coming back for more sleepless nights; fly-fishing until my arm is ready to fall off, gazing off into the woods as if entranced, enjoying and soaking in everything..... waiting for Mikaylas dream to come true.

Hungry Fish

It must have been a long cold winter.

First trip of the year..

"We have an unknown distance yet to run... what falls there are, we know not, what rocks beset the channel, we know not, what walls rise over the river we know not."

So I'm no Jhon Wesley Powell , but it was cold out!!

Trial Lake May 29, 2007.. Still half frozen.