Robert and I just returned from a fantastic trip to the Mediterranean. We loved Greece, with the ancient Acropolis, the Parthenon towering over the city. We marveled at Greek Orthodox churches and loved the friendly people. 

In Cyprus, the ancient mosaics amazed us, along with roaming cats wherever we went. Croatia was beautiful, with the spectacular sea organ (a musical instrument played by the ocean). However, Israel was the country that may stay with me the longest. 

Since I was a tiny tot, I have heard about the Sea of Galilee and the River Jordan. I've listened to Bible stories about Jerusalem and Nazareth. Now those places are real to me. 

This is one of my favorite aspects of travel - when a place on a map becomes a living, breathing place. Israel is now in that category.

And what a feast for the senses it is! Beautiful, white limestone buildings, bearded men in black coats and hats, golden domes. The evocative chant of the Muslim call to prayer while bells peal from Christian cathedrals. The scents of piquant spices and lamb roasting on the spit. Rough, ancient bricks and uneven stones beneath our feet. The tastes of saffron, crunchy falafel, and fish from the Sea of Galilee. 

The next time I'm in church and I hear a Bible story, those sights, sounds, and smells will come back to me.   

An African choir singing on the Mount of Olives

Bethlehem

A forgotten alley in Nazareth

Glorious October

I agree with Anne of Green Gables, who said: "I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers." 

I love October. Every year I look forward to the blazing orange, red, and yellow colors that decorate the mountains, walking trails, and yards. I start baking pumpkin pies, savoring their cinnamon fragrance as they bake, and the mix of pumpkin and sweet whipped cream when we eat them. I’m thrilled the first time I put on a jacket, happy to leave behind the soggy heat of summer.  

Who needs spring when you have October? It is rich with beauty and accomplishment. The year is almost finished. There is a certain maturity inherent in October, a satisfaction in a job well done . . . or at least having survived and made it another year to enjoy the spectacular views.

Just a Day at the Gym

It was a regular day at the gym . . . except it wasn't.

I'd done a Zumba class (fun) and was convincing myself to add 20 minutes in the weight room (not fun). I had lots of excuses - I was tired. I had a lot to do. I'd done Zumba, for heaven sake. Enough is enough!

For whatever reason, I lost the argument . . . or won, depending on how you look at it. I committed to showing up at the weight room, ready to heft barbells, do a few miserable squats, and attempt a 30-second plank. I wouldn't enjoy it, because strength training isn't my thing. But I'd made a goal, so I'd go for it.

I walked in and headed to the rack of silvery weights. Then I noticed a guy working out with his trainer. The trainer was throwing a ball at him, and he was catching it with his abdomen. Sweat dripped down his face, and he lunged at that ball. No half-hearted efforts.

And did I mention he had no arms or legs?

I was immediately chagrined and humbled. How dare I whine when this man had gone through tremendous efforts just to get to the gym, let alone work out? I watched him out of the corner of my eye, with awe and admiration.

Then I picked up those weights. Heavier ones than usual.

They’re Back

The turtles like hanging out in the pond too.

Last year I discovered white pelicans in my own back yard. Well, almost. They were actually in a pond on a walking trail close to my back yard.

I don’t know why, but it made me happy to see pelicans in land-locked Colorado. I’ve always loved pelicans and been fascinated with them since studying them in third grade.

I think of pelicans as sea birds, so it surprised me to discover them. Last summer, I loved pausing in a five-mile walk to watch them dive and dip, over and over, with grace and gusto. As birds do, the pelicans left in the fall.

But they’re back. During this week’s walk, there were five of them, diving and dipping with beauty and ease. The cycle continues, and I welcome them to their summer home.  

You Can Do It, Mom. You’re Strong.

It’s probably not very smart for me to hike with my 20-something sons. They’re young and fast and adventuresome. I love to hike, but I’m slow. I say I like to stop and smell the wildflowers and enjoy the view. It’s true. But I’m also all too aware of the impact of an injury, so I’m careful.

It usually works out. I make it to the summit. I eventually arrive at the end of the trail. I dip my toes in the alpine lake.

But maybe hiking isn’t just about getting somewhere.  A few years ago, I started to learn one of the lessons of hiking . . . and I learned it from one of those 20-something sons. 

We were hiking to a hidden waterfall in Colorado’s San Luis Valley. It wasn’t a particularly difficult hike, elevation-wise, nor was it miles long. But it was tricky.  Heavy snow that year had melted, so rocky nooks and crannies and ponds overflowed.  Water rushed through creeks that usually trickled.  

The sound of roaring water filled my ears as I clung to the side of the mountain, trying to stay dry. It was a useless venture. The cold water chilled my feet while my shoes slipped on the slick black rocks. I balanced while wading through the frigid water and steadied myself atop a rickety log bridge. I kept picturing myself splatting into the water or tripping on one of those glassy boulders. We were miles from medical help, and a fall would ruin the trip.

I decided to sit and wait while my husband and sons went ahead. I didn’t want to hold them back, and I I didn’t want to fall or stumble or topple into that rushing water. It wasn’t a bad deal to sit in the Colorado sunshine, while waiting, I told myself. I could inhale the smell of damp earth and enjoy cool breezes that wafted by on the hot summer’s day.

Then my son, Bryce, turned back and said, “Come on, Mom. You can do it. You’re strong.”

You’re strong.

The words jolted me. He was right.

I am strong.

I didn’t need to sit in the sunshine or be afraid of getting my feet wet.

I am strong.

Decades of life experience had made me strong. I could certainly finish this hike.

So I kept moving forward. Slowly. Carefully. But one foot in front of the other. The waterfall was glorious, and I shared the sheer beauty of it with my husband and sons.

Since that day, I’ve kept Bryce’s words in my mind. “You can do it, Mom. You’re strong.” 

He may be wrong about a lot of things – politics, pizza toppings, and red peppers. But on this point, he’s right. I just have to remember it.  

 

Bryce. One of my favorite sons.