Leaving Room

A couple of weeks ago, as part of our new Sunday walk in the woods tradition, we went to the Civil War Fort at Boonesboro on the Kentucky River. 

This one was very different than we thought that it would be. This book, Hike the Bluegrass and Beyond by Valerie l Askren, is a wonderful and without it I think we would have have thought that we were in the wrong place.

Anyway, after parking we looked at the trail head and had immediate reservations. We were on the river and the path was straight up. Lee and I are not in the best shape of our lives and we were both mildly concerned. We forged ahead, though, in spite of many people throwing out the idea of just going to Hall's on the River.

As a history nerd wannabe I cannot help but wonder what the people who made this trail were like. I speculate about their dreams, their day to day lives, and if they ever questioned what they were doing.

While I often imagine life from the pioneer perspective, thanks to the Parallel Narrative on Instagram I'm thinking about what life was like before colonization. I didn't take a photo, but one placard stated that in 1776 the population in Kentucky was only 150 and by 1790 it was in the ten thousands (I can't remember the exact numbers). Spencer and I read that and I gave him a minute to soak it in.

The information doesn't take into account the indigenous peoples already residing in the area that became known as Kentucky. I explained that this was white washing, this was the re-writing of history from a colonizer's perspective. 

We continued our climb to the top. The boys ran ahead and looped back to check on Lee and I. Meanwhile I had to talk myself out of having heart palpitations. Seriously. I am so out of shape.

These outings are giving us a lot.

For one thing, we're getting used to it being the four of us. It's so strange that we don't have to cram into the minivan.

For another thing I am adjusting to being the only female in this group. It's definitely an interesting dynamic. We're all adjusting to a new Sunday routine, though, and I think it's good to have something to look forward to every week.

I'm still trying to talk my men into church-y things like reading the bible together and sharing communion. We talk about doing house church again but I feel that we need this time to recalibrate ourselves to a Sabbath.

It seemed the more we climbed the more places there were for Liam to jump from. I have a pretty significant and irrational fear of heights. In my defense, Liam says things like, "I've always wanted to jump off of a cliff." So the combo of his adventurism and my fears can lead to some interesting conversations.

By interesting I mean I think I yelled at people and was unfriendly for a major part of our hike. Additionally, my bladder was near bursting and as I am not a man I was having to focus on not relaxing.

Me wondering if I'll ever find a bathroom.

The guys were busy finding sticks to hit each other with so I continued up the path. I had spotted some wrens playing with each other and was curious what other birds I might find. 

It's miraculous what a few minutes of quiet, alone, can do for a soul. I took a deep breath and felt my fear of high places dissipate. Taking a moment to observe what was going on around me was good.

Why is it so difficult to see what's around? Even in the fall when plants are brown and dry there is beauty. 

Pictures don't do it justice.

The warm sun, the crisp air, and the sounds all around me reminded me that I'm alive. I woke up to the fact that there is so much going on around me, all of the time. There were maybe ten minutes of alone and I felt the reset. Jesus wasn't fighting for room in my heart in those moments. My soul woke up.

Also, as I rounded the last corner I was rewarded with a beautiful view of a bathroom. It was a compost toilet equipped with a broom so I could get rid of any creepy crawlers lurking about. 

My boys noisily followed me after ten minutes or so, chasing away any birds. I noticed that we each took in the view in very different ways. Lee and Liam, kindred spirits, like to take in the view from the edge. Spencer inspects every aspect walking the perimeter. I sit on the bench in the center of the open field at the top of the bluff. 

We all agreed that this place must have been terrible for doing battle. Then we all agreed that doing battle must be terrible. I asked the boys to consider what life may have been like today had colonists chosen to apply for immigration from the Native Americans.

I also found some great information on the myth of Kentucky as a "dark and bloody ground" at 30 Days of Kentucky Archeology. The boys and I will get into that this week. 

The way down was much simpler - as it always is. I was really proud of us for doing a hard thing. Spencer hung back with me and chatted about all the things he knows I love. I also think he may have been worried that I was going to tumble down the steep hills. 

We did stop by Hall's on the way home. It's a restaurant Lee and I grew up going to with our families and it looks exactly the same. It was a pretty great way to end our little hike.

My big takeaway is that I don't need a weekend to reset. A walk, a drive, a few minutes during chores or cooking can be given to Jesus. We just to leave room. 

What's your reset button? I love hearing how others connect with our Creator. Maybe it's worship music, maybe it's during the Sunday sermon every week, maybe it's while you deep clean your bathroom. 

Be brave misfits, and leave room for Christ. 

New Things

Last week was my birthday. The big forty-five. It feels like the most substantial number I've hit so far.

Thirty felt pretty good, like I was getting my sea legs.

This age, though, feels solid. My feet feel like they're where they should be wherever I am.

The great thing about living with older people (aka my parents) is that you automatically feel pretty young. I mean, it's hard to complain about turning 45 when your dad, who just turned 75, is building his own bathroom.

Still, this birthday comes with a reminder that my body is aging. My knees protest after a day of hiking, my muscles don't recover as quickly. In fact, after a good workout I often think I have the flu til I realize I have no fever.

My Google search history is full of questions seeking relief from perimenopause. I no longer eat dairy. I severely limit wheat.

I'm holding on to coffee.

It sometimes feels as though I'm leaving everything fun behind.

Except for my perspective. The perspective that this age gives me is pretty doggone fun.

I don't worry about what other people think of me. While I feel pretty solid about most of my opinions I'm also completely comfortable acknowledging I have lots to learn.

Suddenly acquiring knowledge, mastering new skills, is exciting.

It seems that my brain has the capacity to gain again. The world seems new and exciting*.

Really, everything is new. My kids are all getting older. I can almost go to the bathroom alone. Two of my children are adults and live their own lives, do their own thing.

With all that free time, though, comes choices. It's definitely easier for me to binge watch Gilmore Girls these days than it used to be. I can fall down the rabbit hole of the web in no time flat.

Intentionality is key, I am learning. Finally. After forty-five years.

To be truthful sometimes this free time stretches out in front of me and tickles my anxiety. I think about the days when I don't have children in my home and there's a pit in my stomach waiting to pull me in.

That's when I force myself to remember that there are more ways to serve than by mothering. There is more to me than homemaking. My inner life is rich, resplendent with deep thoughts on theology, community, parenting, and education.

I tell that pit in my stomach that I'm not done.

Yesterday Lee and I took the boys on a walk at Cove Spring Park . We've decided that will be our Sunday thing, though we don't agree on my all-weather policy. Still, a the start of a new tradition seems appropriate.

Driving in Lee's car, just the four of us, felt different, too. Fun, but different. The boys wanted the windows down and sunroom open. The cool air blew their hair back and I called them my happy puppies.

As we walked up the stairs to the first trail I thought, "I cannot do this." I'm so out of shape thoughts of heart attacks and brain aneurysms loomed over me. I seriously considered telling them I'd meet them at the car.

Still, I'll do anything for my kids, who ran ahead of me sure-footed and unafraid. I caught up with them after my heart rate slowed.

Twenty years of parenting has loosened me up. Spencer was barefoot most of the time, shedding his flip flops to have better grip on the fallen trees he chose to climb. He was also wearing shorts and a t-shirt. In November. This would not have happened with my others.

Liam followed along behind as younger siblings do. Spencer is his hero and nemesis wrapped into one. There are boy things between them that I do not understand. 

At one point they climbed up a dry-ish creek bed that rolled down from a ridge. Picking their way among stones and branches the boys rose higher and higher. I've grown accustomed to this way of parenting; turning my back while they do things that feel risky seems the best way to allow them to explore.

A young couple in their twenties passed us along with their giant labrador looking dog. The young man caught my boys in his eyesight. He paused twice to turn and watch them. I know I saw longing in his eyes.

I remember that my twenties were a time of shoulds and have-to's sitting heavily on me. It's an age of finding place and purpose in yourself and your culture. I feel a little stifled looking back on those years I think.

While observing him watching my boys I made a decision: next time I will climb up with them where my feet may slip and my heart may race. I'll join them in their risky business.

After all, I am forty-five. I can do what I want.

Be brave, misfits, and do new things. It's never too late.

New life is everywhere.