Grace Upon Grace

It's Too Beautiful ...

... to be inside today. Summer in Wyoming: 83-85 degrees, low humidity, breezes, clear sky. This is what we call "hot." Coming from Virginia, I know it's not. And I am grateful!

I should be outside right now, given this week's column in which I promised I would be. I had to work at the hospital this a.m. finishing things up before being out a week. (Guy and I will be attending the University of Utah School on Alcoholism and Other Drug Dependencies next week.) I heard a 5th Step, picked the hymns for tomorrow, got irritated at a colleague's e-mail, and bought doughnuts for the Bible Study hosted by my helper, James.

I just finished my sermon for Holy Communion, Rock Springs, where I will be the supply priest tomorrow. And there are still three (at least) hours of daylight left!

The Birds, They Are A-Singin'

It's actually warm here -- yesterday it reached 78. That's practically mid-summer! Today the clouds are rolling in and we expect rain/sleet/snow tonight, then back to "normal" April temperatures. I will always love the fact that it snowed on the day of my ordination, April 1.

This a.m. I am hearing meadowlarks all over the place. They sing from every possible perch up here on "the hill," where the hospital sits. It's a meadow-y area, so it figures they would be here in abundance. Their song is unbelievably liquid and melodic -- and loud!

There are also plenty of red-winged blackbirds up here, because of a small marshy area on one end of the campus near the famous "Lake Louise," a small, gravel-edged pond. (It actually has a faded old sign in front of it, with script lettering: "Lake Louise.") Red-winged blackbirds, in case you don't know, make a terrific buzzy sound, rather comic-sounding, as well as a clear call that could pierce an eardrum. They are very handsome birds, the males especially, with their red-and-yellow epaulets.

There are tons of robins about, and I have historically had a bad attitude about them. This is not their fault. I am a crummy bird-watcher, partly because my eyesight isn't all that great and partly because I don't devote enough time to it to get really good. So whenever I'm walking in the Bear River State Park and I see a bird, I'm excited and hopeful that it's a species I haven't seen before, but 8 times out of 10, it turns out to be a robin. I cussed the robins the first year we were here. Then I realized that it's like my friend Wanda the Wyoming Native says about weeds: "If it grows in Wyoming, we want to keep it." So, robins, I apologize. If you fly, nest, and hop around in Wyoming, we want to keep you, too.

It's an interesting place, this high desert country where perseverance counts for more than beauty. Way more.

Home Again

I'm very tired from my trip so won't post much today, but wanted to call your attention to the blog of my friend Dave Pepper, a Presbyterian pastor who lives and pastors in "the valley" east of here. His lovely wife, Kim, is the Presbyterian pastor here in town. I enjoyed a beautiful Good Friday service with them at her church.

Dave has some great moose photos on the blog!

Moose Poop on the Lawn

Will I Ever Learn?

About a year ago, I posted about a terrifying drive home from Salt Lake City, at night, in a blinding snowstorm. Tonight Guy and I did that same drive together. Ten miles outside of Evanston, there's a steep hill. In the snow and ice, about 15 semis had stopped on the hill, in both lanes so we couldn't get around. We sat there for quite a while before a way opened up and we snuck around them on the left shoulder, hoping we wouldn't slide into the nearby ravine.

Was the trip to SLC worth it? For me, yes, because Tom McClenahan taught on Ecclesiastes tonight, and that was extraordinary. (I'll share more on that tomorrow.) For Guy, maybe not, since he was driving. We did have some nice moments just being in each other's company, stuck on a snowy road, looking at truck tail-lights and wondering if we'd get home before dawn. We made it before midnight. Thanks, God!

I finished my column for the Saturday "Faith" page of the Salt Lake Tribune today. I wrote on Va. Tech. -- sure I'll get a lot of nasty e-mails because I dared to touch on the gun control issue. I wanted to avoid it, but I just couldn't. It seems so obvious at a time like this.

Scary

Last night I drove to Salt Lake City with my friends Wanda and Cora. We're taking a class on Revelation together at Salt Lake Theological Seminary. These Monday night classes are delightful in many ways. For one thing, the break from routine is refreshing. For another, we have the long drive down and back to talk. And I love the classes themselves, and the opportunity to meet and get to know the professors and fellow students.

Yesterday it was snowing steadily as we drove down. I was not alarmed by this and figured the snow would taper off before we headed home. (I had no basis in reality for this assumption, just wild optimism, I guess!) But as it turned out, the snow got heavier. Our trip takes us up and over something called Parley's Summit, a 7500' peak between Park City and Salt Lake City that requires one's full attention to drive safely in good weather. (The 1920s photo of Parley's below is by photographer E.B. Olsen from the collection at Utah State University.)

Last night was not good weather. The snow was driving into the windshield. I couldn't see more than a few yards ahead of the front of the car. I could barely see the lane markings. It felt as if I'd completely lost my bearings and couldn't see where I was going; I felt dizzy and sick to my stomach.

Cora and Wanda were wonderfully reassuring, calm and helpful. "You're doing fine, Connie," Cora said in a soothing voice, "I'm not even tense." (Can you guess she is a clinical psychologist?) I wanted to say, "YOU may not be tense, but I am TERRIFIED!" I considered stopping the car right where I was -- not an option when you're in the middle lane of a three-lane highway in a blinding snowstorm at night. My foot was shaking on the gas pedal and my hands got cold and clammy. I really didn't think we'd make it to Park City in one piece.

In those really frightening moments, I thought about praying, and maybe I squeaked out a little prayer to God. (I'm thinking Cora and Wanda were probably praying big time!) I was struck with how my body didn't care how many prayers I said -- it was telling me we were in mortal danger and that I was in way over my head. At one point in all of this, I said, "I hate fear!" I'm sure that sounded pretty silly, because Wanda rejoined with a laugh, "Yeah, and I hate guilt!"

But what I really meant was: I hated feeling out of control, in danger, and stuck with my totally vulnerable self (and my friends) in a perilous situation. And I realized that my body knew -- as Cora always tells our clients -- way before my mind knew just how terrified I really was. The thought flickered through my mind: I think I'm so tough, but a little danger comes my way and I am a vulnerable and shaking little person who can't even think to pray. What if I were a Christian martyr facing an arena full of beasts?

Be that as it may. We made it over and down the other side of Parley's, truly by the grace of God. At the first opportunity, I got off the highway -- we could barely see the exit signs because they were mostly covered with snow. Wanda was willing and ready to drive. Wyoming native that she is, she is unafraid of weather in any form. I'm so thankful she drove home. I sat in the back seat and didn't look out the windows because the snow was still coming at us in that hypnotic way that made me lose my bearings on Parley's Summit.

I was still shaking for at least 20 minutes after Wanda took the wheel.

Today, I'm thinking maybe I'll be more prepared to stay overnight in Salt Lake City the next time it's snowing on a Monday night.

More Snow

... maybe 6-8 inches by tomorrow night. I will say the forecasters seem even less accurate here than they were in Virginia, so who knows?

Guy and I both fondly remember snow days from back East. There haven't been any here yet. I understand they'll have one every 10 years or so.

So far, no sign of the bulbs we laboriously planted last fall popping up. A couple of tulips near the side of the house (where it's warm and sunny) have shown up. Everything else is still asleep.

I'm ready to preach tomorrow on Jesus and the moneylenders. Last week while preaching in the chapel I went a little nuts and did a song with dance moves -- "Stomp on the Devil" -- that I learned from a great documentary, "Let the Church Say Amen!," which chronicles life in a Pentecostal storefront church in inner-city Washington, D.C. The dance moves include stomping your foot on the ground while loudly singing, you guessed it, "Stomp on the devil!" The cool thing is, the patients all remember it. Throughout the week, as I was conducting various treatment groups, they'd remind me: "Stomp on the Devil!" they'd say, and laugh.

Hey, if they remembered anything, that's good, right?

As a good Episcopalian, I do not carry on in such a manner when preaching at St. Paul's, Evanston. I have sung in the pulpit in Episcopal Churches, but do not dance there. At least, not yet.