Rattlesnake Ledge June 2, 2012

If God really is who He says He is, then I don’t want to live in a cloud. 

It was a rainy Saturday morning, but I’m hardcore so I got up anyway and headed to the popular Rattlesnake Ledge. Most people refer to it as Rattlesnake Ridge, but that’s not what the sign says. The parking lot had enough cars to feel comfortable and few enough to not feel annoyed.

You have to walk a rocky path to get to the trailhead, but on the way you meet Rattlesnake Lake. It feels like a scene out of Lord of the Rings. You can see remnants of the Ents after the battle for middle earth. It’s weird.

The rain let up as I began to climb or maybe the trees just took over. Either way, I was reasonably dry. The trail is nothing too interesting beyond the lake, unless of course, you’re with a good friend. It was a beautiful forest when I took time to lift my head and look. I was working my way up another switchback and then it happened. Everything became so much clearer, so much better. I turned around and looked back at where I had come from.  It was complete mist and fog. I had been walking through a cloud, and I didn’t even know it. To me, everything seemed right and beautiful, just as it should have been. I had no idea how wrong I was until the path cleared up.

After standing there for a few minutes amazed at what just happened, I began to think about how we don’t realize when things become foggy on our walk with God until we go to a place like Malibu, hear an uncomfortable sermon, experience a tear-jerking quiet-time, or take a hike. Then you look back and see what you were doing—living in a cloud. I had just visited Malibu earlier in the week. The experience was unreal for me. I felt more myself than anywhere, anytime in my life. It’s so clear up there. This hike was reminding me of it. It was telling me not to go back to who I was. It’s hard though because most of the time, you don’t even realize you’re pretending until He gives you another moment. But then again, knowing Him, maybe we just need to ask.

Show & Tell

I bought a pair of sweatpants in May. I’ve worn them every day since then. I wear them to bed, I wear them out, I wear them if I can get away with wearing them. If you’ve seen me in the past month, then you probably know what I’m talking about. I haven’t washed them yet either. That’s not the shocker, though. Written down the left pant leg in giant purple letters is the word “HUSKIES”. Has your jaw dropped yet? Thought I’d never wear something even once advertising the dawgs, and now, here I am, doing it every day. In fact, not only did I refuse to assume loyalty, but I became a hater. What’s happened to me?

The last week of school we had show & tell in AVID. Each student brought in something that was important and explained the story of its existence to the class. Nothing they showed was especially monetarily valuable—nothing super impressive when given a first glance—nothing I would pick out of a dumpster. Yet, each day a presenter would struggle through a story while wiping away tears. A set of keys, a basketball, a wallet, a half torn piece of paper—somehow these worthless things became symbols of resilience, reconciliation, relationship, and freedom. The class would become silent as we realized we were being let into a special moment in another’s life—one we could never know without being told. Really this show and tell wasn’t at all about the things each kid brought in, it was about the memory it allowed them to share.

I bought a pair of sweatpants in May. I bought them after I had made a big decision. They say “HUSKIES” down the left pant leg, and I feel at home when I wear them. Part of me thinks I should save them for later, but I can’t. I want to live in them. When I think of all they represent, I wipe away tears. Behind them is a story of transformation, integration, and relationships. They reflect countless memories of a god being so faithful to his daughter and a promise that his faithfulness never grows shallow.  They will remind me to remember this, and they will push me to continue because if we continue to lean, He will continue to dazzle.

You probably wouldn’t pick them out of a dumpster, but six years ago I wouldn’t have either.