Keep Living Life

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August 2013 was a rough month for me in many ways. As I considered the crushing news and the ramifications, my friend wisely pushed me to continue our plans to go to Sequoia. It turned out to be the right call. You see, my life hadn't ended even though some of its subplots seemed to. I was still alive, and that meant there was work to be done, opportunities to take, choices to make, people to meet, and a divine purpose to meet. Yes, there is still grief, and I'm still justified to be grieving, but since I am still alive, that means something too. As I pondered one morning at camp whether I made the right choice, I felt God whisper in my mind, "Don't put your life on hold for the choices made by others. Keep living your life happily, and let me bring the people into it who belong."

Life is a wonderful gift and experience. I know that sometimes the pain and anguish and suffering loom large, but I also know that partly it's a matter of perspective. Some of my close acquaintances suffer trials I thank God I don't have to bear. I'm not trapped in a mine in Chile, living in Ukraine wondering if Putin will overrun my town, living paycheck to paycheck or under the bridge at Stewart and Nellis, or without the use of my faculties or limbs. I know people affected by all of these, and as much as I hurt, I live a great life. I hike all the time, play several sports avidly, work on my marksmanship with rifles and bow, and attend events of cultural significance as often as my calendar and pocketbook allow. My friend and I have seen the wildflowers at Mt. Charleston, walked through a cluster of hummingbirds, watched pigeons fight over a mate, seen the lightning strike around us, and watched a tree fall in the woods without any obvious reason.

When I lost someone who meant a great deal to me, I felt like life was over and that I was somehow emasculated by that. Although that story may be over, other stories continue. I continue to act on the opportunities that present themselves and see where they lead and trust that, if those people really mean something to me, they will return, and when they do I will feel inclined and be able to inculcate them into the story of my life.

While it feels like nothing I choose or am allowed to pursue has any fruit to bear that interests me, I do still believe that what should be will be when the time is right. Like Einstein, I don't think God plays dice with the universe, and unlike some people I know, I don't believe in the Think System. I think that there is no guarantee, only opportunity, and since I refuse to use the Adversary's methods to achieve the Father's plan, I know I have to let things go and trust in God. He always delivers, even if not in the form or timing that I prefer. I will not pretend to understand His plan, but I will also not portend to His power or prescience. I keep living life until He decides that it's over. Since I'm still here, there are still things to do.

For now, I feel low more often than I'd like. To handle the pain, the loss, I exercise. When I have no more strength, I sleep. It hasn't made me more popular, more successful, or more attractive, but I discovered many things as I did so. I discovered more strength, more conditioning, more endurance, and moreso, I discovered that to the people whose approbation I truly desire and truly should seek, I am already popular, successful, and attractive. People of significantly greater intellect, acumen, and wealth (in my opinion) commend me to their friends and try to set me up with people they know. People of greater position in the community respect me when they disagree, and I even find advocates and supporters in places I once thought unlikely if not impossible.

Maybe the opportunities don't lead where I like, and maybe they're not about the end of the story. You see, in my belief system, we are the end. We are God's work. I confess I don't truly comprehend that, but I do know that it's not simply a matter of making me a married man, a father figure, or a pillar amongst peerage of the world. He is trying to make me His son. He's trying to help me see people as He does, to care about them as He does, and to act regarding them as He does. He knows loss and pain and rejection far more than I can comprehend, and yet His life goes on. There are other people, other opportunities, and other endeavors, and so I think He does what He can where He can with what He has. I hope as I do in kind He will find me fit for His approbation.

My trip to Sequoia proved a fit analogy for what transpired since then. My friend convinced me to join him in hiking up a dry waterfall, which was basically a sheer cliff more than a trail. I remember thinking I would probably die there, and the ranger at the top was surprised that anyone had done it; nobody was sure it could be done. When we went camping that summer, I wasn't sure that I could survive the trials before me. I felt they were so insurmountable that I would die. Yet, for all of the pain and the time and the worries, I did it, and you can't take that away from me. It taught me that I can do hard things, that I can overcome difficult trials, and that even if I'm hurt as long as I'm still alive, there is still an onward and upward to a green meadow and refreshing waters. It was worth the climb.

As long as you draw breath, live life. I don't think anyone lives the life they thought they would. We make decisions on the information given, and sometimes we discover the information was bad, but that doesn't make us fools for acting as if it were good information. It's not necessarily our fault that things don't turn out, and it's not our fault that others choose not to participate. It doesn't make us failures. It's life. The painful things do not make the good things bad. The good things remain. Our dreams give us glimpses of what our lives desire, of what our lives included, and no matter how much a flight of fancy they may seem, they were once real. I am trusting that God will bring the people who belong when they can be part of my life and my eternal destiny. Until then, I interact with those I meet by the way and wait to see who stays. I am usually surprised.

In memory of those I've lost, as a reminder that life goes on: