The Love of Beauty

In Tom Wright's magnificent little book Simply Christian, he reasons that our attachment to beauty is an echo of God's voice.  You could say that it's a pointer to Yahweh's original creation song.

This afternoon I had a few moments to gaze at Beauty herself, to hear the faint echoes of our Creator's voice reverberating in the high desert through which I ran.  

For me, the joy of running itself is a beautiful expression of the freedom that comes from truly believing in, hoping for and working toward the fullness of his coming Kingdom.

And then tonight I sat with my favorite coffee watching the sun settle over Colorado's most famous of mountain peaks - the longing in my soul slowly percolating to once again travel deep into the heart of those sometimes terrifying, always invigorating slabs of stone on yet one more adventure.

For me, it all points to a great Day yet to come, when perhaps, if it were possible, the air may be even a bit crisper - when perhaps, if it were possible, the colors may be even a bit brighter.  And when, for sure, the nagging fear that it must all come to an End - will be no more.

Father, thank you for beautiful moments like these - moments that echo your very own voice that fills and stills our souls.  

Thank you for Creation, for her pointers to New Creation and for the promise of the Resurrection where we will forever live with you.

Eyes to See

"Those who go down to the sea in ships, Who do business on great waters; They have seen the works of the LORD, And His wonders in the deep."   - Psalm 107:23-24

My son seems like a wholly different person than some years ago when I caught him unawares, gazing at the power and enormity of the sea.

I can still see the awe in his eyes as he later remarked, "The ocean's angry today, Dad.".  Josh had gotten a glimpse of His power.

Images like this mean more and more to me as I get older - for all the usual sentimental reasons.

But I think I'm drawn to this particular picture because - regardless of all the opportunities and experiences I've been blessed to have - I think I still feel like Josh did at the moment I took that picture.

It's as if I'm continually standing on the edge of something much larger and more mysterious than I can quite comprehend.  The feeling is oppressive and foreboding and crisp and exhilarating - all at the same time.   That's just how Adventure feels.

Life is truly an adventure for those who have eyes to see.

Father, give me eyes to see.

My Kind of Kid

I was sitting on a mountainside at about 11,500 feet in Colorado late one afternoon, and this little kid and his mom showed up.

I find wildlife fascinating for all sorts of reasons, but this time, it was the grace and agility with which this mountain goat family ran up and down the mountain slopes.

I'm talking serious boulder chutes and tough 4th class terrain that I tend to poke through like a sloth. His momma just bolted down out of nowhere with him in tow, leaping and lunging, defying gravity like furry John Woo characters.

That blurry background is about 800 feet below the little fella, but he hopped right up on that stone, stuck like Spidey and took a peek over the edge.

I was impressed by these two. The momma teaching her son to survive in the mountain environment, to be constantly aware of his surroundings, to know his limitations and yet boldly approach the challenges that appear in his path. The kid, humbly learning and then testing his skills. Awesome.

Father, help me to be both child and parent - learning and modeling a wise and bold approach to the future.

What do you see?

Maybe these images will only appeal to those like me that love wandering through vast and wild places. If so, I apologize in advance!

I dropped a thousand feet off the Continental Divide the other day and shuffled precariously along this shifting shale slope on a serpentine trail cut by our trusty Expedition guides.

Though I'd seen (and posted!) pictures of this place taken by others - whatever breath I had left from the sketchy descent was abruptly taken away when I first spotted this little lake with my own eyes.

Yes, the sheer vastness and rugged beauty of this place is almost incomprehensible. The colors are so very vivid - it's a spectacle for sure.

The pictures simply do not do justice - but they're all I've got.

Now a certain friend of mine that loves such places would say, "Mike, you look at nature and see the hand of God. I look at nature and see Chance."

Then he'd add, "You know what your problem is? You just don't understand the law of large numbers."

Interesting.

We both seek such places - and love them - but for vastly different reasons. And I respect his right to hold on to that law of large numbers, I really do.

Of course, my worldview suggests:

"For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse." - Romans 1:20

But I fully recognize the fact that there are about as many worldviews as there are people on the planet.

So I wonder, according to your view of the world - what do you see when you look at nature's awesome beauty?

Springtime at Camp Kivu

As far as I'm concerned it's still spring in the mountains even though it's June and we've got 300 young men and women out here at the camp. I haven't met a person yet that doesn't love springtime.

I'm bettin' the farm that one day - Messiah will breathe the Great Springtime onto planet Earth. Peace and justice for all peoples. No more sorrow, crying or pain. And of course, the resurrection will be a huge part of all that.

What will that day be like - when we finally experience the Spring of all springs?

I can't pretend to predict it exactly - but I think I get a taste every time I go to the mountains. Springtime is awesome here at Camp Kivu.

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I'm In Heaven

Well, not yet of course. The word on the street is that a grizzly killed a woman last year about 1000 yards to my right as I took this picture.

So despite what you see here, the Kingdom has not yet fully come. It is both Now, and Not Yet.

Death still exists, even in this beautiful place. But when I think on that Kingdom, it looks in my mind something like this.

Bull elk jog across this marshy meadow all day bugling and chasing their cows. I watched a bull moose thrash the bushes about 200 yards from me.

This is Jackson Hole, Wyoming. I'm at the Jackson Lake Lodge for a conference on Wilderness Risk Management.

What an absolutely inspiring environment.

For the Birds

This white ibis was stalking minnows in the shallows like T-Rex.

Yeah, I know - why can't I be satisfied with a nice snapshot of the kids at the beach? Noooo - not me. No, I've got to drive 900 miles so I can sit in the muck to get a shot of a weird bird.

Hey, somebody's gotta do it...

Who Takes Pictures of a Gas Cloud?

Well, I do.

This is the oft-photographed Lagoon Nebula - in the constellation Sagittarius.

I took this before I made the switch to digital - it's a single one-hour and 15 minute exposure on Velvia 50 film.

To get these long exposures to work, the telescope must be perfectly polar aligned. This allows only one set of motors to be required to keep the telescope perfectly tracking the object for the entire exposure, because the telescope must move only on one axis.

Otherwise, your stars are streaks instead of nice round points.

Yeah, I know. What a geek.  :)

Getting Alone

Here's a vivid memory.

I'd driven halfway across the country to make a solo backpacking excursion in Wyoming's Wind River Range. After hiking 11 or so miles with a heavy pack on the first day, I ended up here.

I spent 6 days alone in the mountains on that trip, covering approximately 42 miles. I experienced thunder-snowstorms at 12,000 feet for the first time. I spent three days (shared only with a coyote as evidenced by tracks in the fresh snow) in a basin that is the equal of anything in The Lord of the Rings for sheer grandeur. I climbed a thousand feet in treacherous conditions to come within view of Gannett Peak, only to turn back because of the weather and the extreme risk it brought.

Being there alone was an incredibly powerful experience.

I can say for certain that I've never "felt" the tangible presence of God as I did during that time. Not in church, not in a worship service and not during a sermon. Of course, all those things are good in their proper place. But like anything, they can also impede our experiencing the magnitude of God's plan.

It seems I must get away - really away - in order to empty my consciousness of all the detritus, daily cares and temporal concerns that regularly harass me. It is then that perhaps I am able to see more clearly - maybe even come to "know" a few things.

Father, help me to remember today what by your Spirit I knew then.