Water in the Valleys

Give me views!” I said to the wrangle who would be our guide on the morning horseback ride. It was the same thing I’d said at the start of every ride during our trip to the dude ranch. From the top of the hills, you could see for miles. On our last ride, I noticed a cluster of green trees which stood in sharp contrast to the brown landscape everywhere else. The trees were not up high like where we were riding, but nestled in a valley. Clearly, there was water there. As “Bubba,” my horse, meandered his way down the hill toward the corral, I stared at the cluster of trees in the valley and thought about the balance I need to strike as I “ride” through life.

You see, I still LOVE views. I always have. They cause me to take deep breaths and be grateful for life. What I often forget is the need to return to the valleys. Valleys aren’t as open, nor are they as inspirational (maybe). But there’s water in the valleys. To go there is to go get a drink for your soul. It’s darker in the valleys, but you often find other folks there, many like-minded, or like-needed, souls dying of thirst. Just ask the mothers who have lost children. They meet each week in a parish library. Ask the three husbands struggling with their recent divorces, one cup of coffee at a time, at a local coffee shop. Or ask the girls huddled together in a bedroom on the Saturday night the “cool” classmates are having a sleep over to which they were not invited.

There are all kinds of valleys, and it takes work to enter them. The pristine hilltops, with their pink clouds above, are tempting, but the water’s found lower. After seventeen years of not drinking, I have chosen a new sponsor who is making me work the twelve-steps again. It’s not easy work, but when we met the other morning, I thought about the trees on the ride. Together we sat, talking about hard things, but I left as if I’d had a cool drink of water.

There’s water in the valleys. I need to drink it .

Progress Not Perfection

I recently visited my daughter and was touched to see one of my paintings on the wall of her apartment. I was embarrassed, too. It was painted a long time ago. I paint better than that now, I said to myself. As I drove home, I realized I needed to look at the painting in a different way. At the time, it was how I painted. Yes, I’ve made progress, but I should honor the earlier effort. If nothing else, it reminds me I’ve made progress.

The lesson is one I need to practice in other areas of my life. When I recall a moment from my past, I need to resist the temptation to judge such a “work of art.” Maybe I would write it better now, handle a situation at work differently, or be a husband or father in a new way if it happened today. The key is to be compassionate to the way I “painted” back then. If I’ve made progress, then that’s something to celebrate, too.

As people, we are works in progress. If  only we could believe that - not only with our lips but in the way we look at our lives - we would find a new freedom and a new happiness, the kind that surpasses all human understanding.

“I’m not who I want to be, I’m not who I’m going to be, but, thank God, I’m not who I used to be.”

An old AA Saying

Fourth of July 2022

(Sorry, I was away and couldn’t post this on the 4th)

This fourth of July, I awakened and sat on the bow of a catamaran on the waters of the coast of Belize. Sipping my coffee, I felt breeze caressing my face, let the sea air fill my lungs, and watched as Pelicans dove into the sea looking for breakfast. As the sun lifted, my thoughts turned toward the country I love, the country I’m worried about. Regardless of one’s political leanings, there is no doubt that our country is struggling. While I long to lift a sparkler and wave it with deep appreciation for all we have been given and all we have done as a nation, this morning my hand is as empty as my soul: What is going on? How will we ever get through this? Please, Lord, please be with us and guide us.

Taking a sip of coffee, I look down at the ropes attached to the mooring just as a gust of wind pushes our boat to one side. The mooring and ropes hold, but the boat shifts to one side and faces a new direction. Yes, I saw a sermon (or a brushstroke) in that! 

The winds are inevitable, but when attached to a mooring, the boat stays where it is. It will inevitably shift and face a new direction. As much as I may want the view to remain the same, there’s nothing I could do about the wind. My job is to appreciate the new direction I face. A solid mooring is the key. That, and strong ropes. Then, it’s possible to dance with the wind.

It’s hard when you’ve loved your old view. It’s scary when the boat shifts, and disconcerting to look in a new direction, but I guess that’s where faith comes in. 

Here’s to our nation’s birthday. Here’s to the glorious things we have achieved, the countless challenges we’ve faced. This morning I give thanks to the mooring that has held strong all these years, and to the ropes that have held us fast. This morning, I also give thanks for the wind and the new direction we now face. May it point us to another glorious sunrise.