8 Reflections about Prague and Paris

I like to travel in part because of what it reminds me about God. I have been blessed to travel a bit in my life. I lived in the Philippines for almost one year during college and briefly stopped in Tokyo on the way over and have spent a few days in Hong Kong on three occasions. Ten years ago Heather and I spent five days in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico with a group of pastors and spouses from our district. For our twenty-fifth anniversary in 2003 Heather and I took Hannah and Elizabeth and traveled to Europe for three weeks – France, Holland, Germany, Switzerland, Italy, and back to France. The next year I took a high school senior from our church and went back to the Philippines to speak at a pastor’s conference in Cebu City where I lived during college. In 2006 I was privileged to go to Africa – Guinea and Sierra Leone – with a close friend on behalf of our church to visit people and ministries we support. Earlier this year I led a team of people from our church back to Guinea and Sierra Leone on a short-term mission. And finally, thanks to a travel voucher from our church for my 25^th anniversary as pastor, Heather and I traveled to Prague and Paris.

There are no geopolitical boundaries with God. He lives in Tokyo, Hong Kong, Cebu City, Puerto Vallarta, Paris, Haarlem, Mannheim, Basel, Rome, Florence, Conakry, Lungi, Freetown, and Prague as well as Dodge City, Boise, Regina, Canby, and Pasadena, places I have lived in North America. Travel never fails to remind me that God is bigger than my country and my culture. God transcends all human borderlines and nationalities.

I am amazed by how old things are in Europe and especially in Prague. The Old Town Square (above picture), which dates back to the late 12th century, started life as the central marketplace for Prague. Over the next few centuries many buildings of Romanesque, Baroque and Gothic styles were erected around the market and still stand today. Construction on The Church of Our Lady of Tyn, easy to identify by its spires which shoot up into the sky above the Square, began in 1365. The Church of St. Nicholas occupies a piece of land on the edge of the Square that has held a church since the 12^th century. The present church was completed in 1735. The Old Town Hall Tower, built in 1338, is one of the most striking buildings in Prague. We climbed the stairs on the inside of the tower to a lookout on top that gave us a breath-taking view of the city.

A few blocks from the Old Town Square is The Charles Bridge, a pedestrian only bridge commissioned by Charles IV in 1357. The Powder Gate, which formed one of thirteen entrances to Old Town, started to take shape when its foundation stone was laid in 1475. The streets and sidewalks in Prague are cobblestone. Who knows how long they have been there but when you walk them you sense that every stone cries out with some kind of history.

Prague felt quaint, old, charming, romantic and fairy tale-like. Compared to Paris, Prague is compact. You can easily walk from Wenceslas Square to the Old Town Square to the Jewish Quarter to the Prague Castle across the Vltava River and everywhere in between. Cobblestone streets and sidewalks, probably hundreds of years old, take you where you want to go. You pass through narrow, windy streets lined with shops, cafes, restaurants, and apartments. You encounter limited cars and traffic in the downtown core. From the Old Town Hall Tower your eyes are flooded with red tiled roofs in every direction you look spread out over Prague. The skyline is dotted with church spires. Tables and chairs from outdoor cafes and restaurants fill the sidewalks even on a chilly November evening (blankets are draped over chairs if you need one to wrap up in to stay warm). Prague has been called one of the most magical cities in the world and rightly so. It looks and feels medieval.

I felt a sense of spiritual darkness in Europe. First some statistics and then my comments. According to a 2001 Czech Republic census 59% of the people identify themselves as agnostic, atheist, or non-believer. The fastest growing group of people between 1991 and 2001 were those with no religion which increased by nearly 2 million people or 19.1%. Christianity, especially the Roman Catholic Church, showed negative growth in that same block of time and lost more than 1 million members. Only 19% of the Czech people believe there is a God which is the second lowest rate among the European Union countries. France fares a little better – only 31% of the population claim to be atheists. Of the 51% who describe themselves as Catholics only half of those claimed to believe in God.

As I walked the streets of Prague and Paris I asked myself what had happened to the souls of these people. They were spiritual beings just like me who were created in the image and likeness of God. By and large churches are no longer sacred spaces for worship but historical buildings, concert halls, and art galleries. I wondered if the people of Prague and Paris ever experienced spiritual longings, and if so, how did they identify them and what did they do with them. I wondered if they sometimes felt a need to pray out of gratitude or of a need for help. I questioned how they approached the birth of a new child, the miracle and mystery of new life entering the world. I pondered if they feared death and what they thought might lie on the other side.

One evening in Prague Heather and I walked into a Roman Catholic Church whose door we found unlocked which was rare. The church was cold and dark, a small church compared to others we had visited. The only lights shining lit up the altar area. Once my eyes adjusted to the darkness I noticed an elderly lady off to the left front of the church kneeling and praying – finally, a church where someone was engaged in prayer and worship even if it was only one person.

I love the coffee in European cafes. I am no coffee connoisseur. I have never worked as a barista, roasted coffee, or attended a coffee tasting event. But I love a good, strong latte. The coffee I drank in local cafes in Prague and Paris was the best I have ever tasted – rick, dark, strong but smooth going down. No after taste or acidy residue.

I found a Starbucks in Prague and showed up early one morning for coffee – 7am by Prague time – and ordered a latte. I felt like I was in Portland. Everything looked the same. The latte tasted the same as in the States as well, you know, the usual Starbucks overly roasted burnt taste. Starbucks may have popularized espresso and good coffee in the States but it doesn’t hold a candle to what I enjoyed in Europe.

I noticed something else about coffee in Europe – it is served in a cup and saucer or in a glass mug instead of in a paper cup to go. Coffee is meant to be sipped, enjoyed, lingered over, and shared with a close friend. No hurry, no rush to get in and out. Coffee is not just a drink but an experience and I liked that.

The majority of people in Europe seem to smoke. Lots of people in Europe smoke – men, women, young, old, sophisticated, and simple. Finding a non-smoking restaurant in Prague was a challenge. One night in a nice Czech restaurant we asked for non-smoking. The host led us to a fairly large room in the rear of the restaurant designated for non-smoking. Five minutes after we were seated a group of people took a table on the other side of the room and began to smoke. Soon after others in the room followed. Our non-smoking sanctuary was filled with smoke. I think all of Europe must be dying of lung cancer.

My wife knows how to read a map. I am pretty good at directions as long as I know which way is north, south, east, and west. But put me in a strange city, hand me a map I have never seen before, and tell me to find my way to such-and-such a place and I am instantly in trouble. It does me no good to try to bluff my way around the map or the city – I have tried and it does not work. Often the longer I stare down at the map the more confused I become. My wife is just the opposite. She loves maps. In fact, her eyes light up at the sight of a map.

One night in Paris she used three maps to help us find our way to the neighborhood apartment where Ernest Hemingway first lived in 1921. I was amazed, I still am, and I still might be looking for Hemingway’s apartment if not for the map expertise of Heather.

Flying economy means feeling squished for a long time. 10 hours from Portland to Amsterdam. 8 hours from Paris to New York City. 5 1/2 hours from New York City to Portland (add another 90 minutes which is what happened to us in New York City when we sat in the plane for this long before it finally took off). I fought envy on every flight when I walked through the first-class section – the wide, comfortable, leather-bound seats, the large arm rests with beverage holders, the comfy head rests, and the ample leg room (did I mention the leg room?!).

On our flight from Paris to New York City I sat between Heather and a man from Toronto who was flying home after visiting his family in Egypt. I wouldn’t say he was over-weight but he was certainly stocky and filled his seat. He slept most of the flight (this filled me with envy also). Sometimes in his sleep he would shift over toward me, take the whole arm rest and crowd my side of the seat. My already space living quarters shrunk depending upon how he moved and shifted in his sleep.

Flight space did not improve on the last leg home from New York City to Portland. This time my seat mates were Heather and a young man who looked big enough to be a college football player, probably a fullback or a linebacker. He didn’t fall asleep or shift over to my side but he filled up every square inch of his seat and in doing so made my space seem smaller, especially as the flight wore on.

The flights home from Europe are the closest I have ever been to feeling claustrophobic. I don’t want to see the inside of a plane for a long time. I think there should be law against making people sit in the economy section during international flights!

The power of a sentence

As I look back over they years there are a number of sentences that have had a huge influence upon my life. No doubt, books have made a significant impact upon me. But what made the books influential were the sentence or two within its covers that tattooed themselves upon my mind or heart or soul.

Here is a sampling of sentences from my favorite books and writers used by the Spirit of God to bring about transformation in my life. Although I could write pages about each sentence I will let them stand on their own for your reading and pondering.

"But there is such a thing as rising early for the love of God." (Life Together by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, p. 44)

"Beyond all and in all is God." (Pursuing the Monk's Life by Thomas Merton, July 17, 1956)

"Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery that it is. In the boredom and pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace." (Now and Then by Frederick Buechner, p. 87)

"For it is not mere words that nourish the soul, but God Himself, and unless and until the hearers find God in personal experience they are not the better for having heard the truth. The Bible is not an end in itself, but a means to bring men to an intimate and satisfying knowledge of God, that they may enter into Him, that they may delight in His Presence, may taste and know the inner sweetness of the very God Himself in the core and center of their hearts." (The Pursuit of God by A. W. Tozer, p. 9-10)

"for Christ plays in ten thousand places,

Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his

To the Father through the features of men's faces."

(Poems and Prose by Gerard Manley Hopkins, p. 51)

"God and passion. That is why I was a pastor, that is why I had come to this place: to live in the presence of God, to live with passion - and to gather others into the presence of God, introducing them into the possibilities of a passionate life." (Under the Unpredictable Plant by Eugene H. Peterson, p. 45)

"The whole purpose for which we exist is to be thus taken into the life of God." (Mere Christianity by C. S. Lewis, p. 161)

"We are like sponges trying to mop up the ocean. We can never know God exhaustively. We can never picture God or imagine him. Either we make him too small, and we strain at that, or we make him too big, and he strains us. We have not got to invent God, nor to hold him. He holds us. I want you to hold very clearly the otherness of God, and the littleness of men. If you don't get that you can't have adoration, and you cannot have religion without adoration. I know more and more how small I am, how great God is." (Letters to a Niece by Baron Fredrich von Hugel, p. 24)

That's a start. I could go on and on. Enjoy!

25 Years

This past Sunday marked my twenty-fifth anniversary at Canby Alliance Church. I preached my first sermon on the last Sunday of July, 1985. I was twenty-nine years old at the time, married for nearly seven years, and newly graduated from Fuller Theological Seminary with a Master of Divinity degree. I learned first-hand from two of the elders soon after my arrival that they didn't vote for my coming because they thought I was too young and couldn't do the job. I came without knowing what I was going to be paid. I still remember the jest of my first sermon - quit talking behind each other's backs; if you have something to say to me, say it to my face; it's time to forgive one another and heal from the past.

Why those words? The previous two pastors had been asked to leave. Though the first one had been dismissed six years earlier there was still some residual pain lingering in some. The second dismissal was still fresh in everyone's mind and heart. There were the usual differences of opinion about his leaving - some thought it was right and others felt it was wrong or hadn't been handled right. The church body was divided. Mistrust had crept in. Some people had left the church and others were sitting on the fence. Many people were hurting. In retrospect, I had no idea what I was getting into. But God was more than gracious to this young pastor and the congregation he had been called to lead.

On that warm Sunday in July twenty-five years ago I never dreamed that I would still be here in 2010. That seemed like an eternity away back then. My vision for the church in those first months was pretty simple - the church needs to heal, people need to learn to trust each other again, we need to find our unity in Christ, and we can get through this if we choose, under God, to get through this together.

One of my goals for my first year of ministry was to visit every church family in their home. Part of my reason for visitation was to ask everyone how they were dealing with the past and how I could help them move on. Those visits taught me a lot about the church and the hurts, fears, and hopes that people carried. Time after time I realized after leaving a home that these people were good people, had tons of potential, and just needed someone to love and lead them.

One thing I clearly see now as I look back over the past twenty-five years is this - I believe God placed a love in my heart for these people. I didn't have to make it happen. I didn't have to pray for it. I didn't have to work at it. No matter how good or hard the times were, the love I felt in my heart for the church never waned. Even in my darkest moment ten years ago when I was swallowed by a season of depression, once I swept away the clouds I came face-to-face with this love. I can't separate this sense of love from my calling to Canby Alliance Church. The two go hand-in-hand together.

Monk for a Day

I woke up earlier than usual. I was excited because I had scheduled a day room - St. Michael's - at Our Lady of Guadalupe Trappist Abbey near Lafayette, about a 45 minute drive from Canby. The Abbey is one of my favorite places. For a couple of weeks my soul had been telling me I needed rest, some monastic solitude and silence. I pulled into the Dutch Brother's in Newberg before 6am and ordered a latte. I switched on the light in my day room twenty minutes later and turned up the heat. I laid out my Bible, journal, pens, and books on the desk.

I headed for the microwave in the Guest House kitchen to warm up my coffee. Brother Martin was busy making morning coffee for the overnight guests. "Good morning, brother. Are you still over in, what is that, Canby?" "Yes" I told him. "I haven't seen you for a while" he uttered. I replied, "Yea, it's been a long time since I've been here. You've got a good memory." Brother Martin smiled at me and pointed at his head, "Sometimes it works." He went about his business and I went about mine.

I walked outside to look up at the night sky. The morning sun was rising sooner than I expected. The sky was no longer black but a dark blue. A few stars were still shining, twinkling in the cool morning air. I stood still, closed my eyes, and tried to take in the silence. Renewal was already starting.

I opened my journal and started writing. My mind felt like it was in slow gear. Next I began my Bible reading out of Eugene Peterson's The Message Psalm 90-94 and then Luke 19-24. Next I grabbed my ESV Study Bible that I lugged along (it must weigh 25 lbs!) and turned to my sermon passage for Sunday - John 2:1-11, Jesus turning the water into wine. I carefully read the introduction to John's gospel and then the study notes for the passage. One thing led to another. Before long I was jumping all over the Old Testament and the New Testament tracing what the Bible said about the use of wine. Drunkenness is out but "joy" is in - joy is sometimes linked to wine in the Scriptures. I took some careful notes about the 7 signs in John's gospel of which Jesus turning the water into wine is the first.

Next I opened my journal and wrote out my prayers for the day. First, family concerns and then CAC people matters I feel called to pray for. Lately about the only way I can privately pray is by writing out my prayers, a number of journals of them since early this year. I seldom pace up and down in a room and pray out loud like I did for years. It doesn't work anymore so I only occasionally try it.

Next I went outside and walked down the Abbey road to the main highway. I wanted to feel the warm sunshine against my face. I wanted to hear singing birds. As I walked I looked down and saw a black, rust colored furry caterpillar walking across the road in front of me. I put my Nike running shoe in its path to see what it would do. The caterpillar crawled over the toe of my shoe and kept going.

Next I came back to the room and laid down and took a twenty minute nap that felt more like a couple of hours. It was just what I needed.

Next I made a quick diversionary trip to the Abbey bookstore, looked over both old and new titles, and got away without buying anything, somewhat of a miracle.!

Next I grabbed my copy of Godric by Frederick Buechner and my journal and found a quiet corner of the Abbey church to read and pray. I silently prayed through the prayer I wrote earlier that morning. I paused over names and situations that weighed upon my heart. I sought to give those prayers an extra push into heaven. Then I read a couple of chapters in my favorite Buechner novel. This is my third or fourth time to read Godric and each time seems more amazing than the time before.

Next I set off on my favorite hike on the Abbey grounds. By now it was noon. The warm sun was high over head and would push the mercury to 80 degrees. I looked up at a cloudless blue sky. I slowly made my way to the monk's picnic area located in the woods behind the monastery. I walked through the baseball field up into the tall, swaying fir trees that guarded the monk's volleyball and basketball courts, fire pit, and covered eating shelter. Think really simple and really primitive. Grass, dirt, ground cover for the courts. The eating shelter looks like its been there for fifty years, simply made out of leftover wood and materials. I have offered up many prayers here over the years as I've paced back and forth under the majestic fir trees that rise up into the sky to form an outdoor sanctuary for meeting God. I found a sunny spot, looked up into the sun, and closed my eyes - flies buzzing, birds singing, the faint sound of a distant combine.

I took a different trail back to the monastery, one that led me down a windy path next to a dried up creek bed. I heard branches snapping. I stopped and looked around. There across the path from me and standing about twenty feet up the hill was a deer, a doe, eating leaves off a bush of some kind. I expected her to bolt but she didn't. I talked to her. She looked straight at me. We stared each other down. And then she put her head down and continued to eat. She must have surmised that I wasn't a threat to her safety or lunch.

Next I went back to my room and grabbed my journal, Godric, and a new book, Regi Campbell's Mentor Like Jesus. I found a shady spot next to the big pond behind the Guest House. I opened

up Campbell and began to read. Every so often I heard water splashing so I looked down at the water's edge and spotted a large bullfrog. He was sitting in the water with the top of his head above the surface next to a tree stump. Dragon flies were flying around the stump. Occasionally one would light upon the stump or swoop down and touch the water. The bullfrog crouched still and when the time was right he lunged at the dragon fly and snapped it up. Once I happened to glance down at the right time and saw the bullfrog leap out of the water, catch a dragon fly in its mouth, and land at least twelve inches from where he started. Another time the bullfrog leaped completely over one branch of the tree stump. This was the first time I had ever been entertained by a bullfrog and dragon flies. The show was fascinating to watch and got in the way of my reading.

Next I went back up to my room, packed up, and headed out the door for home. The day was just what I needed. The weather could not have been nicer. The entertainment (caterpillar, deer, bullfrog, and dragon files) was awesome. And I caught up with my soul in a much-needed manner over the course of the 7 1/2 hours I spent at the Abbey. Thanks be to God!

Europe

Heather and I are going to Europe in November thanks to the travel voucher the church gave us this summer in recognition of my 25th anniversary at Canby Alliance Church. We are set to leave on November 4th to visit Prague and Paris.

Our first stop is going to be Prague in the Czech Republic. We were first attracted to Prague because of its reasonable prices (Europe can be very expensive). Over the past two months we have discovered that a number of people we know have visited Prague and highly recommend it. Prague escaped heavy bombing during World War II. Therefore its city center has the charming feel of an old world city. We are going to stay in a family-run hotel just a couple of blocks from the Old Town Square. Our plan is to put our feet to work and walk to as many places as we can on Prague's cobblestone streets. Most of the tourist sights can be found in a two square mile area.

After six days in Prague we are going to fly to Paris for four days. We will be staying in a fairly small hotel in the St. Germain des Pres section of the Latin Quarter. I stayed here four years ago on the way back from Africa. The hotel is located close to a number of famous cafes including one Ernest Hemingway frequented and helped put on the map in the 1920s. The oldest church in Paris, L'Lglise Saint-Germain des Pres, first completed in 558 and enlarged in 1163, is just around the corner. What I remember most about this area are the open markets, bakeries, cafes, and restaurants within just a block or two of the hotel.

We have limited ourselves to only visit two cities. The main reason for the trip is time together and time to rest. While we plan to do some sight-seeing we are going to carve out large chunks of time for reading, relaxation, and simply being together enjoying a nice meal, a good cup of European coffee, or a long walk exploring part of Prague or Paris.

We are overwhelmed with gratitude for the church's generosity and love. And we can hardly wait for November 4th to roll around!

Mt. Borah

On Tuesday, September 7th at 12:15pm we stepped foot on the summit of Mt. Borah, the tallest mountain in Idaho and Oregon with an elevation of 12,668 ft. The ascent took us 6 hours. I climbed the mountain with my nephew Josh (Menlo Park, CA.), my cousin Rick (Post Falls, ID.), my brother Brent (Emmett, ID.), and Brian a good friend from our church in Canby. We climbed the standard route which involves ascending 5,262 vertical feet from the trail head to the summit in just over 3.5 miles.

We arrived at the trail head Monday afternoon and set up our camp. The trail head sits at an elevation of 7200 ft . For comparison-sake, Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood sits at an elevation of 5960 ft. while Silcox Hut is located at 6950 ft. We watched a few climbers return from the mountain after a long day of climbing. All of them looked tired, sore, and thirsty. I remember one individual who looked to be in his late 50s or early 60s. He looked spent. The back of his pants were ripped where he must have fallen or snagged his pants on something. He repeated a couple of times, "Don't underestimate the final 800 ft. to the summit."

We ate dinner, built a fire, stood around the fire and talked, and then went to bed by 9pm. The mountain night was cold. The temperature slipped down below freezing. It took me a few hours to fall asleep. I tossed and turned in my sleeping bag. I could not shut off my mind. I was excited about the climb. I nursed a few fears as well (I don't do cold very well and I am afraid of heights!).

Finally I drifted off to sleep and was awakened by Rick's voice telling us it was 5:10am and time to get going. We had planned to wake up at 4am but Brian's phone was still on Pacific Standard Time so we got a late start - get dressed, bathroom, hot coffee, peanut butter bagel, get out gloves, hat, trekking poles, and make one last rifling through my backpack to make sure I had everything. We hit the trail at 6:15am, our headlamps lighting the trail before us.

Starting to climb felt good. It took off the cold except for my fingertips which started to numb up. Brian loaned me a pair of leather gloves that I put on over my gloves and within minutes my fingertips warmed up.

Brian led the way up the trail and Josh took up the rear. Brent, Rick & I traded off the middle spots as we climbed. Periodically we stopped to drink water, eat a snack, use the bathroom, adjust our packs or take off a layer or two of clothing.

Eventually we came to the base of Chicken Out Ridge, aptly named, at 11,300 ft. The trail ended at its base. We stashed away our trekking poles and began scrambling up its rock face. The climb turned steeper than what we'd experienced so far. The rock was excellent for climbing - hard, solid, full of foot and finger grips. The view was awesome and the wind ripped at our coats. This part of the climb was not for the timid. One slip and there was nothing to catch you for a couple thousand feet. My fear of heights was tested with almost every step I took. Even though I tried to enjoy the amazing view all around me I concentrated on keeping my head zeroed in on the next 5-10 feet I had to climb.

Instead of going up and directly over COR Brian led us on a path that veered off to the left side of the top. The fall-off on our left side was steep and several thousand feet down. We came to a 15-20 ft. snow field we had to cross. Thankfully the trail across it provided us with fairly good footing - dirt and gravel thrown over ice. There were several holes in the wall of snow and ice at eye level that you could use as finger grips to help navigate your way across the snow. I leaned into the snow and gingerly made my way across. I tried hard not to think about what would happen if I slipped and fell. I felt a huge sense of relief when all 5 of us were standing on the other side of the snow field.

Now we enjoyed a good but narrow trail (again a fairly steep drop off to our left) that took us across mostly level terrain until we reached Knife Edge just below the summit. The snow on the ledge was almost gone which meant we could walk across Knife Edge on dry ground. The summit was all that was left - 800 ft above us. The trail was windy and very steep. We decided to make our own way up to the summit instead of following the trail - a climber who was coming down from the summit just as we were going up told us the trail had some loose rock toward the top. First Brian, then Rick, then me, followed by Brent and Josh close behind us.

It must have taken us 30-45 minutes to climb that last 800 ft. Finally I looked up and saw the American flag flapping in the wind on the summit. Brian and Rick stopped short of the summit and let me be the first one to step foot on the top since the climb had been my idea. Before long all 5 of us were on the summit congratulating one another, slapping each other's backs, and posing for pictures. 2 climbers followed us up the summit so they took our pictures on top and we took theirs.

I can't adequately explain what I felt inside - joy, thanksgiving, relief, and a sense of accomplishment. To bask in the beauty of a 360 degree view of the Idaho wilderness was something I will never forget. We were literally on top of Idaho and Oregon. I felt a special bond to Brent, Rick, Josh, and Brian that could only come from climbing together.

The descent off the summit went well. Climbing down is always more dangerous than climbing up. You have the pull of gravity to do battle with in a manner that you don't on your ascent. Plus you are tired and weary from all the energy - physical, emotional, and mental - exerted on the climb up. Plus your knees, ankles, and feet take more of a pounding coming down.

I began to dehydrate on our descent. Brian was alert enough to pick up on how I looked and the fact that I wasn't stopping to pee like everyone else! He gave me some electrolyte powder for the last remaining bit of my water. I drank it and felt better almost immediately. Before we made it back to the trial head Brian gave me his last bottle of water as well as the last of the water he had left in his bladder. I don't know what I would have done without his help!

The climb up and down took us a little more than 12 hours. Dinner was buffalo back strap that Brent had marinated and then

barbecued for us. It was delicious, melted in our mouths, and was the perfect post-climb celebratory meal! All of us went to bed soon after dark and slept like logs - 10 1/2 hours for me which is really rare. We were exhausted, happy, thankful, relieved, and praising God for a safe climb!

Camping and Climbing

I can hardly wait. Tomorrow I jump on a Southwest Airlines flight and fly to Boise. My parents will pick me up at the airport. I will spend a day with them in Boise on Thursday. Friday morning my dad and I will load up his truck and we'll head to our favorite camping spot on the Crooked River about 80 miles northeast of Boise. We literally camp at the end of the road. No amenities. No fellow campers. No nothing except us, the Crooked River, the friendly deer who wander through our camp spot, and our good friend the camp fire. My two brothers (Ted and Brent) will join us before the sun goes down. We talk, laugh, tell stories, look at the stars, eat lots of good food, go hiking or ride the 4 wheelers, take a trip up to the Jackson Peak Lookout, sleep like a log, stare into the campfire, and enjoy a few days away from cell phones, email, texting, traffic, and civilization in general. What makes this special is my dad is 89 years old (young) and this is the highlight of his year! We are going to keep doing this for as long as we can.

We will drive out Sunday afternoon. Once home we'll shower, unpack, and then Brent and I will repack. Monday morning we leave for Mt. Borah in the Lost River Range, a 4 1/2 hour drive from Boise. Five of us will attempt to summit the mountain on Tuesday morning - me, Brent, my cousin Rick from Post Falls, Idaho, my nephew Josh from the Bay area, and my friend Brian Keil from Canby. We plan to hit the trail at 4am and hope to summit between 10am-11am.

Mt. Borah stands at 12, 662 feet. We are looking at a 5262 feet vertical climb in just over 3.5 miles. The exciting section of the climb will be Chicken Out Ridge, aptly named, at 11,000 feet, a class 3 scramble up and over a rock ridge that falls steeply off on each side. For someone who is not fond of heights, like me, Chicken Out Ridge is going to be a challenge.

I promise a report and pictures when I return!