Risks and Rewards and Renewal

Sometimes you just have to take a risk.

When your loved one leaves you after 40 years, you’re alone. 

That, in and of itself, is a risk. 

I’m an old woman but I refuse to succumb to fear.

I won’t be robbed of adventure.

I won’t be discouraged. 

Camping alone is a little risky.

Beautiful risk.

Risk of strength.

Risk of adventure. 

I pull up to my gravel space. I pitch a tent. 

It’s a hundred degrees outside, but the wind off the lake is cool and blustery.  

I pull the nylon shelter from my bag.  Instantly, I’m sailing in the wind, green shelter whipping violently.  I’m basically a kite until I can wrestle the tent to the ground .   The wind keeps trying to whip us up.  

Rocks need to anchor my space.  Poles need to stabilize my home.  Stakes must be driven into metal rings.  I pound furiously with a rock.  

I carted my camp in a duffle bag on a plane .  Hammers don’t fit in a duffle.  They’re heavy to haul on trains and planes.  

As I set up camp, I’m reminded of beautiful days when my love and I packed our camp bag and flew to exotic places. Good thing the wind dries tears.

I’m trying to learn to hold marriage memories gently without emotion.

I’m tired of crying. 

God doesn’t want us to stay in the graveyard grieving.

So…I camp. 

I concentrate on rock and stake anchors.  Home complete, I toss in a sleeping bag and another big stabilizing rock for good measure.

I try not to draw attention to myself.  Unfortunately, I can’t be as friendly as I used to be when I was one of two. 

I used to chat with folks and learn about them.

I don’t talk because I don’t want people to know about me.

This is a sad reality when loved ones walk away. 

Folks…please consider the cost.

I tuck my hair inside a baseball cap and work quickly.  I walk directly to car and campsite, veiling my eyes from curious people.  One never knows.   

At night, I hide in my tent without a light. -No casting shadows for neighbors to see.  I don’t mind the darkness.  I’m nestled in a cozy cocoon.

Laying in the darkness, I savor the glorious beauty of a countryside night. 

In this arid climate, with no chance of rain,

I’ve left the tent fly off. 

My ceiling is a transparent mesh.

The effect is magical!   My mesh ceiling gives me access to breeze and thousands of stars which shimmer just for me.  Two stars even shoot across the sky above my head. 

These are holy solitary moments. 

I gaze at stars.

I listen to trees wrestling in a relentless wind.

I drift to sleep

My sleep is interrupted by a blustery howl and a shaking, quaking tent.

By midnight the wind is a fierce force, rattling and whipping my walls.  

In one way, it’s terrifying. In another way, it’s exciting. 

I rattle and rumble through the night, waiting for daylight.

Daylight brings peaceful wind.  I savor the melodic “shirr”.

I gaze up at my transparent ceiling.

Tree limbs shimmer with fluttering leaves.

A hawk circles above in the blue. He calls me to unzip and roll out!

Rocks crunch beneath my feet as I follow the hawk drifting circles above a more peaceful lake.  I slosh through glistening waves and stumble on the rocky shore. 

I’m content. I’m alone. I see God‘s creation.  Who cares about a little risk?

In my new life, I have to seek God‘s beauty.

I have to cling to God’s security.

I have to relish the risk and release my misgivings.

Adventure awaits. 

My new life is marked by a certain secrecy.

My new life is lived cautiously.

But…I’m content.

I’ve been camping.

I’ve loved it.

Do not grieve, for the joy of the Lord is your strength! – Nehemiah 8:10