Lived to Tell

WARNING
If you are a mother (my mother, in particular), you should probably stop reading this post right now, lest you be frightened and/or scold me later.  (I'd prefer to avoid both.)

So, I decided to go camping again.  No great surprise there.  I'd been considering whether a trip out in the snow in early April would be preferable to a trip out in the mud later in the month, and determined that was in fact the case.  I've come to enjoy winter camping: no bugs, no bears, and not too many people.

Though I'd already noticed an opening in my calendar, I really only made up my mind on Wednesday morning to head out into the woods that same afternoon.  No problem, though:  I've got the gear and can easily assemble some grub, so it's only a mater of getting packed and choosing a destination.  I'd previously had my eye on the lean to on St. Regis Pond (near Lake Clear), and the guides showed it to be a nice area to XC ski or snowshoe, although I'd never explored the area before.  My last minute decision made this a solo expedition.  But again, no problem.  Right?  Right?

Well, I got a much later start than I'd anticipated on Wednesday.  Nonetheless, when one of my very favorite songs came on the radio as I drove out of the parish office parking lot, and when a bald eagle majestically soared overhead in the clear, sunny sky as I headed south on Route 30, I took them to be clear signs that this was going to be a really great getaway.  I didn't arrive at the trailhead until 6:00pm, but it was only a 2.5 miles or so ski in, and I'd have daylight for a while yet.

So off I went.  Now, when I wasn't yet out of sight of my car and had already fallen flat on my back, I should have reconsidered things.  To begin with, snow conditions were less than ideal: having thawed and frozen a few times, and the temp currently around 40˚ F, there were alternating stretches of icy, hard-packed snow, wet slush, and hard crust that would unexpectedly give way under your weight.  Not to mention, while I've XC skied for about 25 years now, and been backpacking quite a bit the last several months, I'd never skied with more than a daypack on before.  How different or difficult could it be?  I quickly learned that I had a very different center of gravity...but I wasn't going all that far, and I was sure I'd adjust pretty quick.  Brushing off my pride, I forged ahead.

The snow conditions made the going a bit frustrating, but it was such a gorgeous afternoon evening and I was so looking forward to a backwoods break from it all, that it seemed worth it.  Not knowing the terrain, I had three maps in my pocket, and was on the lookout for a righthand turn that would take me down to the southeastern bay of St. Regis Pond; from there, I'd ski across it's frozen surface to the lean to.  Piece of cake!  But, golly, it seemed like that turn should have come up sooner.  I know I was getting along a little more slowly than anticipated, but surely I should have found it by now.  Maybe it's just a bit further ahead.  Let's take another look at those maps...

Checking out the landscape, I realized that I'd not only missed the turn, but had gone quite a ways past it.  Given how far I'd come, and that the sun was soon to set, it looked like my best option was to stay on this trail and approach the pond from its westernmost bay.  If I took into account the distance I'd have to backtrack, continuing ahead would be about the same distance.  I'll get to the lean to later than expected, but no big deal...

Well, that's when a bad situation got a whole lot worse.  The fairly level trail got pretty hilly, and the poor snow conditions got downright miserable.  The downhills were so icy and fast that I was hurtling like a rocket, but pretty much out of control.  Then I'd suddenly sink in mid-thigh.  I kept falling.  A lot.  Sometimes on purpose because it was the only way to stop.  And getting back up with a 40-50 pound pack on my back was more than a little challenging.  I tried to go a stretch without the skis, but that experiment was short-lived.  (My snowshoes were tucked in, safe-and-sound, back in the car; I'd figured that they'd only add to the weight I was carrying, and there was so little chance I'd need them.)  A few of those face plants had me thinking nasty thoughts (and maybe even saying nasty things) about my gear and the snow...but I quickly realized they were doing nothing wrong: I was the one who didn't belong here.  And now it was starting to get dark.

While I was relieved there were no witnesses to my completely graceless movements, these were most definitely not good circumstances in which to be all alone.  At one point, lying there in the snow, the exhaustion and frustration and fear actually had me on the brink of tears.  I starting thinking, "If I break a leg...I'm stuck here...and it probably won't be till Friday morning that they come looking."  I'd really done it this time!  Turning back wasn't even a feasible option at this point, because I'd have to do those icy hills in reverse, but this time under cover of night.  I determined that I really didn't want to die this way, but at least I'd just been to confession on Monday.  I know this all sounds rather melodramatic...but it was BAD!

With sheer grit and a good dose of adrenaline, knowing that I had no choice but to get my butt to some shelter, I finally found the path that would take me to St. Regis.  When I got to the small dam and fish ladder at the outlet, I dug out my headlamp and the maps again.  A sliver of crescent moon had just come into view and a few stars were now out--quite lovely.  I didn't see any tracks heading out onto the frozen pond...which added to my anxiety.  What shape was this ice in?  My options were limited, so I skied along the shoreline, figuring if the ice gave way, I wouldn't sink in too far.  I went about 3/4 of a mile that way by headlamp, scanning through the trees for my campsite, when I finally found the lean to.  It was 8:45pm.  I'd been slogging along for almost three hours, having traveled about 4.5 miles.  But I made it.  And I was sore, but safe.

I got down to business then, unpacking my gear, changing into dry clothes, and making my supper.  It was a perfectly still night.  The only sounds were a few drips from snow melting off the roof (which slowed then stopped as the temperature dropped) and a chorus of coyotes across the pond who put on a brief performance around 10:15pm as I was having my dessert.  I tried to read for a little while, but was still pretty overwhelmed by the experience of the last few hours.  I just sat there for a spell, snug in my sleeping bag, before saying Night Prayer and turning in for the night.

Sorry, but I don't have a single picture from all of that.  Photography just wasn't a priority.

Day 2 was much, MUCH better.  I awoke to a glorious late winter sunrise.

The first order of the day was to offer Mass.  After all, I had a lot to be thankful for!

Then it was time for a hot breakfast.

While that cooked, I checked on my gear...discovering that my boots had frozen solid.

I was in no hurry to set out on the snow again, so I hoped they'd have time to thaw--at least a little. I spent a leisurely morning curled up with a good book and hot tea. I also surveyed the scene now that I had the daylight to do so.  It's a rather nice spot.

Among the copious lean to graffiti was this Biblical admonition:

Ever dutiful, I did that once I got home.  It was even more inspiring (and smiling-inducing) with a little context:

Thus says the Lord who made the earth,
giving it shape and stability,
Lord is his name:
Call to me, and I will answer you;
I will tell you great things
beyond the reach of your knowledge.  

Thus says the Lord:
In this place...without people, without inhabitant, without animal,
there shall yet be heard the song of joy, the song of gladness,
…the song of those bringing thank offerings to the house of the Lord:
“Give thanks to the Lord of hosts, for the Lord is good;
God’s love endures forever.”
For I will restore the fortunes of this land
as they were in the beginning, says the Lord. 

Jeremiah 33:2-3, 10-11 

A most appropriate message for me!

By the time I was done with my book, packing up, and eating a light lunch, it was past noon.  So I got into those frosty boots, locked in my skis, and headed back out onto the pond, where I got my first clear views of St. Regis Mountain and its fire tower up on the peak.

  

I headed out on the route by which I'd intended to head in.  Snow conditions were fair.  Biggest treat: the pond's surface was level!  There were a few spots of open water--some near the edges, as I would have expected, but a few out in the middle, too, around which I steered as clear as possible.

Glad to be back on solid ground, I began to see signs I really, really wished I'd seen the day before.

The 2.5 mile trip to the car took me exactly an hour (plus a 10 minute conversation with another skier at the trail register).  And I didn't fall once.  If I hadn't missed that turn coming in, things would have gone as originally planned and I'd have a rather different tale to tell you now.

I learned a lot of lessons on this outing. (And I've typed up this lengthy story here just in case I need to be reminded of them down the line.)  I'll be processing this adventure for a while to come.  I'm hoping my extremely tired and sore muscles will recover sooner than that.

The back of the St. Regis Pond lean to sports a common bit of DEC signage:

I'm so very grateful no one had to carry ME out.  "There but for the grace of God..."

  

Papal Yurt

Breaking news from London's The Tablet:

Pope Francis to move into yurt in Vatican Gardens

01 April 2014 10:51 by Liz Dodd

A Mongolian yurt

Pope Francis is to move into a yurt in the Vatican Gardens, the Holy See announced this morning.

He is due to make the move from his home in the Domus Sanctae Marthae guesthouse, where he has been living since his election last year, after Holy Week.

The move follows his repeated calls for a poorer Church that serves the poor. Speaking in Assisi last October he urged the Church to divest itself of “worldliness”.

"Worldliness is a murderer because it kills souls, kills people, kills the Church. Without divesting ourselves, we would become pastry-shop Christians, like beautiful cakes and sweet things but not real Christians," he said.

The yurt, which was crafted by Consolata missionary nuns in Mongolia, is made out of cattail and bulrush reeds, Indian hemp and wormseed plant inner fibres, and is 20 feet wide and 11 foot long. Sources said it would have electricity, but internet access was more difficult to guarantee.

A spokesman for the Holy See said that the large, pyramid-shaped tent was completely weather-proof and “the same size the Mongolians generally use for their families”, but added that the Pope would continue to use the Vatican’s Apostolic Palace to receive visiting diplomats and other guests.

This gets me thinking: maybe the Holy Father would like to go out camping one of these days...

Saintly...& Cute

A brother priest just forwarded me the link to this wonderful video (18 minutes) on the life of Br. André.  It's entirely narrated and acted out by children--and so well done!  Watch it when you've got the time.  You'll love it!

Taxing

I see that I wasn't the only one who decided that today was as good a day as any to do a little math and "render unto Caesar...

 

Dumplings

Since in the Church it's Laetare Sunday, and in New York State it's Maple Weekend, and in Malone it's still snowing, I decided today was the day to attempt to recreate a taste from my childhood and make maple syrup dumplings.  It's been quite a few years now, but my grandmother would make these once each year at this time for the extended family, and always pair their rich, super-sweet goodness together with her famously sour pickles.  I had just a few of her pickles left in the jar...and that's what got me to thinkin'.  I found a recipe online (not sure how close it is to my Memère's).  They sure smelled right--warm maple sugar filling the air--and tasted pretty darn good, too, but they came out a little darker than I recall them.  (Of course, as I said, it's been a long time!)  Very, very tasty, all the same...

To See

The rose vestments of this Fourth Sunday of Lent are meant to remind us to rejoice, because "it's beginning to look at lot like Easter"...but the very wintry weather this morning had us singing a slightly different tune around here.

   Fourth Sunday of Lent   A 

Readings

I got glasses when I was in the fourth grade.

I had been told for a long time,

“Don’t sit so close to the TV!  You’ll ruin your eyes!”

But I was only sitting so close

because otherwise everything was just a blur.

The eye doctor diagnosed me as nearsighted:

not able to clearly see things at a distance.

I distinctly remember the drive home

from picking up my new glasses:

looking out the car windows

at sights I’d passed hundreds and hundreds of times,

but which I had never seen before.

This Sunday’s gospel revolves

around the healing of a man born blind…

…but he’s not the only one in the story who’s visually impaired.

There are the Pharisees who clearly have a case of tunnel vision:

their self-righteousness and their preconceived notions

about who God is and how God operates

prevent them from recognizing the Lord

when he’s at work right before their eyes.

And Jesus’ own disciples, too, have some trouble seeing:

they’re nearsighted:

wanting to identify the man’s blindness as a divine punishment;

all they can see is the man’s immediate problem,

and not the possibilities of what God might accomplish.

Why is God punishing us?

No doubt, a few folks are asking that very question

as they wake up to yet another snowy morning!

It’s pretty normal for us to look at things

from such a cause-and-effect perspective—

and we do it with things much more serious

than a late winter storm:

Why did she get cancer?  Why did I lose my job?

Why did our marriage fall apart?

When bad things happen,

we search for someone or something to blame.

Jesus tries to change this kind of thinking among his disciples.

That’s not to say, of course,

that we don’t need to take responsibility for our actions.

But when challenges arise, when a crisis must be faced,

why start pointing fingers, finding fault,

and pouting, “Why me?”

Jesus wants to cure us of such nearsightedness.

He wants us see such moments as graced opportunities:

moments not for laying blame,

but for spotting new possibilities;

a chance to make visible the workings of God.  (cf. H Brock)

Faith in Christ ought to expand our vision

and change our perception of things.

That doesn’t mean that faith is a pair of rose-colored glasses,

which help us avoid looking at

the very real hardship, struggle, and pain

which are part of our lives.

No, faith is more like x-ray goggles:

it helps us to see right through tough times out to the other side,

where God can do unexpected and astonishing things—

not to mention walking beside us every step of the way.

One area where many Catholics

ought to try this hope-filled way of seeing

is when it comes to confession.

Most Catholics look at the Sacrament of Penance

and can see only a torture chamber,

filled with guilt, embarrassment, and shame.

What a pity!

Because if we were able to take the long view,

if we allowed Jesus to heal us of our short-sightedness,

then we could see confession from God’s perspective:

not as a means to dwell glaringly on the dark moments of our past,

but as an invitation to walk with Christ from now on

as a child of the light.

Lately, Pope Francis has repeatedly been urging Catholics

to return to this sacrament of God’s healing mercy—
and not merely by his impassioned words.

He’s said before that he confesses about twice a month,

but on Friday, on his way to hear a few confessions, 

the Pope himself stopped at an ordinary confessional

right in the middle St. Peter’s Basilica:

the first Pope in modern history

to be seen publically receiving the sacrament.
(Imagine what was going through the mind 
of that unsuspecting priest!)

Inserted in this Sunday’s bulletin,

you’ll find a message from Pope Francis,

a detailed examination of conscience,

and other helpful hints on going to confession.

A week from tomorrow,

we’ll be hosting a regional Penance Service for Lent.

Give it some real thought and prayer.

Allow the Lord to cure your nearsightedness,

and see this sacrament not as a matter
of harsh judgment and condemnation

to be feared and avoided,

but an opportunity for a fresh start given by God,

who wants to embrace you with his tender love.

We’re all visually impaired, in one way or another.

Which means that there are many amazing possibilities

we simply fail to see.

Jesus cured the man born blind;

he can certainly cure you and me.

Lord, open our eyes!
Help us to see!

  

Coffee

I'm posting this under "Funnies"...but it isn't exactly funny.  Suddenly, trying to drink less/go without coffee during Lent seems much more poignant.  And to think that this strip first appeared back on March 30, 1967...

Sigh.

  

Glad Tidings

Today's solemnity of the Annunciation of the Lord is always a feast of great hope...but especially for us northerners if you take into account the old folksy proverb:

Saint Gabriel to Mary flies:

This is the end of snow and ice.

  

Racing

This weekend brought with it a certain kind of racing that isn't ordinarily part of my hectic schedule:  SnoX came to Malone, and it brought with it my niece (6-years-old) and nephew (8) who raced around the rectory and raced in the youth competitions.  (Nathan's been doing this for a few years, but they were Payton's first races).  As you'll see, they both went home with plenty of hardware around their necks...

Budding friends...and budding fans...

 

Crabby?

Don't catch it! But if you do, don't spread it around. And don't let it keep you down.

   Third Sunday of Lent   A 

Readings

There’s a nasty sort of illness going around these days…

…and I’m not talking about the violent stomach bug

that’s laid so many people low.

I’m talking about a chronic outbreak of crabbiness.

I’m not pointing fingers here!

I admit that I have been afflicted with it myself.

My fuse has grown quite short, my patience worn quite thin.

Thankfully, only a few

of the snide remarks passing through my mind

have made their way out across my lips.

Now, I don't want you to think
that you should be afraid to shake my hand on the way out of church!
I'm well on the way to recovery,
and believe I'm past the contagious stage.

This illness is not good.

And I know that other people

have noticed this disorder on the rise lately, too.

No doubt, for many folks it’s brought on by the weather.

The calendar now says it’s spring,

but spring isn’t exactly what you see outside the window...
...if you can still see out the window.

It’s been a pretty tough winter,

and it doesn’t look quite ready to let go just yet.
Before Mass yesterday, a parishioner came into the sacristy and said, 
"I sure hope we're praying for spring at this Mass.
Even my cat is depressed!"

I don’t think winter is the source of my problem.

I made peace with the cold and snow years ago.
I actually like a number of winter activates, 
and have even gone out winter camping a few nights.

No, the problem for me 
is that this time of year has gotten extra busy.

I'll spare you the details, 

but I’ve let myself get overwhelmed—

racing about, trying to do too much in too little time.

I’m certain this sort of thing sounds familiar to you,

since this dis-ease I’m calling crabbiness is nothing new.

In our first reading, we hear about a time (certainly not the only one)

when the Israelites were a bit cranky, too.

They’ve escaped from slavery in Egypt,

but now they’re wandering about thirsty in the desert.

The people grumble against Moses,

and Moses then gripes about it to the Lord.

Someone who isn’t grumpy

is the Samaritan woman at Jacob’s well.

She easily could be.

She’s out doing a daily chore at about noon, we’re told—

when it’s getting to be the hottest part of the day.

It’s safe to assume that she simply wants

to fill her water jar and get back home.

But sitting there is this chatty man—

a hated Jewish foreigner, no less—

who’s only going to slow the whole process down.

And yet, in the midst of a routine task—

and a fairly grueling one, at that—

she has a completely life-changing experience.

There, at the well, where she’s gone to draw water

hundreds and hundreds of times before,

she very powerfully encounters God

and will never, ever, be the same again.

Looking at the woman at the well,

I recognize a couple of potential cures for my own case of crabbiness.

I share them, in case they might help alleviate someone else’s, too.

The first is a question of priorities.

Getting extra busy throws mine way out of whack.

Here’s a woman taking care of necessary business.

According to most sources,

a healthy person can survive a month or more without food,

but only a few days without water.

Did you notice, about three-quarters of the way through the story,

how the Samaritan woman leaves her empty water jug behind?

She has discovered something even more fundamental

than a drink of water, and without it,

nothing else is going to make any sense any more.

The woman at the well reminds me

to be more careful about setting my priorities:

to determine what’s essential,

and to make sure it stays at the top of the list.

The second is a question of presence.

When I get extra busy, I might still get a lot done,

but I’m not fully “with it”—

I’m going through the motions,

but without my head really in the game.

The Samaritan woman could have done the same:

filled her pail and walked away.

But because she shows an openness to this mysterious stranger—

one which increases as their conversation goes on—

she receives a lot more than she bargained for.

Sitting there in the full light of midday,

Jesus opens her eyes

to the truth about herself and her deepest desires:

that she has an immeasurable dignity as one loved by God…

…it’s just that she’s been looking for love in all the wrong places;

and Jesus opens her eyes to the truth about himself:

yes, that he is the Messiah of Israel and the Savior of the world,

but also that he cares for her very passionately and very personally.
You never know who you might meet over a cup of water.

The thirsty, crabby Israelites put God to the test by distrustfully asking,

“Is the Lord in our midst or not?”

This daughter of Samaria has no use for that question!

The woman at the well reminds me

to be more present, to be more fully in the moment,

lest I miss out on God’s presence here and now.

The current outbreak of crabbiness will eventually pass

come a break in the weather or a break in my busy schedule

or a break in whatever brings it on for other folks.

But in the meantime,

I’m going to work on priorities and presence

as this Lent continues on.

If I can always remember

that “the love of God has been poured out into our hearts,”

then whatever could there be to be cranky about?