GENDADS

TAYLOR
HIKING AND PONDERING

Taylor thought for a good ten minutes, maybe more, as we trudged along the old road we found to ease our way up the mountain. He didn’t say much; it was like he was really thinking of the question Dad had posed to him–to all of us, really. If Jesus were to join us on the trail, sorta like He did with two of His followers after His resurrection on the road to Emmaus, what would you ask Him? And, what if you had only two questions?”

Taylor, prompted as we laid in the shade near a stream bed we wished actually had water in it, said, “Jesus, am I really saved?”

Wow. Dad and granddad both were surprised. Then we marveled at its significance. There are moments we all wonder. At 12.5 years, his life as a believer was both short and filled with turbulent transitions of body, mind, and emotions.

Gently, excited to hear him work it out as we talked over the next heavy breathing mile of our hike, we prodded Taylor with questions and calmed him with our own stories. By our tone, Matt and Gary knew they could neither assume the answer or provide one for him. We even role-played Jesus with probing questions. In effect, Jesus had to answer him directly.

Yes, it turns out, he did make the rebirth decision some years earlier, baptised, too. But the feelings were all over the place (which we explained as the caboose of the train, not the engine that drove it with the fact of his having chosen Jesus as Savior).

This was the day we passed by the washed out trail sign to the spring. Over in our back post, DEHYDRATED, we tell the story of life-challenging thirst. That evening by the fire with only steak and no water (all the other food was back-packing dehydrated foods), we talked about the next step in his journey: recognizing thirst of faith and getting the Water of Life to satisfy.

HE’S WAITING JUST AROUND THE BEND

Friends and drop-ins alike, beware. Some stories out of your life venture can be addictive. I’m still talking, writing, and (mostly) thinking about Four Days of Manhood. That’s a new name for it. Comes from my reflections of four grueling/wonderful days up and down (mostly UP!?) the mountain with Matt and grandson Taylor(subscribers will know). Started out as a major event in T’s “rite of passage”.

But, it’s morphed.

As I look/think/write back, it was as much for Matt and me as it was for T. You ever have reflections where your heart…your heart…well, sorta “sings”? Well, mine sings like the chorus of a country song without the truck or the dog or someone else’s girlfriend. Words not fully formed bubble up and create that smile. Then the chorus plays again. Impressions more than words; “bonding,” “fun,” “pain,” “victory,” “laughter,” “memories,” “exhaustion,” “gratitude,” “discovery,” and then the verses, the story line. Like, “Thanks, so much, Jesus, for coming along. I was wondering if I could ask you…”
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No, it’s not that Taylor won again at Mario Cars, that’s a given. He’s 12+ and I’m 70. Not a chance. His six year old brother beats me two out of three. Worst yet? Taylor aces me, literally, at Skies of Vietnam in “real” F-4′s, joy stick and all. I shot down a MiG for real, but it doesn’t matter against a nimble-fingered Millennial.

TAYLOR ACES POPI
Where he aced me was in completing today’s blog. I’m writing a book, doing major doc visits, teaching, and behind in Honey-Do’s. I was using his slow response to recapping our generational passage on the mountain as my excuse to skip a post here. Then he tells me, in the kindest tone of unapologetic firmness–and quite well written, I should add:
“Hey, Popi, the WHOLE WORLD is waiting for me. HOMEschool means I don’t go home after school, I am home. And Mom never lets up. You made describing my impressions of our Big Hike sound like some small project. Unfortunately, this is not the email you had been hoping for! But, the good news is that Friday night I WILL give you my story as I see it, AND…(waaait for it), from now on every Friday night I will send you my writing project for that week.”

Gulp. Humbled in my place and smiling deeply all the while. He ain’t just a grandkid off doing something somewhere, he’s a young man with a full life of learning, growing, having fun, and fulfilling the role I pray for; a good, growing, walking with God in young but vigorous ways. AND staying connected.

Wouldn’t you smile deeply, too?

FROM GAME MIGS TO REAL ELK
TAYLOR ACES POPI

Dehydrated and fat. That’s what they tell us. “They” being…well, I don’t remember for sure, I have a lot of cable news on in the background. America is dehydrated. We need about 20% more water than we drink. That makes us eat more. Calories instead of water = fat. Hey, we have wonderful pure water even without the plastic environmental hand grenades. I’ve been to more than one country where women walk round trip for five miles to bring back jugs of drinkable water…or those who simply drink from polluted sources, especially in huge urban ghettos. Five million children under five die from polluted water each year (weakening them for diariyah, AIDS, water-born disease).

“They” also tell us one of the reasons we are a fat nation and prone to diabetes is because we don’t drink enough. Water, that is.

This isn’t about that.

This is about the real-life drama on the mountain. More

This is hard. I love to write. Always have, just more in my less adrenal, more thoughtful, rippened years. But I love whole bunches of life, too. Adrenal gland smaller, still active. I’ve been eager to share the lessons from the passage on the mountain, Taylors AND mine. But then came life. Like pulling out in the big truck and the bigger RV from the kids’ after a whole summer parked next door. Four days of packing, hitching, driving created a distance from our trip up the mountain. You can picture it. As we pulled ourselves out on to the road, my eyes had trouble focusing through the watery lenses formed by tears that made wet trailis to the corners of my satisfied smile. What a great summer, and it’s images are firmly lazered in to our minds and hearts. But it was that Rite of Passage for Taylor, the mountain challenge, AND that entry, with capital letters, in to my own Journal of Manhood that stands out most

TWO GENERATIONS, TWO PASSAGES, SAME TRAIL

More along the trail More

Ok, back to the BIG HIKE: Popi, Matt, Taylor, grandfather, father. son. Three generations in a Rite of Passage.

A half year to dream, a month to plan, two days to prep, and four grueling, wonder-filled, life-imprinting days. For Taylor’s passage at 12.5 years? We thought so. Turns out we unearthed a basic life truth we’d buried and all but forgot: life has its segments, its stages. Often, our passage from one to the other is subtle. Like steppping over a speed bump. Then, again, some are steep climbs up fog-shrouded mountains. Or, maybe, it’s a chase to the edge and your only escape is a Butch and Sundance leap of faith in to the river.

There we were, looking up at a 3000 foot climb by nightfall, half the day behind us. Suddenly… More