Fierce Beauty Read online

  That was the exact moment when the electrical connection between my brain and right foot finally fired. It was the closest I’ve ever come to discovering if my Dodge Dually could pop a wheelie!

  With cheese and body parts flying, we careened down the road a quarter mile before pulling off to gather ourselves. Since we’d all been watching the charging grizzly on our left, I hadn’t realized Laurie had leaned out the open passenger window and was looking over the top of the cab to get a better picture. Although she had a firm grasp on the safety handle, when I gunned the truck, she almost did the splits to maintain her balance.

  Kelsie, meanwhile, had imitated a cartoon Tasmanian devil and nearly spun a hole in the seat next to me. When she finally stopped turning, she was upside down and face up with her head under the dashboard. At one point during our flight, either her knee or foot smashed against my throat—I’m still not sure which. Adding to our disarray were fragments of cheese and crackers everywhere.

  After righting both Kelsie and Laurie, picking strands of cheese out of my hair, and doing a quick head count (surprisingly, I could still count to five), everyone burst out in an uncontrollable rush of adrenalized laughter. Had our words been racehorses, they would have been heading down the homestretch. With everyone jabbering at once, it was my extrapolation that Kelsie had spun around in the seat about eight times before going headfirst under the dash. None of us was completely sure why, but we thought she was trying to hit the gas pedal with her hands!

  Our conclusion was that no one gets to see what we had just seen … and live.

  While we continued to mop up inside the cab, a small blue truck pulled to a stop next to us. The driver rolled down his window and blithely drawled, “You guys seen anything?” Clearly, he was not prepared for the onslaught of nearly hysterical words that poured from our truck into his. As our story unfolded, he glanced knowingly at another man seated in the truck with him. Once we finished, he stared at me for a long moment. Finally he said, “Well, I’d say you got lucky. A ranger told me earlier today that more’n likely this same bear, a sow with three cubs, full-on attacked a car this morning.”

  Again I envisioned the perfectly fit teeth, grimacing only a few yards from my face. We were more than lucky—much more. The Lord had allowed us to experience something amazing, something incredible, something threatening … for a reason. We would never forget it.

  DEFENDING OUR HEARTS

  Are we as ferocious as a mother grizzly in our determination to drive sin out of our lives?

  The day after our encounter with the mama grizzly at Yellowstone, the girls and I had a twelve-hour drive home to discuss what had happened. We took the time to fully enjoy the fact that God has an uproarious sense of humor. We tried to imagine God saying something like, “Hey, girls! If you think watching a grizzly bear run up a hill is cool, wait till you see this!”

  Finally, when our laughter quieted into a more serious dialogue, I asked, “Why do you think the Lord allowed us to be charged by a bear? What do you think He wants us to learn from seeing something so remarkable?”

  In moments such as these, I might be the leader of events and discussions, but I’m also the student. I’m convinced that I’m far more blessed by the wisdom of these young women than the other way around. Thoughtfully they began to explore my questions. As always, I was amazed by the varied truths each shared. All offered their views except one. I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Jenna, my shy girl, staring out the window. The cab fell silent.

  Jenna blinked her beautiful blue eyes a few times. I smiled, realizing that horses do exactly the same thing when they’re thinking. In what I’ve come to love as her trademark quiet voice, she said, “Even though I wasn’t in the truck with you guys when this happened, I know what this represents to me. I want to be just like that grizzly. I want to be just as ferocious as a charging bear toward anything that comes between me and God. I don’t want to tolerate any sin, even the little ones that seem harmless. I want to drive them all out.”

  The rest of us sat in silence and let the powerful weight of her words sink in.

  Jenna’s answer triggered a thought.

  I’ve often contemplated the actions of the religious leaders back in the apostles’ day. Repeatedly, when these civic leaders were confronted with the truth of Christ, they came up with some excuse to drive great men of faith and the truth they carried as far away as they could. Instead of embracing hope in Christ, they pushed it away. With this in mind, perhaps one of the wisest questions we can ask ourselves is, on this day am I?

  Am I behaving like the religious leaders of old, driving away the truth of Jesus and replacing it with my excuses, my desires, my self-justifications? The honest answer for each of us can be found by simply looking at what we’re driving out of our hearts: our sin … or our Savior?

  We cannot run toward and away from God at the same time.

  It is our actions, words, and thoughts that prove what is true. If these things point toward serving ourselves, how do we make it right? How do we realistically chase sin out of our lives?

  Well, light and darkness cannot live in the same place.

  The answer, then, is simple: we must first recognize our sin. This is necessary because we will not fight that which we do not acknowledge exists. Once we’ve identified our sin and darkness, we need to drive them out by inviting our Lord to transform and cleanse our minds. He does this by pouring His redeeming light of truth into our lives.

  Romans 12:2 states, “Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will know what God wants you to do, and you will know how good and pleasing and perfect his will really is.”

  Plainly stated, we force sin out of our lives by driving the truth of God’s Word in. How? The same way we drive anything into our lives—through repetition. We do this by purposefully choosing to follow Jesus’ Word and just as purposely choosing to release our own desires. God’s truth will become part of our lives when we make it a part by spending time in His Word every day.

  Equally important is setting aside time to pray. Prayer is a vital connection between God and us. It changes everything in our lives. Because it changes our very foundations, it changes our hearts. When our foundations are strong, everything we build on top of them is strong as well. A simple reflection of this truth is how difficult it is to maintain ill feelings toward others when we purpose in our hearts to consistently pray for them. They may or may not change … but we do.

  Remember, light and darkness cannot share the same territory.

  On that long drive from Yellowstone, Jenna’s soft voice echoed my thoughts when she asked herself a single question: “Within the territory of my heart, am I choosing to tolerate sin, or am I fiercely defending the heart Jesus Christ gave His life to set free?”

  Friend, how would you answer?

  THE KING

  8

  THE WOMAN

  A Crown and a Sword

  On a late summer evening, the last fiery slivers of sunlight splayed between the craggy peaks of the Cascade mountains. I was working in my lookout, a small room perched on ten-foot stilts, located on the highest crest of our ranch. From this special refuge I took a few moments to admire the saw-toothed beauty of the mountains and reflect on the dream I’d had a few weeks before—the eagle that refused to leave its gilded prison because it was more concerned with appearance and ease than with true freedom.

  I wondered, Am I somehow like this majestic bird? Am I more focused on my own selfish pursuits and the praise of others than on God’s perfect plan for my life?

  I closed my eyes and released my thoughts to drift.

  Unbidden, my mind filled with the image of a woman in dim light, a solitary figure on her knees. She appeared to be cast in nearly the same position as the eagle bowing low within its confining crown. The woman’s blond hair fell in a soft curtain around her lowered face. I had trouble making out the deta
ils. Something about the woman seemed out of focus.

  I looked closer, trying to clarify what I was seeing. As I did, the woman appeared to change subtly. Her hair color was slowly shifting. As the seconds passed, it seemed to alternate between blond and gray, then gray and red, then auburn, brunette, and black. Everything about her seemed to be softly phasing, as if I were watching her through a gently turning kaleidoscope. At different moments she looked like an acquaintance at church, then a previous neighbor, then an old friend in high school.

  Gradually something else became apparent. The kneeling woman was not alone.

  Surrounding her was a “presence,” slithering shapes hidden in shadow. These evil apparitions whispered in the darkness: “I hate it when she bows before Him. She does this from time to time when she hears something that moves her.” “It’s momentary pangs of guilt that drive her here, but she loves us too much to let go.” “She’s already so numb, so dead within her selfish ambitions, it takes few of us to control her now.” “As long as she focuses on herself, she’s nearly useless to the One.” “It doesn’t matter if she knows the words of the Book, as long as they stay in her head and not her heart, as long as she doesn’t live them.”

  Only then did I realize the woman was not simply kneeling; she was praying.

  Still cast in a position of supplication, the woman held an object in each hand. Clutched with a white-knuckled grasp in her left was a spectacular bejeweled crown. It was obvious that it once fit perfectly on her head, for upon her brow was a deep, red groove. She’d worn the glorious, heavy decoration for a long while, perhaps even a lifetime. Firmly gripped in her right hand was a long, silver, extremely sharp, two-edged sword.

  I watched the woman intently. Suddenly her entire body shuddered. She drew in a deep breath, opened her eyes, and slowly raised her head.

  Methodically the woman rose so that she was balanced on one knee and one foot. Then she raised her arms, both items still locked in her grasp. Holding them out, she studied them, looking back and forth between the glamorous crown and the ordinary sword. One article was a magnificent adornment to be worn. The other was a common instrument designed, when wielded properly, to protect and serve. One garnered praise; the other gave assistance. One created envy; the other created freedom. One was designed to attract prideful attention and exalt its owner. The other was forged to defend the weak and exalt a King.

  The woman continued to stare first at one object, then the other. Clearly, she was trying to make a choice between the two.

  Then the woman’s eyebrows came together. With intention she rose to her feet and balanced her weight. She raised the crown and the sword to eye level.

  This was it … She was about to choose!

  9

  THE BOULDER

  Faithful Yesterday, Today, and Forever

  “It’s Sue’s birthday! Let’s climb South Sister to celebrate the birth of my dear friend!”

  Since 1995 that annual milestone has been the only excuse I need to climb this fun peak on or near every June 23. South Sister is the largest of the Three Sisters mountains. These dramatic and beautiful volcanoes were originally named Faith, Hope, and Charity. At 10,358 feet Charity, South Sister, stands as Oregon’s third largest peak, with an eleven-mile-round-trip trail that rises five thousand vertical feet to its broad summit. It’s a straightforward hike that takes climbers to one of the best viewpoints in the state.

  Because I can get inexperienced hikers to South Sister’s glaciated summit, I love to take my staff and volunteers who come from abroad to see this incredible slice of the Northwest. Though Sue was out of town, a recent June morning presented the perfect opportunity—the weather was clear and cooperating. It looked to be an extraordinary day.

  With ten of my ranch family in tow, I set off at the trailhead through a quiet hemlock forest. On our way up we passed a square boulder the size of my living room that had avalanched down a dozen years earlier. Since I used to train on this trail many times a week, I’d missed its fall by a single day. While tumbling for a quarter of a mile and carving a trench big enough for my truck to drive through, the behemoth snapped off enormous trees and scattered them like a child tossing a handful of pick-up-sticks. Finally the boulder came to rest in the middle of the hiking trail. Never have I stood at its immense base and not admired the path of destruction that its descent left behind.

  This gigantic boulder used to be part of a stone fortress towering over the roof of the forest. The life it once knew was that of a pillar within a colossal ridge high above. It was a boulder for the ages, or so thought every generation that once stood upon its broad shoulders. Now it sits on the lowly forest floor, dethroned of its former moorings of grandeur. Since it rests defiantly in the middle of the trail, the new path obediently detours around it.

  After hiking about two miles, our group popped out of the deep forest and onto the Moraine Plains. Here the earth transformed from soft duff beneath towering boughs into dry, gray pumice. As the trees dropped behind us, we were greeted by massive vistas of South Sister, Broken Top, and Mount Bachelor.

  Step by purposeful step, we moved closer toward our goal and ever-expanding views. It seemed impossible that the panorama could get any wider or better, yet the proof that filled our eyes with every mounting stride clearly proclaimed that it could. I’ve never climbed a mountain without pondering how closely it must resemble our walk with our King. Although each step takes effort, each one also makes us stronger. Strung together, those steps bring us closer to Him and into a beauty far beyond anything we’ve ever known or could even imagine.

  About a mile from the summit, we carefully ascended the talus-strewn terminal moraine of Lewis Glacier. The reward of cresting its rim was to feast our eyes on the entire glacier sloping down into one of the most surreal green melt pools I’ve ever seen. Here we honored tradition by stopping to take in refreshments along with some indescribable views.

  Recharged from the brief rest, we pressed on to the final summit push. Even the one-step-up, two-steps-back effect of hiking on loose scree couldn’t dampen the thrill we felt from being in such a wondrous place. By climbing the western ridge that flanks Lewis Glacier, we could look right into the yawning mouths of many deep blue crevasses.

  Once we reached the summit crest, we strode across the broad crown toward the northeast ridge, where the true summit juts into view. Depending on the season, an ice blue teardrop pool often forms beneath the western ridge inside this nearly perfect volcanic cone. On this day all that was visible was a bright aqua depression where the water triumphantly bled through the icy snow, well on its way to becoming an ice-free pool.

  Having scaled the last few hundred feet to the top, we rewarded ourselves by stopping at a suitable boulder near the edge to enjoy lunch with a view. Although I can’t remember how the practice officially started, for some important reason every mountain that we climb in June has to be accompanied by a maturity-building cherry-pit-spitting contest off the summit.

  I knew that this year my position as Exalted Queen of the Pits would be challenged by two young men who were eager to put my superhuman pit-spitting ability to the test. Once lunch was finished, Jeff, Sam, and I lined up near the edge of a precipice like pigeons on a wire. Each of us picked a boulder to perch on. I selected a trusted old friend of a rock that I’ve chosen to sit on—sometimes several times a year—since 1985.

  Our preferred seating was ideal because of the abrupt downslope on the northern rim of the mountain. Beyond this slope, rock dropped almost vertically for nearly thirty feet, separating us from the upper reaches of the perilously steep Prouty Glacier. It was the perfect location for our pit-spitting challenge to begin. We passed around the bag of deep purple Bing cherry ammunition and steeled ourselves for the ensuing competition.

  Sam’s first attempt was pitiful. Jeff and I ended up wearing most of his effort, while his pit didn’t even make a showing. In the best teeth-clenched, Clint Eastwood–ish smack talk I could muster, I said
, “You spit like a little girl.”

  Even before Jeff’s attempt I knew that my queen days might be numbered. He had the focus, intensity, and technique. He was trouble, all right! His first launch had distance but, thankfully, no arc. My superhero status was safe for the time being.

  Unfortunately for me, with each shot the boys fired, they simply grew better and better. Soon I was pulling out all the stops by gripping my boulder on either side of my thighs, leaning back, and adding an extra whiplash with my upper body to get all the precious distance I could. Even so, Sam was gaining ground. Among his haphazard misfires, he sent a few that were truly home-run material. Meanwhile, Jeff, my blue-eyed opponent, continued to laugh sweetly in my face while handing me the pit-spitting spanking of a lifetime.

  I still had a card to play, however. I was banking on the proven adage that “age and treachery will always triumph over youth and skill.” For the benefit of my opponents, I paused dramatically, appearing to savor the delightful cherry pulp in my mouth. The reality behind my cherry-luvin’ behavior was to conceal that I was analyzing the loose strands of my hair dancing in the breeze like a high-altitude, pit-spitting-duel-to-the-death windsock. The moment my hair fell straight was the same moment I knew there was clear air space to fire away.

  My dastardly inspiration worked right up until … the earth moved—literally!

  Without warning, the boulder I’d been sitting on with my legs dangling over its edge suddenly shifted. Even if I’d been equipped with springs attached to my backside, I wouldn’t have moved away any faster. I’m not sure how I did it, but I sprang straight up and came down in a different area from where I started, probably looking much like a big, goofy jack-in-the-box. Jeff and Sam stared at me with the kind of open-mouthed wonder they might express if they were watching the space shuttle lift off.