i spent the weekend climbing in joshua tree. it was quite possibly one of the most amazing experiences of my life. rich with empowerment. panic. i can't. trying anyways. i can i can i can. muscles. summits. trusting my feet. pretending i am spiderwoman.


laughter. victory. exploding pride in my chest. knowing my strength for the first time. again. tears while i rappel leaning back. cold mornings. hot sun setting over the desert. funny trees. wildflowers. wind in my hair and the smell of fresh air and sand on my sweater. friends with the right hand always on the brake rope.



redemption holds itself in the light of contrast, what was broken. i share the following memory to share the celebration. it is when i remember where i've come from that i weep with joy that things can be different than they once were. this is what i believe about life with jesus.

there was some sort of outward bound youth retreat during high school. i was heavy, depressed. in more pain than i could acknowledge or know.

i did the balance activities, i walked on logs and bent under ropes like spider webs with team members, trying not to touch with my back, my sides, scrunching up as much as possible, don't let your team down, try harder, shrink more.

i let them catch me. fell backwards off the platform into hands like a bed for my backside. i did it hoping for a miracle. believing that trusting others was the key to salvation. relief. it was supposed to make me feel better, but those were strange hands on my back, and the falling was too familiar. humiliating.

it was the wall though that i remember now. those smooth slats stretching too high. like things strong men in uniform climb when under fire. for the fit, the courageous, the ones invincible to my young mind. painted deep green to blend with evergreens. pine needles sweet and soft, but i am not comforted. the panic rises in me. i calm knowing i will not try.

i chose failure before we started. believed so securely that this is for others. not this one who feels the literal weight of the world on her 13 year old shoulders. too heavy. weak. can't let them help. can't help myself.

i lifted each shoe up and over. they reached down to pull me, but my attempt was for show only. i walked around and climbed up. it was all i knew.


and now. i watch men climb before me. eager and able. muscling it up. one by one. yes i will try, but this requires upper body strength, a huge shift of weight upward and over from hanging on the side of this sleeping rock. i try. fail. look another way. try again.

i hear myself say i can't. aloud. it is the fight inside us all. but maybe. today i am stronger, different. i pull and push. forces in opposition. technique. ridges under my fingers and shoes grip nothing but a crack. a place deeper that knows no voices, it pushes me up. my legs work, arms too and i am rising, surprised. i am a child succeeding for the first time. i am 13 and believing i can. i am on top. euphoria. no one pushed me, but i felt the lift. it was my spirit, the ridge of faith i cannot see but in these moments feel it's motion in my arms legs, core. i did it all by myself. me the knowing inside. i need her. the she who doesn't apologize. it does not matter that she lives in a womans' body. this is the strength in fact. these arms of hers are strong enough when balanced and ready. she is enough.


i came back from the desert with eyes full of emotion. disbelief at the journey i've been on. pride at kicking it with 9 men for two days. windburn on my face and a stirring in my hip i do not understand. a deep longing for more openness.



and a new awareness, one i don't think i've ever known.


i want this life. no one else's. i don't want to be her or her. to have that hair, that stomach, those shoes. i don't want her man, her children, or her job. i want this story. this future. this day to day. these gaps. waiting. this adventure. this body. this home. this sorrow. this hope. this journey.