Safe and Secure

You know me to be a moutain man even if I live at sea level. Mountains, for me, are metaphors of the new and never been done before. Every trail above sea leavel offers new views and challenges even if you have hiked it before. As Bear Grylls, of "Man Vs. Wild" fame, said of climbing Everest at age 23, "I did not conquer Everest; Rather, Everest allowed me to crawl up one side and stay on the peak for a few minutes." We never conquer mountains, and we would never presume to. This is what I love about the new and never been done before either. When you do something for the first time you are free and forgiven. It is like the first words and the first steps of a baby. No one has any judgement or expectation and they cheer even the most modest of accomplishments. If you miss a golf shot, no big deal. But Tiger Woods? You get what I mean. This is the way of mountains, the new, and the never been done before.

Recently, I climbed a mountain with my nephew though really we barely took a step.

I had gone home to the great north west to visit home and family and to breathe the mountain air of the Cascades. Ah, home. That we would hunger so much for each other! While there, my nephew, Ryan, took me skeet shooting.

What a fine young man and so gifted at making me (others?) to feel so at home. Ryan is affectionate and affirming. He is also accepting and unassuming. You will forgive the alliteration; it is just the way he is. And I am the better for it.

I had never been skeet shooting before and Ryan, well, Ryan has. He was great and I wasn't. He was the teacher and coach and I was there to learn. And Ryan did such a good job of keeping me safe and secure.

Isn't it marvelous when someone your younger is now charged with your care? Isn't it marvelous to have someone else so meticulously guide and direct you so that you are "at home" and so "at ease" when you are out of your element? Ryan showed me how to properly load the gun, address the target area, what to do when I was shooting, and what to do when I was not.

Ryan blasted clay pigeon after clay pigeon out of the air, while I, with each errant shot could only ask, "What am I doing wrong?" Ah, such bitter, demanding judgement we lay on ourselves sometimes. Like children watching any of their sports heroes I watched Ryan. I figured if I did exactly what he did then I would match him shot for shot.

Again and again he assured me, "You're doing great!" And when I finally got my first clay pigeon he smiled and gave me the "thumbs up." It was like a child's first goal in soccer or his first piano recital. You did it.

We had summited, safe and secure. We had reached the height of our climb. I didn't conquer anything. If I were to go out duck hunting the ducks would most likely live another day. But I was allowed to crawl up one side of something new and sit on its peak for a few moments. The bruise on my shoulder reminds me that I didn't do everything correctly -- and that it is o.k. to not be the best at everthing.

I wonder, what if it hadn't been skeet shooting? What if it had been anything where one person is really good and the other person is just learning? How might each of us, each day, go out of our way to share our loves and our passions and the things we are good at, and at the same time doing it in a way that the other person always feels safe and secure....at ease and at "home" -- at home and at church, in a classroom and around the table, playing the piano or trombone or saxaphone, playing football or running cross country, or whatever? It doesn't really matter what we are doing, does it? So long as we are doing it together...so long as we are affectionate and affirming, accepting and unsssuming. Forgive the alliteration.

I love you, Rye-man! Thanks for roping up and taking the lead.

See you on the mountains, Jeff