Back in the Saddle
When I was about seven years old my Auntie Di and Auntie Sue took me and my big sister Emily to the Grand Canyon. I had never been on a big trip and was a bit nervous about the unknown of the plane ride.
My aunts were prepared, though. Once we were in our seats they pulled out markers, coloring books, and paper dolls to keep us too busy to think about flight's inherent potential for disaster. My main concern ended up being with trying to make enough room on my tray table to fit a soda amongst all the paper dolls. This was a pretty luxurious problem to have compared with those I encountered in my daily life.
We changed planes somewhere in Texas, and I have one very vivid memory of astonishment at seeing a man actually wearing a bolero tie. I had a caricature of "the western man" in my head - bolero tie, cowboy hat, belt buckle the size of Texas - but here was one in the flesh, actually wearing all of those things! And not ironically!
The aunts had booked a series of hotels and experiences that were completely exotic for a child whose normal sphere of activity was a cul-de-sac. One day we took a trail ride on horseback through part of the Grand Canyon, which realized dreams inspired by Brighty. Another day we took a small propellor plane ride over the Canyon. I still harbor some regret related to this excursion. The tour guide who sat on the plane reciting interesting facts about the Canyon was missing a couple of digits from two of his fingers. This was very upsetting to me and made me feel a little queasy. I was a very good little girl and knew that it was rude to stare at or whisper about the deformed hand, so I took the alternate route of closing my eyes and burrowing into my seat so that I wouldn't be able to see it...and I fell asleep. I was flying - flying - over a geological wonder of the world, and I fell asleep trying to not notice a couple of missing digits.
Part of our stay was at Enchantment Resort in Sedona. It stands in my memory wrapped in bands of color: red clay cliffs, dusty violet-orange-blue clouds, hardy green trees and cacti staking their claims to survival in the wild west. Guests at the resort stayed in individual adobe cabins, which was the most exclusive, luxurious thing I could imagine! There was a swimming pool, and a balcony where we could eat breakfast, and a resort restaurant where Emily and I were served Shirley Temples. The importance and elegance I felt as I sipped my mocktail and surveyed the kaleidoscope colors of the desert beggar description. They also helped counter the nerves triggered by my one loose tooth that was at that moment dangling by a slender root, threatening to suddenly dive bomb into my glass and shatter all delusions of grandeur.
My aunts had thoughtfully supplied me and Emily with desert-appropriate gear such as hiking boots, windbreakers, straw hats, and water bottles shaped like fruit (it was the '90s). They also supplied us with essential vittles like Skittles and Sprite to keep us fortified for life on the trail.
That trip was one of my early experiences of grace as unlooked-for and unearned generosity, an experience lavished on me purely because the givers desired it for my enjoyment and growth. Only with the perspective of time have I begun to realize the magnitude of my aunts' gift. For years I have longed to go west again.
This year I turned thirty, and my thirtieth year has so far held a few particularly wonderful, unexpected adventures. In August I married my very own real-life Texan, complete with cowboy boots (though no bolero ties that I'm aware of). After the wedding we rode off into the Utah sunset for a week of new western adventures. Thankfully this trip was not plagued by worries about loose teeth and we dined on slightly more elevated fare than Skittles. But there were all the kaleidescope colors, geological wonders, and humbling mountain views that I could have hoped for. And it was all another experience of grace, getting to share it all with a companion who popped into my life when I least expected it and who daily seeks my good - in small ways and in big ways. We're settling into our new life in a new city, and I'm going to try to get back into the habit of writing. I [clearly] can't promise it'll be frequent, but I promise to try to only add something beautiful, encouraging, funny, or inspiring to your day as I reflect on the sights, sounds, bites, sips, things, and thoughts that grace this new season.
My aunts were prepared, though. Once we were in our seats they pulled out markers, coloring books, and paper dolls to keep us too busy to think about flight's inherent potential for disaster. My main concern ended up being with trying to make enough room on my tray table to fit a soda amongst all the paper dolls. This was a pretty luxurious problem to have compared with those I encountered in my daily life.
We changed planes somewhere in Texas, and I have one very vivid memory of astonishment at seeing a man actually wearing a bolero tie. I had a caricature of "the western man" in my head - bolero tie, cowboy hat, belt buckle the size of Texas - but here was one in the flesh, actually wearing all of those things! And not ironically!
The aunts had booked a series of hotels and experiences that were completely exotic for a child whose normal sphere of activity was a cul-de-sac. One day we took a trail ride on horseback through part of the Grand Canyon, which realized dreams inspired by Brighty. Another day we took a small propellor plane ride over the Canyon. I still harbor some regret related to this excursion. The tour guide who sat on the plane reciting interesting facts about the Canyon was missing a couple of digits from two of his fingers. This was very upsetting to me and made me feel a little queasy. I was a very good little girl and knew that it was rude to stare at or whisper about the deformed hand, so I took the alternate route of closing my eyes and burrowing into my seat so that I wouldn't be able to see it...and I fell asleep. I was flying - flying - over a geological wonder of the world, and I fell asleep trying to not notice a couple of missing digits.
Part of our stay was at Enchantment Resort in Sedona. It stands in my memory wrapped in bands of color: red clay cliffs, dusty violet-orange-blue clouds, hardy green trees and cacti staking their claims to survival in the wild west. Guests at the resort stayed in individual adobe cabins, which was the most exclusive, luxurious thing I could imagine! There was a swimming pool, and a balcony where we could eat breakfast, and a resort restaurant where Emily and I were served Shirley Temples. The importance and elegance I felt as I sipped my mocktail and surveyed the kaleidoscope colors of the desert beggar description. They also helped counter the nerves triggered by my one loose tooth that was at that moment dangling by a slender root, threatening to suddenly dive bomb into my glass and shatter all delusions of grandeur.
My aunts had thoughtfully supplied me and Emily with desert-appropriate gear such as hiking boots, windbreakers, straw hats, and water bottles shaped like fruit (it was the '90s). They also supplied us with essential vittles like Skittles and Sprite to keep us fortified for life on the trail.
That trip was one of my early experiences of grace as unlooked-for and unearned generosity, an experience lavished on me purely because the givers desired it for my enjoyment and growth. Only with the perspective of time have I begun to realize the magnitude of my aunts' gift. For years I have longed to go west again.
This year I turned thirty, and my thirtieth year has so far held a few particularly wonderful, unexpected adventures. In August I married my very own real-life Texan, complete with cowboy boots (though no bolero ties that I'm aware of). After the wedding we rode off into the Utah sunset for a week of new western adventures. Thankfully this trip was not plagued by worries about loose teeth and we dined on slightly more elevated fare than Skittles. But there were all the kaleidescope colors, geological wonders, and humbling mountain views that I could have hoped for. And it was all another experience of grace, getting to share it all with a companion who popped into my life when I least expected it and who daily seeks my good - in small ways and in big ways. We're settling into our new life in a new city, and I'm going to try to get back into the habit of writing. I [clearly] can't promise it'll be frequent, but I promise to try to only add something beautiful, encouraging, funny, or inspiring to your day as I reflect on the sights, sounds, bites, sips, things, and thoughts that grace this new season.
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