For the Beauty of the Earth - Alaskan Scenery

(by Nate)

For all who have been asking for pictures and that have so patiently waited. Here they are!! I never cease to be amazed at the beauty of the earth that Heavenly Father has created for us. The variety of landscape and the will to live manifest through all living things is astounding. Even in the harshest environments, those that are consigned to reside year round are able to adapt and thrive. How thankful I am to the Lord for the beauty of the earth.

These 1st two were my first 135 flight (my 1st flight that I took passengers for hire). I took two guys out across Bristol Bay to the West Side. They buried the ashes of their uncle. There are 2 sections of floats off of the old style fish nets cause he was one of the 1st fishermen that started up in Bristol Bay. 

And a bottle of ketchup since he put it on everything he ate. It was fun to be a part of that with them. Afterwards they wanted to go sightseeing for a bit. We saw a huge bull moose on the way home. 

This is looking NEast from Puale Bay. I have been flying with a couple of geologists for the last couple days. They have wanted to go to a bunch of different sites and look at the rocks and look for signs of petroleum. It has been pretty fun learning about geology and how to read the rocks.

NEast side of Puale bay

Puale Bay

Puale Bay

Puale Bay

Puale Bay

Puale Bay

Puale Bay

Puale Bay

Puale Bay

Cape Kekumoi

 Cape Kekumoi

Cape Kekumoi (looking NEast)

Fossils we found

This fox just came trotting down the beach without a care in mind, when suddenly he finally noticed me and stopped. He stopped right in front of me and just starred for almost a minute. As I was joking with him that I could have shot him dead 3 or 4 times by now and that he should be more careful, I realized that I should probably be taking a picture. By the time I got the camera out he had walked off a bit.

This is looking south from Cape Kekumoi 

More fossils

Looking South across Puale Bay

Looking South across Puale Bay

 1st brown bear I saw. He's in the center climbing up.

Another shot of the bear. Hopefully I will be able to get a good shot of one sometime (without getting eaten, haha!). 

Look closely and you will see airplane wreckage. A WWII B-17, well, what's left of it anyway.

More B-17 parts 

More B-17 parts

-Just east of Whale Mt, looking across Becharof Lake (2nd largest lake in Alaska) at Mt Peulik.

My cute baby. How do they feel comfy in these sorts of positions?

 SWest side of Becharof Lake. The big mountain is Mt Peulik. The formation to the left of Mt Peulik is called Gas Rocks.

Gas Rocks

Close up of Mt Peulik

 Crater at the bottom of Mt Peulik

Looking west on the south side of Becharof Lake. Pretty flat and boring.

Gas Rocks, so named for the CO2 that bubbles out of the ground around it.

Heading SEast out of Ugashik Crater

 An old oil camp from 1902ish time frame. You can see the old boiler in the middle of the rubble.

 Looking North. Off the North side, across the creek to the North side of the valley and to the left of the tributary is an oil seep.

 Coming out of the pass into Wide Bay

Brown bear running across the open tundra. (Blackish dot left of the 3rd creek up from the bottom)

5ft deep pit that the natives used to cover with wood and sod to make a house. Its hard to see.

Big bear track!

 SWest side of Coal Pt. looking south

SWest side of Coal Pt. looking SWest

Big sea cave

Can you find the eagle's nest?

Looking south down Wide Bay

Ugashik Crater

 Ugashik Crater

Ugashik Crater 

Ugashik Crater

Ugashik Crater 

 Ugashik Crater. Upper Ugashik Lake in background

Entering the Valley of Ten Thousand Smokes

Lake behind Dakavak Bay

Seals watching us on their beach

Another seal. There were about 4 or 5 watching us at any one time.

I think this is a wolf but not sure. Just a track in the sand, not a fossil.

Fossilized bullet

Sand trunks. Little pillars of sand that are somehow growing up.

Looking down the valley of Ten Thousand Smokes.

Bottom of Ten Thousand Smokes. The entire valley floor is covered in this ash flow from the last eruption in 1912.

The rivers make it look like a miniature Grand Canyon. Three Forks overlook is on the hill.

Looking up the valley of the Little Ugashik river. The oil seep is behind and to the left on the north side.

Some interesting plants that look like they will flower soon.

The beginning of the end

Its bedtime at my house.  My baby is upstairs crying, sobbing like her heart is breaking.  No, she's not alone, her daddy is holding her and rocking her with all the love in the world, but what she wants, he can't give.  And its come to the point where neither can I.

You see, I have held high ideals when it came to mothering.  I was blessed to be able to breastfeed exclusively for the first basically eight months of Eden's life.  Yes, the first month was pretty much torture (despite doing "everything right") but by six weeks, the pain was gone and it was amazing and gratifying to watch her prosper so generously and know that it was all coming from my milk.  Yes, it is was a sacrifice of time and energy and body and self, but it was so worth it!  Even after starting the solids, nursing has been a special bond, a (frequent!) time of relaxation and connection, a blessing of peace and a way to push the re-set button on the world, if you will.  The touch of her little hands, holding soft little toes in my other hand, her bright eyes peering up at me, the contented milk-drunk sprawl and sigh replete with all things good - I count this time as a precious blessing.

But, she now has three teeth.  And more than that, I am well into the first trimester of pregnancy, which...does things to your body.  Makes everything that was used for nursing much more tender, to say the least.  So its pretty much torture again.  Even that wouldn't stop us, hasn't stopped us, but now I am finding that I have no more milk to give her and that she is sad and frustrated and confused at the change.  So we both have suffered through hours of trying to nurse, trying to comfort, and then starting over again.  I'm not worried about her food intake, as she does eat plenty and drink well from a sippy cup during the waking hours.  But my heart breaks to hear her cry, to know what she wants, and to not be able to provide it for her anymore.

We got a bottle.  She drank about 2 oz. and refused to take anymore, but went to sleep with rocking and singing.  It's the second wake-up that got us, the one where she likes to just roll into me and latch on, half-asleep, for a warm, cuddly, easy-back-to-sleep dream feed.  She did NOT want the bottle, she was not happy with me, and now, half an hour later, she's almost asleep, but still crying periodically, on daddy's chest.

Now, I'm not really asking for advice.  I know its not the end of the world, and that babies live through weaning at ages both younger and older than mine.  I am incredibly thankful for the loving and supportive daddy that my husband is to my daughter, and know that she is safe and will be fine in his arms.  And I am thankful that we have been able to share this precious nursing relationship for as long as we have.

I'm just mourning, a little, the end of that.  The end of being able to be all things to this precious little being.  Its really incredible to consider that for eighteen months now, 9 within and 9 without, I have been able to (almost completely) provide for the physical, emotional, mental, and other needs of my baby!  I love that! I have loved that!  I am glad for the support I've been given that's allowed me to do so, and I hope its been a blessing for my Eden as well, but now that time is at an end.  I applaud those who can continue to nurse their little ones through a new pregnancy, but I just can't, and I have to accept that, and realize that this is specific to nursing and yet symbolic of my whole role of parenting.

I love my daughter more than I knew I could.  If I could, I would always make her life good, always provide for her needs, always be there to comfort and fulfill and in every way, bless her life.  I have to accept that I can't.  I do the best I can, and up til now its been pretty close to possible (though a sacrifice) but she will only continue to slowly move out of my ability to be all things to her, as she should.  I sorrow for her sorrow at not being able to nurse, even knowing that it is a temporary sorrow that she will not ever consciously remember.  I'm sure that I will sorrow all the more at the struggles and trials and losses she faces with maturity.

I can't be it all.  But I do know who can.  So my highest goal is to point her to Him.  Maybe a little deep for a simple weaning, but I'm feeling pretty tender about it right now.  Who knew how much it hurt to hear your child cry and not be able to give them what they want?!

To Tell or Not To Tell

Some of you may have seen this post about Desires of the Heart, and perhaps, knowing me, thought it was about a desire for this:

Actually, somewhat surprisingly, it was not.

The burning desire that prompted the writing of that post had much more to do with this:

About six months ago, I was in the process of looking up information about raising children with special needs for a friend of mine.  I love children, and I love learning more about raising them, and I love looking things up and finding things out, so it was a fascinating experience.  Thru a series of blog hops, I came to a blog that completely captured me.  It is written by the mother of 11 children, and was begun halfway through the pregnancy of her 10^th child when ultrasounds revealed that this baby would probably be born with Down Syndrome.  In raw honesty, she journals her fears, her faith, her concerns and struggles, and ultimately the joy that comes with her precious Verity.

As I lay in our darkened bedroom, evening after evening, nursing my own little Eden to sleep, more than once I wanted to stop reading.  I wanted to shut off my Iphone, delete the link, forget about this topic.  Irrational fear whispered that I should close my eyes, close my ears, choose to not let this into my life.  As if not knowing would protect me somehow.  From what? I don’t really know.  From having this as part of my life, mostly.  At the same time, however, I was drawn on, as if “hearing a word behind me, saying, This is the way, walk ye in it.”

As I read, and saw various pictures of this family, my heart and my mind gradually began to change.  This mother’s faith and testimony touched me.  The beauty that love and truth impart to ordinary life shone out undeniably.  What had been difficult to look at, speaking honestly, became normal…

even beautiful. 

As if that journey wasn’t enough, this family then chose to bring another little one into their family through adoption.  Another little one with Down Syndrome.  Smaller, more fragile even than their biological daughter had been.  But this little one’s special needs were infinitely compounded, not by the nature of having Down Syndrome, but by the life she had lived up til then.

You see, little Katie was 9 years old.

But she only weighed around 10 pounds.

Developmentally, she was a tiny infant. 

Severely neglected, basically starving, abandoned, unwanted, almost at death’s door, this little girl was deemed of no worth in her birth country.  And why?

Because she wasn’t “perfect.”

Because she had Down Syndrome. 

Her adoption saved her literal life, of that I have no doubt.  And the way she has blossomed has been nothing short of a miracle.

The Blessing of Verity

Go read it.  Start at the beginning of Verity’s story.  You will not regret the time spent.

And so I was introduced to this world of Reece's Rainbow, of special needs adoption, of little ones who are seen as worthless by their countries and cultures because of various “imperfections.”  A world of miracles and faith, of redemption and great sacrifice.  A world of children who wait and wait for a mommy and a daddy, who live with the very probable destination of an adult mental institution when they age out of the baby house at four years old. 

Four years old!!!

That’s my nephew’s age! That’s the age of the little girl I babysit!

My heart was truly pricked, though, when I saw a little girl listed with Osteogenesis Imperfecta.  My uncle had Osteogenesis Imperfecta.  I never knew him, as he died in a car accident at 17 years old, but his memory and personhood has remained alive and well in our family.  I knew somewhat of the nature of his condition, and the difficulties it included, but I really never thought of him as  “special needs.” He went to public school.  He participated in clubs and seminary and did the things kids do.  I have read some of his writings, and he was a normal boy, living an extraordinary life.  

And it all became personal.

Don’t be surprised if this is not that last you hear of this topic!

But for now, our path has taken a different turn.  Some of you must have been praying for what you thought that first post was about because

Guess what?

We are.

Given our previous experience, we do not share this news naively.  There are no guarantees, this we know.  But we rejoice in the blessing right now, and invite you to rejoice with us.  

Thinking about the road to Emmaus

Just for a little update...

Eden is now moving forward under her own locomotion, which consists of pulling with her arms, and inching with her toes! Although it hardly looks efficient, she can get places unexpectedly quickly.  She is also sitting up and laying down again by herself, and pulling up to knees and standing on anything she can reach.  She's figured out how to open drawers and cupboards, and is especially interested in the drawer underneath the oven. She's also figured out "Peek-a-Boo" and we're treated quite often to her mischievous little grin popping out from behind a towel or table or wall corner.  She also tries to put on any piece of clothing she gets - if its off - and to take it off if its on.  So amazing to see her learn and grow so rapidly!

And,

Mama cut her hair! 

Ha! For many years, I reveled in a glorious waistlength mane. (At least, it felt glorious.  I can't vouch for how glorious it looked all the time!) I truly loved my hair, and felt like it was almost a part of my identity.  In a certain pruning episode on my mission that felt terribly traumatic at the time, but really resulted in some personal growth and blessing, I ended up with a much shorter hairstyle, though it probably was still quite long by most people's standards.  And since I've been back my hair has varied but mostly been about mid-back length.  Well, the other day I just wanted to cut it.  Myself.  So I did. I don't have any pictures yet, but it really turned out quite well, with long layers from just below chin to just below shoulder length.  It made me laugh again to realize that we're not all grown up when we officially become adults - many different parts of us mature over time.  What once seemed impossible or a fixed part of our nature can become possible, changed, and even happily so through the mellowing of time and experience.  :) Pictures will come!

The thoughts about the road to Emmaus came as I listened to Hilary Weeks sing her song by that title.  It helps my mama heart to maintain its peace during busy days and needy kids if I listen to particular music.  This song is included in that playlist.  I was sitting on the landing, the baby finally asleep for her afternoon nap, H. on the guest bed having quiet time with her stuffed animals and some books, and just letting peace wash over me.  The words drifted up the stairs and cast ripples in my mind.  

"We went our way that day 
To a village called Emmaus 
Three days since our Loard had died 
And Judas had betrayed us 
Along the way a stranger came 
And asked to travel with us 
But we couldn't see He was 
The King He was 

So we told Him of our sorrow and confusion 

How we trusted we'd be led 
To a mansion in God's kingdom 
How all our hopes had faded 
When they nailed Him to a cross 
Still we couldn't see He was 
The King He was 

On the road to Emmaus 
As He opened the scriptures to us 
And our hearts burned within us 
On the road to Emmaus 

We heard a familiar voice 
As He quoted from the prophets 
How the Son of God must give His life 
And rise again to save us 
Then as we saw the nail prints in His hands our eyes were opened 
And we could see He was 
The King He was 

Then He was gone 
Vanished from our sight 
But the Spirit made it clear to us 
The Lord was by our side"

The second verse caught my heart, and I could just imagine the disciples, so discouraged, walking along the dusty road, explaining how they had been so sure that this was the Christ.  They had been sure (in my mind's eye) of what the plan was - how it was all supposed to work out!  And then ... it didn't.  Catastrophically, didn't.  It wasn't supposed to be this way!  The almost disbelief that such a strong witness could have been wrong! And yet, Jesus was gone.  Dead.  There was no way it could work out now. 

I have felt like that. 

I knew (or thought I knew) how it was supposed to go. But it just didn't go that way, and my mortal mind was left reeling, confused, baffled by what seems to be the wrong ending.  Its especially so when I have felt so spiritually sure, only to have it all end in disaster, or at least just not go the way I was confident it would.

From our vantage point, we can see the happy ending.  The thing that seemed to shatter their hopes and make impossible that which they had so confidently foreseen was actually the very key to those hopes and that testimony.  They couldn't see, for the time being, how the tragedy and loss were just a step.  A hard step, a step that they didn't foresee, but a step all the same to making what they had been sure of, true.  They hadn't seen wrong.  They just hadn't seen it all.

I can't say that I see how certain heartbreaks and struggles and paths that haven't worked out in my life are key to making the greater plan, the greater good, come to pass, but I wonder how many of them have been just that.  Key to the Father's plan, which is so great that "eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man."  Its a strange pair of glasses to wear, but I like it - it gives me hope, and restores my faith.  Its not always that I have seen (or dreamed) wrong.  More likely, I just haven't seen, or dreamed, it all.  The happy ending will be happier even than I had hoped.