Big Sky reflections (Part 2)...

It may go without saying that writing has become a chore for me.  Once upon a time, sharing thoughts on this space was effortless and something I genuinely looked forward to.  Not so in the present.  If inspiration in life is the genesis for my writing, which I think it likely is, then the past few years are accurately represented in my absence from this site.

This should not be taken as a lack of material to share, there's been plenty, just a lack of motivation to sign-on and type away.  My recent trip to Montana, a perfect example, left me with more than enough to process.  The longing to return and remain still lingers.  If that wasn't clear in my previous post, believe me, the feeling is there and it is real...and it is strong.

But there's been a second line of thinking that has paralleled this desire to experience Montana living.  'Redemption.'  'Forgiveness.'  Or maybe it's 'humbleness'.  I'm not sure myself as I think all of these have been wrapped and morphed into one in my mind.  If there's a word for such a feeling, I'm not sure what it is.  Part of the issue in defining this feeling is that there are several different storylines that have intertwined themselves in the present.

The morning I left for my most recent return trip to Montana I got up early to write a personal note.  Last fall, as some of you know, I had without a question the worst first date of my life.  She's beautiful, but cold; warm and tender, but closed; open, but critical and judgmental.  None of you, even those who know the story I am referring to, have heard the full version.  Thoughts of her and our first meeting still cross my mind from time-to-time, in part, I think, because I haven't had a date since.  What else do I have to compare to this date?  But also because I have been asking myself what is it about my personality that so repulses women of the Christian faith?  I think it's noteworthy that prior to, and ever since, meeting this young lass a prayer that any potential dates would be forgiving of my shortcomings and rough edges has been added to my more general prayer for a companion.

The card was a handwritten apology and flowers were delivered to coincide with its arrival.  This act was humbling, but equally liberating.  I've been questioning whether or not such an act is needed with my roommate of the past year (minus the flowers), but have decided to hold off for the time being.  The only way I see myself as improving upon my response (at least in the present) given a similar situation again in the future is to cut my losses and move out earlier.  Thankfully, my new apartment was ready this past Tuesday and I moved out.  Equally liberating, only different.

Flowers accompanied by a handwritten note likely speak volumes.  Even so, I haven't heard from the girl in question and doubt I will ever again this side of Heaven.  But knowing there is nothing more I could do, or say, is freeing.

Big Sky reflections (Part 1)...

There was snow the morning of my graduation.  Snow is a common feature on the landscape in Bozeman, enough so that I wasn’t all that surprised to wake to the new whiteness of campus.  I learned to love the snow, as well as the state as a whole, as an undergrad.  It was a fitting morning to someone wrapping up a chapter of his life there.

Sunsets have always moved me deeply and those witnessed in Bozeman will likely always remain with me.  For roughly two years of my life, I lived on the 9th floor of a pie-shaped building with a room that was literally the westernmost room on campus.  My windows formed a near perfect panorama and on those nights where we had a clear view to the west, I would draw up the shades and open my door to those on my floor.  Slowly, but surely, my friends would begin to trickle in, chair in hand, to witness the glorifying colors of God's creation.

After my graduation ceremony that morning, my mom and I loaded up the car one last time for the return trip to Rapid City.  I still recall, and hope I always remember, the striking sunset that night as we crossed the border into Wyoming.  My mom, who knew at the time what these sunsets meant to me, warmly said that Montana was saying good-bye to me.

Montana was in my blood from day one.  This past week I was reminded of this upon crossing the stateline on my way to Billings.  Billings may leave much to be desired because of its exposed industrial carnage within plain sight of highway travelers, but even this community calls out to me.  I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to articulate what it is exactly that beckons me to this land time and again, but it’s there.

As with any road trip, there is much time for thought and reflection.  Because there is much to tell, over the next week or so, I will be sharing some of those thoughts here.  I hope you will join me.