Amid imperfection

Why do I do this? Why is this me?

Such thoughts filled my brain as I drove north on Interstate 5, awash with anxiety. In the passenger seat Tim dozed. Behind me our son absorbed music through headphones and watched farmland scenery pass by.

I'd spent the morning ticking off lists in my head and trying to do five things at once, getting ready for a two-night campout. Tim worked until early afternoon, then came home and loaded our conglomerated stuff neatly into the rear of the van. As my husband thought of many last minute activities I rechecked the dog and cat's ample supplies (they remain home when we go, their pet door a handy access to the back yard), all the while becoming more tense.

I'm a master at envisioning terrible scenes of car crashes, natural disasters, and, heaven forbid, forgetting the ketchup. It all comes, I guess, of wanting to do things right. I've always sought perfection. I've lived long enough to learn it's a slippery devil.

By the time I turned off I-5 and pointed us northeast toward the Santiam Pass area near Mt. Jefferson's wilderness, I wondered if maybe I should give up. If every time we go somewhere woodsy I have to anticipate ruin and tighten my muscles like the Sunday paper's rubber band, maybe this isn't good for me. Maybe getting away isn't worth it. Next time, I thought, I'll tell the guys sorry. I'll stay home.

Right then a bald eagle flew across the road yards ahead of us, just above eye level.

"Hey!" I yelled. "Look!" I stabbed the side window as Tim and my son caught sight of its snow-feathered tail and magnificent wingspan disappearing over a field.

My insides began to unwind.

Today I catch up at home. Our van is checked in to the mechanic's shop, because its engine began behaving badly after our second hike. We didn't know the road up to the hike would be so steep and potholed, or that the van would be nabbed by anxiety and flash its ominous "Service Engine Soon" light and refuse to offer much horsepower for the return trip home (fortunately Tim drove, and it was mostly downhill).

I didn't know how breath-catching the sunlit forest would be, or how the 360-degree blue-skied view atop Triangulation Peak would remain etched into my psyche to soothe every nerve, even though my camera batteries died before I could get a single shot(!). Warmer air than should have been possible lingered both evenings, as we sat on camp chairs talking into the dusky hours, enjoying the world sans plug-ins and traffic noise.

It all stimulated thoughts from my recent Kierkegaard readings, which if I've understood speak of living as an individual before God and life. No faith exists without risk. And so to attempt being who I am entails discomfort. But how the bright spots linger amid this imperfection.

So here are some imperfect pictures (as in, taken by Tim's low res digital camera). Fill in the missing pixels with imagination, while I go peek at tonight's beautiful full moon.

Tim found Boca Cave after descending a scrambly slope.


He shot me on top of the world.


It was pretty.