The Frontier.1

I can see that the problem of evil explanation (see blogs from 7/16 and 7/17) is going to have to wait a few days. I’ve got a Frontier that I need to rediscover. 

If I was on American Idol (old school) right now, Simon Cowell would probably be saying, “First, this is a singing competition. Hello? And secondly, this seems a little self-indulgent.” 

And I would respond, “Well, Simon. that’s the risk of sharing one’s journey publicly instead of simply critiquing others’ steps while sitting on life’s balcony. Oops. Did I just say that out loud? I’m sorry. Jesus loves you, but everybody else thinks you’re an . . .” 

What a morning I’ve had. I’ve been laughing out loud and crying surely, truly happy tears Vern. The waitress at the hotel is seriously concerned about me. I’m in Knoxville, TN having breakfast on the way to pick up my daughter, Caroline, who’s been at Young Life’s Frontier Ranch in Colorado for a month on the work crew. We have missed her terribly, and I cannot wait to pick her up later today. 

I spent many summers at Frontier. In 1993, I was the all-summer maintenance intern there and I’ve been reflecting about all the memories and friendships while driving. 

Right after I woke up and posted the previous blog entry, In the Zone, I got a text from a friend who is so dear to me that I cannot type clearly because of the tears in my eyes right now. He happened to be an all-summer intern at Frontier that same summer of ’93 and we became close friends in a very short time. He had no idea that I’m on my way to pick up Caroline coming home from the place where our friendship was forged. We texted for a half hour: I sent him the picture of the Frontier Ranch sign—long gone now but very much a part of many moonlit nights that summer like the one in the picture. He, in turn, sent a bunch of current pictures from his summer. We traded memories and moments from 1993 as well as this morning. Laughter, tears, and a very concerned waitress.

Frontier Ranch is one of my very favorite places on this earth. I grew up there. I don’t mean that it’s the place where I spent my childhood; I mean I grew up there. I learned about life, faith, God, and myself there. Specifically, during the summer of 1993, I learned that though I could live the single life just fine, I was a more complete and better person with a woman named Emma beside me. So. . . I asked her to marry me a month after I got home from Frontier. 

As I look at this picture of the Frontier Ranch sign, it occurs to me that, sometimes, reflections only happen in the rear view. The sign is backwards only because I’m looking back at where I came from to get there. 

I think that’s the road the bloggin’ noggin will travel for a few days. Hope you enjoy the journey with me. 

And Simon, you can come along, too. Here’s some duct tape for your mouth.