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The Gibsons and Goblin Valley

6/21/2021

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Months ago, Jill Gibson (Lance’s sister) asked if I would go introduce her family to the Goblin Valley area.   Always (almost) up for an adventure, Lance and I agreed.  They’d take their RV, we’d take our tent, we’d meet at site 22 in the Goblin Valley State Park campground.   Little did we know, when we made our plans, that this would be the hottest June on record…

Loaded with a huge cooler filled with drinks and a small box of food, we left for Goblin Valley Wednesday afternoon.  “Why do I do this?,” I wondered as we drove out of town.   “I hope Chick feeds the animals.  I hope Miles makes it to youth conference.   I hope the sick show hog gets well…..”   Over and over I questioned my judgement in going.  “Why do I do this?  Why?  Why?  Why?

The next morning my questions were answered.  Emphatically.

I know why I left town.   Oh my lands!!!  I love being outdoors.    Beautiful.   BEAUTIFUL!!!   These are my happy places.   Being outdoors, in God’s magnificent creations, truly fills my cup.  Deep.  Quenching.  Filling.  Overflowing.  Joy.  Joy.  Joy.
 
We explored The Crack (a slot canyon off Behind the Reef Road), climbed on the goblins in Goblin Valley, rockhounded (is that a real verb?) in Hanksville, shopped and chatted (and chatted and chatted with Cathy) at Rockin Riddle Rock Shop, swam in the Green River at Swasey’s Beach, and hiked Little Wild Horse Canyon.   

Being with in nature was great.  Great!  Being with the Gibsons was also great.  Great!    Though we approach camping a little differently, we thoroughly enjoying camping together.   Lance and I put our sleeping pads and bags on the ground and slept comfortably under the stars; we would have been very uncomfortable in the Gibson’s RV.  Clearly, they preferred the RV to ground/star sleeping.   Kurt showered at least once every day; Lance and I were very comfortable in our un-showered state.  Showering while camping seems wrong to us; being filthy was wrong for Kurt.   Nonetheless, being together was right for all of us.

Together we watched an antelope doe and fawn wander through camp, endured the heat (110 degrees F during the day, dropping to 91 degrees F at night) and ate nachos at a Mexican food truck in Green River.    Lance and the boys kept the rock hammers busy; nothing like a hammer to entertain boys of all ages.   Griffin and AJ spent literal hours chasing lizards.  Jill and I read.  (Anxious People by Fredric Backman is an emotionally charged, brilliantly written book with a beautiful ending.)  Kurt spent several happy hours fixing his RV.     It was Lance’s first hiking adventure on his new knee.   “Saved by the walking stick” was the theme of his trip.  The knee did okay, with the help of his walking stick.   All of us drank.   LOTS.

On the way to Hanksville, we stopped to help a woman on the side of the road.  She needed duct tape and Lance had some in our van.   When she thanked us, I said, “I promised myself that next time I helped someone I would tell them why.   I want you to know that we helped you because that is what Jesus has taught us to do.”  She said, “Oh I love Jesus” and gave me a big hug.  “As the world speaks less of Christ, let us speak more of Him.” (Elder Bednar, Oct 2020, I think)

When we planned the trip, Jill made it very clear that she would not be hiking with us.  “I will spend my time reading in the RV,” she said.  On the first day of the trip, she asked if there were a hike I thought she could do.   YES!  I knew Little Wild Horse was the perfect hike for her.   And it was.  And she did it; 6.75 miles round trip.

Little Wild Horse never gets old.   Or, more accurately, it is very old and, in its antiquity, it is timeless.  Narrow passages.  Corkscrew twists.  Honeycombed walls.   Giant cliff faces.  It is more than awe-some.  It is awe-total.   Yep. I know why I leave home.   It does not get better than this.

And I know why I return home.   Home is where the heart is.    Nature is where my heart is filled but home is where my heart belongs.  We came home to find Terry (the hog that was sick) healthy, the garden dry, the sheep bleating and Ginger grunt/snorting.   Miles made it to youth conference, Chick fed the animals, and all was well.
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It was a great, great trip.   It was truly great to strengthen connections and make memories with the Gibsons.    I love that we share memories of some of my favorite places on Earth.    It was truly, truly, truly great to share the experience with Lance.   I am so grateful that I am married to a man who will sleep on a cement slab under the stars with me, who gets excited about canyons and rocks and lizards and snakes, and who—best of all—understands and appreciates and even treasures my nature-filled, home-centered heart.    

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Lance has my heart
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Entering Crack Canyon
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A boy and his hammer
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Saved by the walking stick
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Siblings enjoying (?) the canyon together
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A happy place for Kurt
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Aunt Linda Day

6/15/2021

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It was Aunt Linda day.   We spent the entire day celebrating her life and her reunion with her husband and her son Ray.    And it was a beautiful day.  Beautiful physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

The TV series The Highlander, speaks of the time of the gathering and proclaims, “There can be only one.”    Today was also a time of gathering but it was very much opposite of The Highlander.   Instead of one, there were many.  Many.  Many.    Linda brought us together once again, strengthening old connections and forging new ones.

The funeral service was a perfect combination of respect, tribute, and twist---exactly like Aunt Linda.   She respected things meriting respect, things like human rights, hard work, and our country; she paid tribute to family, the Jazz, and Christ, and, with an almost-but-not-really wicked grin, she generally added her Aunt Linda twist, something unexpected, unique, insightful, powerful, and fun. 

And such was the funeral.   Sara shared Monte’s words and her thoughts.   She delivered a beautiful tribute to her mother as an educator and gave specific messages to each grandchild.   JL also gave a beautiful tribute to her mother as a mother, greatest cheerleader, mentor, coach, and best friend.   A group of friends sang “My Turn on Earth” and ToMmY played a melody of hymns on the violin.  Beautiful.  Respecting both tradition and Aunt Linda.

Then the twist.   Aunt Linda had the last word.   In a video recorded by Sara, Aunt Linda answered the question “What advice would you give your family?”   Aunt Linda told life is journey; there will be good things and bad things.   When the good things come, don’t get all high and mighty.  When the bad things happen, don’t get depressed; you will get through it.  Support each other.   Work hard.  Monte, Sara, and JL are hard workers and the grandchildren should be hard workers too.  Give a little more than a day’s work for a day’s wages.   She ended singing “Don’t worry.  Be happy” and smiling.   Grinning, in fact.

Maybe she was grinning because she knew what was coming next…. 

After the closing prayer, ToMmY played the fiddle.   She fiddled as we stood, as Aunt Linda’s body was carried out, and as we filed from the room.   Fiddle music.   Foot-stomping, hand-clapping, heart-pumping fiddle music.   The Aunt Linda twist.    So perfect.  SO PERFECT!   

We drove to the Huntsville cemetery where three Ben Lomond Bagpipers played before Kurt Gibson dedicated the grave.  Respect.  Tribute.  Twist.   Perfect.

Love flowed, connections forged and strengthened.  Gathering.   It happened at the funeral, at the  graveside service, and again at the family dinner, a “catered” by Javier’s, Linda’s favorite restaurant.  I put “catered” in quotes because the family tried to cater it.   Javier’s insisted on donating it.   The love flows…. And will continue to flow for generations.
  
Thank you Aunt Linda. 
​  
Thank you.



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Stuck Sheep and the Shepherd

6/6/2021

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Miles, Lance and I came home from somewhere in the evening and, as we got out of the car, I heard a lamb bleating.  The sound was faint but distinctive.   The sheep almost always talk to us when we come out the back door or stand in the back yard---they know we are the source of grain and they always want more---so hearing a sheep calling was not unusual.   But this was not a usual sheep call.   I recognized the difference in the tone and went down to the sheep corral to investigate.     As I walked the 100 meters from the driveway to the sheep pen, it became more and more obvious to me that something was wrong.

And something was wrong.  One of the lambs had her head stuck.   She’d poked her head in, through the woven wire, and was caught.   She struggled all the more wildly as I approached, fighting both the grate and me.    Finally, I was able to push her head down and through the wire square, releasing her.   The crying and struggling stopped as she ran to her mommy. 

Ah, the parallels between the sheep and the Shepherd.    Christ hears our cries, often when no one else does.   Christ recognizes our voices and comes to our aid, often when no one else does.  Christ rescues us from the things that trap us, even when we put ourselves in the trap.   And we often fight His efforts to rescue us, even when we have asked for His help. 

Baaaaa!

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    Teresa Hislop
    thislop@msn.com

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