Hope

Contrary to current popular belief, hope is not a word invented by President Obama. It is a word that should actually make us feel better and long for something better. It should instill in us a desire to never want to give up. Hope is fragile and easy to lose. Today while out on a hike with my camera I took a long exposure of some ice formed over a moving stream. This makes the ice stand out against the motion of the water. I moved on and saw a hawk rapidly approaching, flying low, and directly towards me. I lifted my camera and fired a number of shots. In a blink he was gone. Wow! I hoped I had got one good shot. I looked at my digital viewfinder only to see blurry images. I had forgotten to reset my shutter speed and now all I got was...an angel? I continued towards the car at least happy I had seen such a beautiful creature resetting my camera as I walked yet still disappointed I had missed my shot. I had given up hope. Gliding out of the trees ahead the same hawk approached, this time I was ready, aimed, fired. He flew across my field of view and then upwards towards a second hawk - it was a rare and beautiful site. The two played in the air and I got more and better shots because I waited and was ready. This is how hope is. When we think it is gone and that opportunity has passed us by, we need to hold on, get ready, use the past as a stepping stone and prepare for what God has in store for us down the road. The result of having hope may be better than what we could have imagined or better than what we were disappointed in missing the first time.

Hope

Contrary to current popular belief, hope is not a word invented by President Obama. It is a word that should actually make us feel better and long for something better. It should instill in us a desire to never want to give up. Hope is fragile and easy to lose. Today while out on a hike with my camera I took a long exposure of some ice formed over a moving stream. This makes the ice stand out against the motion of the water. I moved on and saw a hawk rapidly approaching, flying low, and directly towards me. I lifted my camera and fired a number of shots. In a blink he was gone. Wow! I hoped I had got one good shot. I looked at my digital viewfinder only to see blurry images. I had forgotten to reset my shutter speed and now all I got was...an angel? I continued towards the car at least happy I had seen such a beautiful creature resetting my camera as I walked yet still disappointed I had missed my shot. I had given up hope. Gliding out of the trees ahead the same hawk approached, this time I was ready, aimed, fired. He flew across my field of view and then upwards towards a second hawk - it was a rare and beautiful site. The two played in the air and I got more and better shots because I waited and was ready. This is how hope is. When we think it is gone and that opportunity has passed us by, we need to hold on, get ready, use the past as a stepping stone and prepare for what God has in store for us down the road. The result of having hope may be better than what we could have imagined or better than what we were disappointed in missing the first time.

Points of Reference

When skiing up the local resort the other night with the aid of my climbing skins affixed to the bottom of my skis, I could not help but feel as though I was barely moving. It seemed no matter how fast my legs moved or how hard I was breathing, the top of the mountain was getting no closer. It was a dark night with visibility made more difficult by the snow which was falling and the thick clouds which had settled in over the mountains. Normally with a little moonlight or the lights from town hitting the white hillside I have enough light by which to ascend. Typically I will use a headlamp not so that I may see, but so that others may see me thereby avoiding a collision with sledders, other skiers or snowmobiles. I figured I would keep my light off, my music off and just ascend by feel and by sound, keeping an ear out for any engine noise or schussing sounds. In the dark of night all was quiet as I felt myself move upwardly through what felt like an open abyss, or like being adrift in an open sea, maybe even floating in space. What I soon realized is that I had nothing to use as a gauge for speed or distance travelled. No trees at the side of the run, no sounds of activity passing by, no grasses brushing my shin to give me the sensation of movement - I could have been on a treadmill for all I knew. Then in the distance I saw a light. It was the small glow of some other party's headlamp. Though it appeared dim and distant I now had something to focus my attention on and strive towards. I reoriented my skis to regain the correct trajectory (assuming that they were on the same run as I was) and kept going with the fresh vigor of someone with purpose and direction. The light would momentarily disappear when they would roll over a knoll or bend down to fiddle with their equipment, but I kept my bearing on them and soon saw the light getting brighter. After a while I could even make out the shape of two figures walking up, and after another hundred strides as I passed them by could see that hey were ascending sans skis or snowshoes. Cresting the last pitch of this run I could now see the light emitted by the lifthouse at the top and make out what would be my stopping point. And just as I deskinned, goggled up, and prepared for my descent two snowcats came cruising by blazing a smooth path of corduroy for me to follow all the way down. It became my point of reference. I knew that as long as the snow underfoot was smooth I would be fine, but the moment it became rough I would need to slow down so as not to hit the broadside of a Mogul in the dark.
On skis and in life we need anchors, we need to tie off "to the rock that is higher than I", we need points of reference that let us know we are on track. Maybe in the daylight it is the trees deeply rooted on the side of a trail, but what do we use when the going gets tough and the fog sets in? For me it becomes the people around me who are solid in character and in faith, it is scripture in its truth and wisdom, it is God's sovereignty over my life.
The next day I had the chance to climb the Baldspot above Beaver Creek resort in storm conditions. Along with two friends though it was now daylight I was having the same experience where I could not distinguish slope from sky. This can make for treacherous skiing especially if alone, but if we stay close enough we can use each other as buoys yo yo-ing down the mountain on our bearing using each other as points of reference.
In relationships, in our job, what acts as that to keep us in check? Honest communication exhorting each other and building each other up. Emotions, while not always reliable can serve as a gauge. Joy - is there any in your journey? But mostly, what is the light up ahead that you are oriented towards? I am the light of the world - Jesus said.

Points of Reference

When skiing up the local resort the other night with the aid of my climbing skins affixed to the bottom of my skis, I could not help but feel as though I was barely moving. It seemed no matter how fast my legs moved or how hard I was breathing, the top of the mountain was getting no closer. It was a dark night with visibility made more difficult by the snow which was falling and the thick clouds which had settled in over the mountains. Normally with a little moonlight or the lights from town hitting the white hillside I have enough light by which to ascend. Typically I will use a headlamp not so that I may see, but so that others may see me thereby avoiding a collision with sledders, other skiers or snowmobiles. I figured I would keep my light off, my music off and just ascend by feel and by sound, keeping an ear out for any engine noise or schussing sounds. In the dark of night all was quiet as I felt myself move upwardly through what felt like an open abyss, or like being adrift in an open sea, maybe even floating in space. What I soon realized is that I had nothing to use as a gauge for speed or distance travelled. No trees at the side of the run, no sounds of activity passing by, no grasses brushing my shin to give me the sensation of movement - I could have been on a treadmill for all I knew. Then in the distance I saw a light. It was the small glow of some other party's headlamp. Though it appeared dim and distant I now had something to focus my attention on and strive towards. I reoriented my skis to regain the correct trajectory (assuming that they were on the same run as I was) and kept going with the fresh vigor of someone with purpose and direction. The light would momentarily disappear when they would roll over a knoll or bend down to fiddle with their equipment, but I kept my bearing on them and soon saw the light getting brighter. After a while I could even make out the shape of two figures walking up, and after another hundred strides as I passed them by could see that hey were ascending sans skis or snowshoes. Cresting the last pitch of this run I could now see the light emitted by the lifthouse at the top and make out what would be my stopping point. And just as I deskinned, goggled up, and prepared for my descent two snowcats came cruising by blazing a smooth path of corduroy for me to follow all the way down. It became my point of reference. I knew that as long as the snow underfoot was smooth I would be fine, but the moment it became rough I would need to slow down so as not to hit the broadside of a Mogul in the dark.
On skis and in life we need anchors, we need to tie off "to the rock that is higher than I", we need points of reference that let us know we are on track. Maybe in the daylight it is the trees deeply rooted on the side of a trail, but what do we use when the going gets tough and the fog sets in? For me it becomes the people around me who are solid in character and in faith, it is scripture in its truth and wisdom, it is God's sovereignty over my life.
The next day I had the chance to climb the Baldspot above Beaver Creek resort in storm conditions. Along with two friends though it was now daylight I was having the same experience where I could not distinguish slope from sky. This can make for treacherous skiing especially if alone, but if we stay close enough we can use each other as buoys yo yo-ing down the mountain on our bearing using each other as points of reference.
In relationships, in our job, what acts as that to keep us in check? Honest communication exhorting each other and building each other up. Emotions, while not always reliable can serve as a gauge. Joy - is there any in your journey? But mostly, what is the light up ahead that you are oriented towards? I am the light of the world - Jesus said.

Sacrifice

"Sacrifice" is my word for the year 2008. That said, I am truly only scratching the surface of the meaning of this word and the implications it has on my life, and when others apply it, the implications it has on us all. Constantly I try to understand this word and what it means for my family and me...what it means for our country. In these times of economic and political uncertainty there are a lot of sacrifices being made. Cutting back and trimming the fat, working harder to get less and pay more. The arrival of my twin girls this year has shown me exactly how selfish I can be, especially when it comes to spending. Sacrifice - keep what you've got...the holey socks will make it one more winter...upgrade next year. As I struggle with this word - and even more its application in my life - I have been shown an even greater sacrifice. It is what the men and women of the armed forces are making every day as they serve in a war zone, hoping that their efforts will one day provide freedom and liberty to victims of oppression. Recently I had the opportunity to meet Army Captain Ivan Castro of the 7th Special Forces unit and climb to 14,000 feet here in Colorado on a blustery day. Ivan lost his sight while serving in Iraq when a mortar exploded just five feet from him. Thus, killing his two friends next to him and permanantly blinding him in both eyes, filling him with enough shrapnel to set off airport metal detectors. It is a huge price to pay. It is a huge sacrifice that has been made, but I feel certainly not in vain.

Starting at 7:00 a.m. we began our climb with clear skies and a swift breeze. By 10:00 a.m. we were well on our way and a bit of snow was beginning to fall (sideways and at 50 mph). Shortly after noon we had hit our high point as the wind had hit us and forced us to our knees. As a blind man, this was Ivan's first climb. Now, we were just short of the summit, pushing through knee deep snow, with 80 mph wind gusts. These conditions proved to be just a little more than we could justify for safety's sake. The summit would have to wait for another day. Our health and wellbeing came first, and even though I knew Ivan would have crawled with me to the summit I just couldn't ask him do it. We pulled out the American flag in honor of his fallen comrades and our country and celebrated our high point as the wind drove the stinging snow into our faces and down our throats. As I introduced Ivan to climbing and got to know him, I kept thinking of the sacrifice he made for his country and how I still have so much to learn about this, as I attempt to live it for my family whom I love. He showed me that a patriot never gives up, by way of his enduring commitment to continue serving in the Army while blind. I saw this resolve as we climbed and know now that it is this same resolve we must all show to get through trials. To get to the top or even just survive will require some self sacrifice, perhaps giving up what is comfortable, selfish, or easy so that someone else can get a moment on a summit or live in a land of the free.

Sacrifice

"Sacrifice" is my word for the year 2008. That said, I am truly only scratching the surface of the meaning of this word and the implications it has on my life, and when others apply it, the implications it has on us all. Constantly I try to understand this word and what it means for my family and me...what it means for our country. In these times of economic and political uncertainty there are a lot of sacrifices being made. Cutting back and trimming the fat, working harder to get less and pay more. The arrival of my twin girls this year has shown me exactly how selfish I can be, especially when it comes to spending. Sacrifice - keep what you've got...the holey socks will make it one more winter...upgrade next year. As I struggle with this word - and even more its application in my life - I have been shown an even greater sacrifice. It is what the men and women of the armed forces are making every day as they serve in a war zone, hoping that their efforts will one day provide freedom and liberty to victims of oppression. Recently I had the opportunity to meet Army Captain Ivan Castro of the 7th Special Forces unit and climb to 14,000 feet here in Colorado on a blustery day. Ivan lost his sight while serving in Iraq when a mortar exploded just five feet from him. Thus, killing his two friends next to him and permanantly blinding him in both eyes, filling him with enough shrapnel to set off airport metal detectors. It is a huge price to pay. It is a huge sacrifice that has been made, but I feel certainly not in vain.

Starting at 7:00 a.m. we began our climb with clear skies and a swift breeze. By 10:00 a.m. we were well on our way and a bit of snow was beginning to fall (sideways and at 50 mph). Shortly after noon we had hit our high point as the wind had hit us and forced us to our knees. As a blind man, this was Ivan's first climb. Now, we were just short of the summit, pushing through knee deep snow, with 80 mph wind gusts. These conditions proved to be just a little more than we could justify for safety's sake. The summit would have to wait for another day. Our health and wellbeing came first, and even though I knew Ivan would have crawled with me to the summit I just couldn't ask him do it. We pulled out the American flag in honor of his fallen comrades and our country and celebrated our high point as the wind drove the stinging snow into our faces and down our throats. As I introduced Ivan to climbing and got to know him, I kept thinking of the sacrifice he made for his country and how I still have so much to learn about this, as I attempt to live it for my family whom I love. He showed me that a patriot never gives up, by way of his enduring commitment to continue serving in the Army while blind. I saw this resolve as we climbed and know now that it is this same resolve we must all show to get through trials. To get to the top or even just survive will require some self sacrifice, perhaps giving up what is comfortable, selfish, or easy so that someone else can get a moment on a summit or live in a land of the free.

Welcome to the Planet

3:43 a.m. Monday morning June 30, 2008, I witnessed the arrival of my two new baby girls. Karis Carolyn Alexander was the first born that morning, and 23 minutes later her sister Aralyn (Ary) Jeri Alexander was tugged out of her comfortable, familiar surroundings onto terra firma. Welcome to the family, girls! Welcome to the planet!

The hours of labor passed quickly for me as we stayed up through the night counting to ten what must have been 3,000 times. Amy and I remained awake into the next day for a total of forty waking hours, twelve of which were labor. Though time flew for me, (perhaps because I was literally counting it) I am most certain that time was not flying for my wife Amy, but I was astonished at her cool resolve through the process, and even the ability to, at times, laugh (maybe this had something to do with the epidural she received just after we got to the hospital 6cm dilated, and less to do with the fact I was swapping climbing stories with the doctor as he was pulling on the babies with forceps).

Time to cut the cord, suction the nose and mouth, breathe for the first time, feel a touch directly on the skin. Wiped down, pushed around, poked and prodded, bruised and battered, flipped and flopped thankfully not dropped, under the lights naked and bare under the gaze of a dozen who stare. Quick to analyze every move, every spot, every groove; who is she like, what will she be.. it's a tough day for them, a tough day for me. Welcome to the planet.

The brightest moment by far was to see them rest in their mama's arms for the first time as she swung her head back and forth trying to get a good look at each baby just for a moment brief enough to let her pony tail catch up and hit her in the cheek and then swing again to see the other child in the other arm. Welcome to your loving mom's embrace.

The learning curve rises like that of a climb the likes of Everest. Reading books, getting advice, talking to docs, consultants, nurses, family, friends, it goes on and I think there is no way to know it all, and then suddenly I am reminded that just loving them is most important of all. We felt so loved with visits from family and friends, our Pastor and an outpouring of gifts. Our family has been blessed, and we know we are loved. Welcome to the planet.

Spending just two days in the hospital, we were able to take the girls from Denver back to our home in Avon, Colorado at just over 8,000 feet. This one hundred mile drive I have made numerous times in every condition imaginable, such as the blinding snowstorms on Vail pass at midnight, but none could compare to the stress of this drive with my new cargo. Contending with the July 4th holiday traffic, hail storms, road construction and 18 wheelers, I found it hard to keep from teaching my girls those special words in my vocabulary we hope young girls will never hear. Being sure not to go over 65 mph (something new to me) I would yell "how can people drive like that! Stupid trucker! Hey idiot - slow down!" I thought I did well until we were stopped at 10,500' just at the entrance to the Eisenhower tunnel for what seemed like an eternity. Usually not bad, but today I did the unusual maneuver typically reserved for those with California or Texas plates, I drove past all the cars, patiently waiting their turn to merge left, all the way to the front of the line and assumed the "Pole Position" for the change of the light. "Let me through, these girls are barely okay at 5,000', they are just little preemies, their little lungs can't handle this altitude!!!" They made it through of course thanks to Dad's pushy driving. Finally, I was put over the top when we pulled over for gas and a feeding in Silverthorne and the car failed to start. "Noooo! Please!!! This is just their first day in the real world!! My sister-in-law, Jill saved our day by giving us a "jump." After what seemed like years, we finally made it home.

Even through all of this I am still thankful, for all I can think of are the babies around the world born into poverty, where a mom might feed her child roots, dirt, or grass just to keep them quiet through the night in hope of food tomorrow. Welcome to this home girls.

Now three weeks old and doing well, I see it is my life that has changed. Lack of sleep, loads of stress, moments of peace, all laced with wonder, doubt, and introspection. I might be losing sleep, losing hair, losing patience, but at least I am gaining weight! What happened to the long bike rides and the days out in the mountains? Hurry up girls, there is a lot for us to go do, but please stay young forever and don't grow up to soon.

In coming aboard this earthly vessel there is no doubt we are all in for a wild ride. I will do my best, to be my best, so that they may have my best. When the late night's sleep deprived Mom and Dad are jolted out of bed by shrill cries, just like on the road, we will try to keep our hands at ten and two and not be afraid to ask for a "jump" when we need it most.