It’s almost time to start the semester! We just have to get through this snowstorm, and then the real fun can start.

Speaking of real fun, that’s all I’ve been doing since I got back to Maine. Visiting people, catching up, making plans, etc. since that all tends to become “less important” and “harder to do” once school starts. No excuses, my friends. Take time for the people in your life. You don’t know what they may be going through. Work, school, societal success? All things you can’t take with you to the other side when you’re dead. You know what does remain through the ages, though? The loyalty of friendship.

Did you know there is a section of the book of Hebrews dubbed the “hall of heroes”? Chapter 11 talks about the faith of many Israelites who definitely earned the title of hero. And that’s nice, but I never got to go on a hike with Moses or do some carpentry with Noah. So I wrote in my bible on the page next to chapter 13, “my hall of heroes” to make it more personal and I filled it with the people in my life who mean the most to me. Look through the photos for some examples, and for gosh sakes, I couldn’t put everyone, cause you would be here forever.

I’ve been thinking (more like prayerfully wrestling) a lot about the women in my life who have poured into me, especially as I start my 20’s. I used to think that I was not worth noticing, much less worth enough to be cared for. I’m trying to shake off all of that crap from adolescence in addition to many other things.

I wrote a poem. I would like to share it here, if that’s ok? If you’re familiar with the enneagram, it’s the six-est poem to ever six, since I am a six (counter-phobic with a 5 wing). Many times when I need to work things out with God, I’ll sit down at my desk or at a Starbucks with full intention of praying and reading the bible for wisdom and doing an assortment of other things I think to be super spiritual. However, I usually end up writing instead. And when I get to the end of that poem or whatever, literally none of the problems I sat down with are solved, I didn’t gain any answer, and I probably only talked to God about it for like 5 minutes before the allure of a blank page and a pencil carried me away.

But I feel so much lighter.

A fun little fingerprint for this poem that you probably wouldn’t notice unless I told you-lots of punctuation is missing and it is very sporadically placed throughout the whole thing. I did this purposely to mirror the writing process for this particular poem. I would write a line, stop, write a stanza, sleep on it, finish a part, cry a little, and then it was done! I’ve was pretty on-the-go for the past two days this poem was birthed. I really hope you like it.

I.

One night

I decided to throw away the moon

I haven’t stopped changing into a werewolf

But I don’t think those two things are related anymore

One night I decided to run boiling wild and I

ended up staring the Dark Forest in the face

I was too scared (to go further) 

because it looked like it would just swallow me whole

So I turned back with my hands shoved deep in my pockets

So later that night,

I tied them to the bedpost

and swore that I would never look there again.

One night

I told some girls about my staring contest with the forest

And I have never been the same.

II.

I have never been the same

since I decided to

Start Trusting Women

I might boldly say it was the best decision I ever made

To be able to look upon our bodies with pure eyed glace

instead of bitter wildness.

So glad our bodies have

grown past seedling, weeds, and predator

Grown through adolescent-

Synonymous with shame, stretching, comparison, scarring-

And now

here-

What I sometimes refer to as the mud-filled mouths of our twenties-

Bold full women

who have put the ways of childhood behind them

You would be quick to miss this miracle

if you’ve never heard a room overflowing with women’s musical laughter.

III.

I am so nearsighted

I am so selfish

I remember everything

but most nights it still feels like I’m paying for sins I don’t remember committing

But here I am

On the precipice of a decade

overwhelmed by all the darkness

but so ready to go down swinging in Glory.

I can only hope that those around me would do the same

Then, maybe

I will be OK.

How are you making time for those in your hall of heroes? Have you ever thought about those who have helped you become who you are now? Have you written them down so you remember them? My encouragement today is to do so. Imitate your leaders! Pray for your leaders! Don’t lose perspective, and don’t lose heart.

~J

“Remember your leaders, who spoke the word of God to you. Consider the outcome of their way of life and imitate their faith.”-Hebrews 13:7

This is the second story of our winter break story series! I was racking my brain trying to think of a story that didn’t involve the ranch, and this is the one I landed on.

Side note: I am currently writing this at the airport while I am waiting for my flight back to Maine, and I really have to go to the bathroom. I hate taking all my carry-on luggage in with me, so I’ll probably just hold it for the next 4 hours. 

Anyway! This is the story of how I got the cops called on me…

The summer of 2016, before I started college, I worked for the Rockland County Conservation and Service Corps. Although a mouthful to say, it was an AWESOME place to work. New York readers, this is an awesome opportunity for college-age students interested in environmental science or other similar fields. I am SO lucky that there was something like this is my hometown to give me practical field experience before I went away. I was one of the youngest on the corps, as many were in their later college years and I had just turned 18. But then again, I tend to be the youngest wherever I go.

Building new trail on the AT’s little brother, the Adirondack Traill, that runs from Albany to NYC!

This was the corps after cleaning up a lake with literal tons of trash pollution in a hasidic community. Fun fact, this was me a couple hours before the night of my senior prom!

Farming…

We had a week of intense training up at a Cornell University site, then the corps of about 30 people got split up to different agencies in the county to work for the summer and steward the environment in unique ways. Some got placed at the recycling plant, others to farms, another group were the water quality peeps, and two incredibly hard workers were sent to split rocks and break ground to make new trails on the AT. I was in the largest group of 6 people working on major trail restoration for the county parks, invasive species removal, and water testing. Water testing sounds fancy, but was really just us putting a net in a river and collecting the bugs that live in the water and plopping them in vials to see how healthy the river was.

So the vials were a little smaller than my fist, but I swear on my life one day while we were saining we found a millipede that would barely fit in the jar, and flailed around in the alcohol meant to kill it for 5 minutes!!! In other words, IT WAS REALLY FREAKING BIG AND CREEPY-CRAWLY!

Anyway, that is pretty much what I and my team did for the whole summer, along with many other larger projects with the whole corps. We basically got paid to hike.

The snag was most of the time we had to do either the water testing or the invasive species blocks in hard to get to areas in the county. One Tuesday, we split up to cover all the blocks for the day, and my coworker Tim and I pulled into a street adjacent to a field surrounded by woods to check for invasive species. We were smack dab in the middle of a hasidic community on a regular residential street. For those of you who don’t know what that is, they are a sect of Jewish Orthodox people (like the New York version of Amish, although not entirely the same as I know some very lovely Amish people). They speak Hebrew or Hebrew dialects as their primary language (most speak english, although the kids rarely do), live in massive multi-family houses in very close community with each other, and usually are very distrustful of anyone not hasidic.

So obviously, Tim and I are not hasidic. We parked on the street and gathered our gear to test the woods and the field. On the lawn of one of the houses, we saw a hasidic mother and her daughter. We waved hello, then went into the woods. I literally didn’t think twice about it because after all, we were just doing our job, until I heard a deep voice behind us in the middle of the woods call out, “Hey! What are you doing here?”

Tim and I whipped around and saw three police officers in full gear. I’m talking bulletproof vests, guns and tasers, the works. We stopped, and they came up to us and we tried to explain what were doing. It was not easy; they caught us off guard and made us tongue-tied as we tried to explain that we actually work for two government agencies. One of the officers looked at us and told the others that they could go. We headed out of the woods and explained our situation, and he told us that the woman called the cops when she saw a guy and a girl head into a remote part of the woods that she thought was private property.

Duh…

In retrospect, we probably should have gone up to her and introduced what we were doing, but we thought our clipboards made us look official enough. The cop kind of gave a chuckle at the end of it as he took our names and the number of our boss and let us go. Tim and I looked at each other and gave a nervous laugh. We finished quickly, and I went home after a very stressful day at work.

Looking back, it makes me sad that most hasidic people are a) so distrusting of outsiders and b) do not know how to take care of the environment. And I’m not saying they don’t just recycle. The day we did a cleanup at a lake in their community (the picture of us in the truck), we removed hundreds of garbage bags full of trash from the shore of a lake there. We even got on a boat and went out in the middle and collected more trash. That was a full days work and we barely made a dent.

So the moral of this story, I guess, is pick up your trash and always introduce yourself.

~J

P.S. Garlic Mustard and Wineberries are common invasive species in New York, and I’m sure in many other places, that are both completely edible. Not only will you help the local ecosystems by picking them for consumption, but they are both delicious. They were trail-side snacks we would eat as we did our trail maintenance. Nothing raised the group moral more than stumbling across a Wineberry bush. Garlic Mustard is delicious in pastas. If you ever come across them, try it out! As always, practice safe plant identification techniques before consuming anything wild! 🙂

I hope all of my student friends have been rife with the end stages of the winter break decomposition! I know I have, for the first time in a while, gotten to take full advantage of doing NOTHING while on break. For all my non student friends out there, how is adulthood?

Speaking of adulthood, I just received today my appointment for an interview with Hannaford’s. Weddings in Louisiana do not come cheap, such as the lovely one I will be attending in March, so I will hopefully be getting a part time job at the Gorham location this semester to offset the cost of that (and all my Nav friends who will be going on missions trips this summer that I of course can’t wait to donate to…)

I’m almost willfully determined to not let this job get in the way of any of the plans I had this semester, such as discipleship (or alongsidership as we say, the distinction of which is for another blog post) and doing outreach on campus and the many other happenings of Navs as we gear up for this semester, continuing to train to get my brown belt in martial arts, and hopefully begin the long but worthwhile “last leg” of my college career on a good GPA, I mean, foot.

Well, maybe it’s less of a willful determination and more of a stubborn pride-as many of my friends work part time as well as go to school. 

But enough of those boring life updates! You came here for a story didn’t you?! Do you have your snacks? Do you have your blanket? I love telling stories; I only wish we were around a fire in the middle of the woods…

…

I remember my first pair of cowboy boots as well as anyone remembers their first bike. I got them a few days before I flew out to Colorado for my first summer at Wind River in 2017. Apparently, a cowboy hat for me was flying in a few days later on the head of one of the most amazing people I have ever met, although at the time I didn’t know it yet (spoiler-it was Rebecca Nelson, the sister of Gabrielle, the one who had told me about Wind River!) The boots were up to me, though. I headed out for the closest and most likely place to get cowboy boots in the Northeast…New Jersey.

No, really, that’s where I got them! In college, my mom worked for a shoe store, and now the guy owned a shop in New Jersey. Surely they must have cowboy boots! They, in fact, did carry them, but in only two styles-short and tall. I chose the short pair, a Dingo brand of boots, as they would probably make less of a statement. I was nervous and going for obscurity back then. I almost fell over when I looked at the price-I couldn’t in my wildest imagination conjure up why cowboy boots of all things could be that much. But I forked over the money and started to break them in. After all, I was working at a dude ranch! I did need them…

My first pair of cowboy boots, ready for an adventure to Colorado for the summer of 2017.

Those boots served me well that summer, but once I returned home, they were worse for the wear. I was not up to date (more like not trained in the slightest) in boot care skill. Up until this point in my simple, yankee life, I hadn’t worn anything that required more work than laceless converse sneakers. I recall one time during that summer, I was helping scoop poop in the worst rainstorm I experienced in my two years at the ranch. It was just pouring down buckets of rain (which makes poop very hard to scoop, mind you) and guess what I was in? My feet are comically small, so borrowing someone else’s old pair or the community muck boots really aren’t ever really helpful as the smallest one is always at least two sizes too big for me. I never wanted to get caught in shoes too big in case Don needed me to do my New-York-City-Fastwalk to get him something (i.e. Jenna-I- need-to-you-sprint-for-this-as-fast-as-your-legs-can-carry-you. It was a little joke we shared.)

All this being said, even after four (not kidding) pricey trips to the shoemaker once I was home, the boots did not seem up for another summer at the ranch. I really didn’t mind though, never being one for vanity*. I took with me this time in 2018 a pair of old workboot-like boots that I got for free, hoping that I could save my cowboy boots for square dancing and hootenanny and other non-horse poop/dirt related ranch actives. These workboot boots, however, were not up to the challenge as they were already damaged from the previous spring semester’s activities of demolition and construction (again, not kidding. Hint-transformation project). By the time the first week of Healing Warriors rolled around, there was simply no hiding how bad these boots were. They were not wearable anymore, and I was back to wearing my Dingo boots 24/7 which were not in much better shape.

Just for reference, these were the boots that I broke and tried to repair.

I was in the dining hall trying to piece these back together when one of the volunteers for the ministry/guest that week walked in. She looked at me quite puzzled until I gave up with the super-glue and told her the comical story up until this point. She smiled and left to rejoin Sports Night, where a poorly placed kick of mine to a soccer ball was the last straw for these boots and led to the need for the super-glue.

After the hootenanny the following evening, this saint of a woman took me aside and told me that she wanted to get me new boots. I thanked her, but told her we couldn’t really do that. She said, “I already cleared it with Don, we’re doing it.” She had her mind made up, so I thanked her again and walked away, not really expecting that she was going to follow through with what she said. She, after all, did not know how small my feet were and couldn’t go out and buy them for me for herself, right?

After the video of the week had been played that following night to end the guests time at the ranch, she again came up to me and handed me an envelope. I thanked her again, and wished her and her husband a good rest of the summer. They were awesome people, and volunteered for Wind River in many ways. When I got back to my office that night, I put the envelope down and headed up to bed, exhausted after the full first week of guests. I thought to myself, it’s probably like $50 or something.

The next morning, I went down to eat breakfast and opened the envelope. Inside was $200, given by her and her husband and another couple from the ranch, with a little note saying, For new cowboy boots. I burst into tears and ran off to thank them for what they had done before they left. After about a week and a half, thanks to Don’s wife, Sarah, I was able to go into town and buy my new, durable, pair of Ariat cowboy boots. I was really conflicted about buying them though, I will confess. I felt really uncomfortable spending that much money on myself, and wanted to give it away to missions or something. But all the full-time staff urged me to do as they had written on the note. Don even was on the roof of the staff building one time, although I didn’t know it, and he kept shouting in a low, deep voice, “Jenna, go get new boots!” I thought for sure I was going crazy and had finally cracked, and I made myself dizzy turning every which way trying to figure out if I was hearing the voice of God or someone was being really weird and hiding until I realized that it was Don on the roof calling down to me and laughing.

I never imagined being so blessed by the guests of Wind River. It was my job to go out of my way and bless them, after all! My deepest gratitude will never be enough to those two couples who saw a girl in need and decided to bless her beyond her imagination. I guess  God is like that, though, and they were just acting in obedience to him. I wish so badly that I could tell you who they were and you could join in with me to thank them for what they did, but they probably want to remain anonymous. It probably seemed small to them in the moment, but I love those boots like nothing you could ever imagine

The new boots. Photo creds (as always) to Heather-this was taken at our Student Leaders retreat in August of that summer. Perhaps they are looking wistfully, thinking that Maine sunsets are alright, but Colorado’s are better.

They are the smallest piece of the ranch that I get to take with me wherever I go. (Unlike Gabrielle, I could not bring back a horse. She really did though, ask her about it sometime). I clunk around in them, and they laugh with me at shenanigans the staff and I used to play. They cry with me when I just want to return to a place where things made sense and the days were long and full of possibility. They hold some of the burden of the already overflowing heart of a part-time cowgirl.

I charge you now to think about how you can be the blesser in your surroundings as these people were to me in theirs. Maybe it’s money, maybe it’s time, maybe it’s moral support. But when you go out of your way to look for those who need an act of kindness done for and to them, you probably won’t have to walk far. Hopefully your boots don’t break before then. But even if they do, I think you’ll be alright…

~J

*I would probably retract this statement if I was under oath due to the fact that my friend Ashley has the most gorgeous pair of boots I have ever seen in my life-gray leather with a sewn white flower pattern around the toe and up the sides, and that I would give my right arm for a pair like that in my size. Ashley, if you’re reading this, I’ll take them when your done with them. I’ll just wear a lot of thick socks to make them fit!