The sun risin', dangle in the...Golden and fair, in the sky

~Fleet Foxes (Sun it Rises)

I should be working on homework as the quarter is on its way out. But, instead, I finished a book this morning while sipping green tea in the sunlight and beauty of Lake Sammamish. My tea is cold now and, while I sit at my desk with no view and no sunlight, I don’t want to write a paper on my philosophy of education: I want to write about the book.

A friend of mine, Holly, recommended Through Painted Deserts to me at camp this summer. It was one of those books that she hugged herself and closed her eyes when she talked about it. I thought I should give this one a try if it meant that much to her. So, I went and picked it up at a bookstore before I left for Europe, not knowing the interesting parallels it would have to my life in real-time.

The book chronicles the pilgrimage of two guys in their young twenties, road-tripping from Houston, Texas to Oregon and their experiences along the way. I started it on the plane to Germany and thought it funny that I was leaving home (though my home has been transient for years now in some sense) as the two men in the book. One had never seen Oregon, and the other hailed from Oregon but had roamed around the country with no money, a crappy VW van and no timeline, priorities or agenda. He did whatever he wanted and allowed himself to meet and get to know people along his journeys, working odd jobs for cash, living in the woods and climbing mountains whenever he got the chance. Sometime I think that taking a year off and doing something like that could be a very important experience for me. I would do it in a heartbeat.

I have wanted to hike the Grand Canyon for a long time, and found myself in the pages of their painful, exhausting and awesome experience, wanting to go even more. I talked to my friend, Andrew, that night and we penciled in the end of September 2009 to make a trip all the way down the canyon. I can’t wait. Throughout the trip, surviving on pocket change, benevolent mechanics and free meals, the guys have many important and somewhat profound conversations in the absence of a car stereo. They also begin to realize that God has things to teach them through coincidental occurrences.

As they arrived in Oregon and the author beautifully describes the terrain and smells, it made me feel as though I had never left. They stopped for gas in Eugene, continued on to Portland in I-5 and over to Sisters via highway 26 through Gresham and Sandy on their way to work at Black Butte Ranch, which was less than an hour from where I used to live. I have traveled these roads numerous times and enjoyed reading his impressions of Mt. Hood and central Oregon in all of its late-spring splendor. He names each of the mountains that I saw every day on my drive into work, and experiences the high desert view of the stars. Breathtaking, I can tell you.



It made me miss Bend a bit. But, more than that, it made me grateful for the experiences I’ve had in the last few years. I am lucky and I need to remember that, especially in the midst of putting off the piles of homework I need to do, realizing how much weight I’ve gained in the past year, commuting to Seattle too much, fighting feelings of interest in a boy who will probably never return my feelings and learning how to live at home again. I am blessed. I live in a beautiful place, have been privileged to see and learn many amazing things both in the US and abroad, and most importantly, have met outstanding people everywhere I have roamed. How much more impacting are those relationships and experiences than my souvenirs and photos, or all of my possessions sitting at home?

That is what these two road-trippers come to at the end of the book. They decide that maybe the answers to life are much simpler than we think they are. Maybe life is all about taking time to breathe, enjoy and experience God’s creation and goodness and love the people he has put us on earth with. And, letting ourselves be loved.

“I’ve learned, too, that I don’t really know very much about
anything. I mean, I used to have all these theories about life. I
thought I had everybody figured out, even God, but I don’t. I think the
woods, being away from all the clingy soot of commercialism, have taught me life
is enormous, and I am very tiny in the middle of it. I feel, at times,
like a droplet of water in a raging river. I know for a fact that as a
grain of sand compares in size to the earth itself, I compare in size to the
cosmos. I am that insignificant. And yet the chemicals in my brain
that make me feel beauty when I look up at the stars, when I watch the sunset,
indicate I must be here for a reason. I think I would sum it up this
way: life is not a story about me, but it is begin told to me, and I can
be glad of that. I think that is the why of life and, in fact, the why of
this ancient faith I am caught up it: to enjoy God. The stars were created
to dazzle us, like a love letter; light itself is just a metaphor, something
that exists outside of time, made up of what seems like nothing, infinite in its
power, something that can be experienced but not understood, like God.
Relationships between men and women indicate something of the nature of
God – that He is relational, that He feels love and loss. It’s all
metaphor, and the story is about us; it’s about all of us who God made, and God
Himself, just enjoying each other. It strikes me how far the commercials
are from this reality, how deadly they are, perhaps. Months ago I would
have told you life was about doing, about jumping through religious hoops, about
impressing other people, and my actions would have told you this is done by
buying possessions or keeping a good image or going to church. I don’t
believe that anymore. I think we are supposed to stand in deserts and
marvel at how the sun rises. I think we are supposed to sleep in meadows
and watch stars dart across space and time. I think we are supposed to
love our friends and introduce people to the story, to the peaceful, calming why
of life. I think life is spirituality” (244-245).

Oh, and yes, the book is by Donald Miller.
But don’t take my word for it...