Adventure Mom

No Epiphanies, Please Faith, doubt, hippies and sugar snap peas in Canada She said 'No Mascara' God told me this morning to skip eye makeup. “You’re at family camp, for God’s, I mean, My sake. Besides, you’ll want to swim later. Forget it.” She was right. I thanked her later for the tip. I’m sitting at the outdoor chapel at Sorrento Centre, an Anglican retreat on the shores of Lake Shuswap, in the middle of British Columbia. The day is clear and bright – the sun can sear un-lotioned flesh, even at 9am. This is when I start crying. Fortunately, I’m wearing sunglasses (possibly another tip from her Almighty-ness, or from years of habit – I can’t be sure). I wasn’t even going to attend this service. I’m not here for an epiphany. I’m not making time for a spiritual experience. I want to write, run and do a load of laundry or two, because after five days on the road, the dirty clothes bag stinks. And I’ve neglected the writing. And I’m moving to New Zealand...

What Now? Camp Cross, Lake Coeur d'Alene Coming back is the thing that enables you to see how all the dots in your life are connected, how one decision leads you to another, how one twist of fate, good or bad, brings you to a door that later takes you to another door, which, aided by several detours—long hallways and unforeseen stairwells—eventually puts you in the place you are now. Every choice lays down a trail of bread crumbs, so that when you look behind you there appears to be a very clear path that points straight to the place where you now stand. .. -Ann Patchett, from her commencement address, “What Now?”  I recently had what hosts on National Public Radio call a “driveway moment” while listening to author Ann Patchett in my van. That quote describes poetically and completely what it means to come back and why we must do it. But Ann didn’t mention anything about a four-month return. A last backward glance takes – how long? A weekend? Maybe a couple week...

Camp Cross RSS Fiona 'fishes' off the dock at Camp Cross Everyone needs a Camp Cross. It’s the place you return once or twice a year or every few years for R & R (Rest and Relaxation, or, since it’s an Episcopal Church camp, Rejoicing and Renewal, or maybe Reflection and Reconciliation…). I didn’t put the puzzle pieces together until this year, but you also come to camp for RSS – not R eal S imple S yndication (where an online feed alerts you to new blog posts or news articles), but R emarkable S haring S essions. Swapping stories with other campers is like getting an audio/video version of Chicken Soup for the Soul . This moment is all you have First, some background: Our family’s visited camp at Lake Coeur d’Alene since 2005, when Fiona was 17 months old and Finley was a burgeoning tummy bump. I lie on the rocky beach in Loff’s Bay, belly imprisoned in maternity spandex, reading Ina May Gaskin’s natural childbirth manifesto, Spiritual Midwifery ...