March 7, 2022February 14, 2023 jathan

I Never Thought…

Better After Burnout

Learning to walk with snowshoes is a chore. First there is the whole issue of figuring out how to put them on. 

Does the pointed end go forward, or the rounded end? The rounded end. 

Do I snap the little metal thingy behind my heel or just let it lie flat? Lie flat, unless scaling a steep incline. 

Is my foot supposed to sink a foot deep into the snow? Yes. That’s better than sinking three feet without them. 

Confident that I can actually put them on,  I load my borrowed snowshoes in my rented Jeep Wrangler. I’m hiking to the Felt trestle bridge all by my lonesome this morning and I’m fired up about it. All week, I’ve been holed up in a Nordic style cabin in the Grand Teton mountains writing away. Sprinting toward the finish line of my first published book. The retreat has been what the doctor ordered. I’ve gotten so much accomplished the first three days; I now feel like I’ll be able to turn in a credible manuscript by my publisher’s March 31st deadline.  

So today is not about writing, it’s about sightseeing.

Dashing Through The Snow

If I had a bucket list, seeing the Grand Teton mountains would be on it. I grew up reading Louis L’Amour novels. Much like Hallmark movies, all L’Amour’s westerns contain the same plot, characters, and setting. Reading about the snowcapped mountains, endless plains, and winding rivers over and over again as a kid piqued my interest to see this grand country for myself one day.

That day has finally come. 

I navigate the icy roads well enough in the 4X4 to not wind up in a ditch. The FedEx truck with, not one but two tow trucks hooked up to it is not so lucky. I arrive at the trailhead, indicated as such by the stand of bathrooms, which have been closed for the season.  Finding a parking spot is not difficult since I’m the only living soul for miles in any direction. As part of the Department of Parks and Recreation of Idaho, I thought the trail would have had at least a few takers on this balmy twenty degree morning. 

After making sure not to lock my keys in the Jeep, I expertly, snap into the snowshoes then shoot a quick video. I post it to social media and give my location in case a search party is eventually needed. I take in my surroundings one last time, pat the Jeep on the fender, then light a shuck for the bridge. 

Crunch, crunch, crunch. 

I realize that I’ve gotten so good at walking forward in snowshoes that my feet are not sinking. I now just glide, straight across the top of the snow. At first, I’m awestruck by my own competence. Then I realize that snowmobiles have packed the ice so much that I’m basically walking on white asphalt. Insert “smirk” emoji here. 

The more ground I gain on the trestle bridge, the more I master the art of lifting my toes in the air and dragging the pointy back end along the snow, creating a much smoother gait. Too bad no one is out here to see me strut. I strut anyway. 

Farther along, eight-foot-high snow embankments rise on either side of the trail, creating a bit of a tunnel, shielding me from the wind. In another fifty yards the embankments disappear and I’m blasted with a steady wind coming in from my left. I reach to tighten my scarf, only to realize that I don’t have one. I’ve left it in the cabin. Typical of a Louisiana boy in the Idaho winter. 

Tell Sackett wouldn’t have left his scarf. Then again, Louis L’Amour’s toughest hero wouldn’t have needed one. But he also never wore snowshoes or ran out of bullets, for that matter.  

Eventually, I find a rhythm on the trail and my body temperature rises. I gain steadily on my destination and eventually a stand of trees appears just ahead. My Apple watch indicates that in forty minutes I’ve hiked 1.4 miles, so yes, the bridge must be hidden just beyond those trees. 

The landscape hasn’t changed very much on my hike and I’m beginning to wonder what all the trestle bridge fuss is about. “I hope it’s not overrated” I say aloud to no one in particular. Oh well, at least I’ve gotten out of the house on my last day in the Tetons. I enter the stand of trees, spot the bridge ahead, and cue up the video camera on my phone. Narrating the video as I mount the bridge I say something to the effect of, “It’s taken me forty-five years of living and forty-five minutes of hiking to make it out here. Just around this stand of trees is supposed to be a scenic view. We’re about to find out if it’s overrated or not.”

It’s not. 

God’s Natural Masterwork

Just one step past the trees opens up the most gorgeous I’ve laid eyes on. Hundreds of feet below, a beautiful creek winds and weaves its way through the craggy landscape. The bubbling sound created by the water crashing into rocks is music to my ears. The sparkling ribbon of water, set against the backdrop of snow-blanketed mountains, stretches on for miles in both directions.

I have an English friend who makes fun of us Americans for our overuse of the word “awesome.” I’ve finally found just cause to use the word. Rachel would be proud. 

To read about such country, to see it depicted in pictures and videos does not do it justice. The wonder of some things can only be experienced in person. And right here, in the flesh I’m overwhelmed by God’s natural masterwork.

I find a spot where the bubbling is the loudest, grab hold of the railing, just take it all in for a few moments. Awe gives way to gratitude as I reflect on the absurdity of the moment. 

I never thought I would see this. 

Years of pastoring a small church and drowning in Scotty’s medical bills made hopping a plane for the Grand Tetons seem more fictitious than Tell Sackett taking out forty gunslingers from the Lazy A with six bullets. 

But this was real.

I also never thought I would finish a book. 

I had tried my hand at writing here and there, but never stuck with any of it long enough to gain any traction. My teachers said I had some talent, but I never delivered on any of it. One might say, when it came to my writing, I was a classic underachiever. But not now. Four years of consistent writing was enough for a publisher to say, “Yes, we would love to publish your book. Have your manuscript to us by March 31st.” 

I never thought I would finish six weeks early.

And most certainly I never thought I would write about the joy of pastoring. 

God’s Big Thoughts

In the darkest days of battling burnout, depression, and shame I could not suspend my disbelief enough to see me pastoring again. My best days were behind me. I was too damaged, too broken, too far gone. 

Paul said to the Ephesians, “Now unto him that is able to do exceeding, abundantly, and above all that we can ask or think.” As a gust of wind whistles through the valley and brushes against my cheek I realize that it doesn’t really matter what I think of me. Just so long as I embrace what God thinks of me. 

Good thing that walking the life of faith has very little to do with what I think in the first place. I’ve done that self-help exercise of writing down a five year plan. In fact, in the throes of pastoral burnout I tried it. Nowhere did I write down that I would pastor, publish a book on coming back from pastoral burnout, and finishing said book in the Tetons. 

Perhaps you’re currently in a season in which you can’t think of a way out, around, or through your current season of desolation and struggle. The good news is that you don’t have to. In fact, sometimes the best thing we can do is raise our hands, worship, and let God do the thinking for us. 

“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the LORD, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.”

Jeremiah 29:11 KJV