No Greater Love

I know it shouldn’t make a difference, but it does. Death always seems so personal when it grabs someone you know personally. The announcement of the deaths of our three firefighters landed as a glancing blow, then the next day, I learned one of the fallen was Rick Wheeler. This news stunned and numbed me, as I am certain it has for all those who knew the laughter and lives of these three sacrificed in the act of service to others.

I met Rick and Celeste on a trail in the Ancient Lakes. We were there to participate in the spring outing of the First Church hiking group. Rick hefted a full backpack for the hike and as we walked and talked, I heard strange clinking noises coming from the pack that sounded to me like beer bottles banging into one another.
 
When we took a group break near the lake shore, I confronted him with my suspicion that he was toting beer around and he laughed and pulled out over 40 pounds of free weights. He said he was training for his job to fight fires for the US Forest Service. We talked about his work, which was an expression of his passion that he displayed with quiet confidence soften by a gentle smile. 
 
For the Wenatchee Mountains Ridgeline hike, Rick had to work, but Celeste and I took opportunity to visit as we climbed the winding trail. I learned about the dreams that spoke to this young couple from Michigan and carried them west to Wenatchee. This was not a spontaneous move, it was another step in a larger plan that melded career decisions with Celeste and Rick’s love for the outdoors. 
 
Ever since those two hikes, whenever I saw Rick and/or Celeste, I felt like smiling. Now I am left to reconcile those feelings with one of a disbelief that rolls around in pockets of empty aches. How do we bring together that which has been cast apart?
 
Rick was born into a family of firefighters. His call to service runs four generations deep. He was an experienced professional who was part of a tactical unit doing a job that put him outside the perimeter of safety. He didn’t claim to be special nor sought admiration for a job well done. In that, he and all his comrades all true heroes answering a higher call without question. 
 
As I ponder Rick and Celeste’s lives in my solitude, I am drawn in spirit to the comfort of the community we shared at First Church. I believe it is here, as in faith gatherings everywhere, that the difficult questions of life can begin to be answered and where empty, aching pockets can be filled. 
 
There are so many things, I can’t fathom in these deep matters of the heart, but what I can embrace is this, “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”
 

Thank you Rick, thank you Celeste, for the costly gift of your Great Love. 
Glen Carlson








 
 

Seeing Nature through a Child’s Eyes

A grandfather takes his grandson camping and relearns a few lessons about appreciating nature –

by Glen Carlson


 
Once I was blind...

Well, maybe not blind. I saw but didn’t see. My lack of vision is more a matter of conditioning than a condition. It’s like the billboards on my way to work. No matter how colossal, clever, or colorful they are, their messages soon melt away into the mix of everyday exposure. I am not even aware of the moment when my eyes narrow, glaze over and ignore what is in plain sight.

During a camping trip to the Icicle
River this weekend, I was reminded that it’s not only clutter that gets erased. The vibrancy of rich personal experiences can also dim in the shadow of routine. My hiking outlook needed a new set of eyes. I found them twinkling in the grinning face of my 8-year old grandson, Taden. Our third companion would be Noble the wonder dog.

I picked the Rock Island Campground on the upper Icicle River as our getaway for two reasons. It sits high in the valley, which means cooler temperatures than the 100-degree readings in Wenatchee.
I also thoroughly enjoy the Icicle Gorge River Trail. It loops the river in a delightful meander conducive to young legs and frequent stops. This trip was not about power hiking; it was about a young boy and a black dog walking in the wonder of life that lives outdoors.

We were fortunate, on a late Friday afternoon, to secure a great campsite overlooking the rock of Rock Island. Here is where the Icicle splits, bends and dips, merrily sluicing froth as it goes. Camp was made in a whirr of efficiency and boots laced for an evening stroll of exploration. The temperatures were indeed cooler, but the mountain sky also darker and a bit threatening when we set out.

Across the river and into the woods we followed a network of trails. My normal inclination is to cover ground, Taden’s is to pause and ponder. If we were horses, he’d be jerking back on my reins and I’d be tapping his flanks with my heels. Truth is, I soon went from canter to walk. When I did, I begin to see what Taden saw.

Spider webs I normally walk through became objects to behold and detour around. Tiny caterpillars and large black ants called us to our knees for more detailed inspections. Bark beetle tunnels in decaying trees had to be probed and poked. Small hills must be run down. Logs stumbled across. When thunder spoke and rain splattered it was time to strike for Angel our camper.

The splatter gathered into showers that we sat and watched from Angel’s cozy cabin. The squall passed and we shifted equal measures of attention from the books in our hands to the steamy mist lifted from the river by sturdy beams of setting sun. Twilight found both of us bedded down for the night.

After a cool morning, a hot snack and some reading, we set out on the Icicle Gorge River Trail. This is a popular destination for day hikers of all ages. There’s many good reason why. It is a loop trail with access points from both Chatter Creek and Rock Island campgrounds. Midway between the two is another trailhead with ample parking. The Icicle Gorge View Trail also connects with the river route. It offers an extended option of two-plus miles with generous hillside views of the valley. Maps measure the river trail loop at four miles, but my GPS told me it was closer to five. The extra mileage no doubt a result of Taden and Nobel’s back and forth ways!

The 2800-foot elevation varies little. Variety comes from the land. The south bank of the trial, just across the Rock Island Bridge, opens up to timbered meadows and mountain vistas before dropping back down to skirt the river’s edge. Woodlands and water crossings came next. There was a swamp, a cedar grove and a short climb to a river lookout, all this before we recrossed the Icicle at the Chatter Creek Bridge. Taden counted 13 bridges along the entire loop.

On the north bank, a high path winds pleasantly through Lodgepole Pine thickets, dense foliage, creek and stream crossings, and river views. Thundering in the background is the constant music played by high water running hard and fast. The trail itself felt like a thick carpet with a deep pad. Even so, Taden’s pace slackened as the miles mounted. That said, he never complained and ended the loop with as wide a smile as the one he began the hike with.

Back at camp, we ate again and gave ourselves over to recap and celebrate our session in the sun together. We packed up and headed out by mid-day. As I navigated Angel down valley, I glanced back and saw curls of dog and boy wrapped in sleep. Up front, I was left to consider the goodness of this outing and to replay all the sights seen with fresh eyes.

For a short trek long on beauty, The Icicle Gorge River Trail is a perfect path for new and old hikers to discover common ground.
 
 


Regular Worship SEPTEMBER-JUNE: 8:00am, 10:00am; Summer Worship JULY-AUGUST ONLY: 8:30am Outdoor, 10:30am Sanctuary