Wandering Wonders

On a more positive note, my mom and her bestfriend are coming soon, so I am really happy about that, but I am still a little bit nervous. I wanna make sure I plan the perfect trip for them, you know?  And I hope that they like Fernie, even though it’s a sleepy little town right now.

B-U-TT H-O-L-E, bUTT HOLE, BUTT HOLE.   AHHHHH!!! Sorry, had to get that out.  What else can you do when someone is driving you absolutely crazy?

Visiting the Columbia Icefields was a very neat experience.  It was so much fun!!! Scott, Jez, and I got to ride in one of those big snowmobile thingies with the wheels that are five feet high.  And then when we got up there, we got to walk around the glacier and play with the glacier water and whatnot.  Don’t really have any more to say about it, it was just really fun and the museum was cool, too.  Ohh, but I did learn that glacier water looks at milk at one point, and then at another point it’s this crazy blue color.  I missed the explanation… maybe Scott or Jez can tell you why, ’cause they know.

I just got back from Jasper + Banff (National Parks in Alberta).  And I thought Fernie was cool. No way! Not compared to the unadulterated beauty I saw out there “in the bush.”

At first the trip was a little rough (understatement) because I couldn’t seem to get along with Scott… partly because I wanted to please him so badly, (so if I didn’t have a good time maybe he’d think I am ungrateful or something, and I didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but all this thinking made me sick), thank God part of it was emotional diarrhea egged on by pms (yay– I’m not crazy!), and then part of it was just me being a butthole and/or overly sensitive.  Regardless of the angle, it was undoubtedly tense at first.

But the scenery was even more intense than my bizarro feelings.  I had to forget about all of this and document the unmolested land!  I started taking pictures I am sure, partly as a diversion, but then that motive gave way to another… extreme pleasure from standing in one of the prettiest places on earth.

I could have cried if I had been a little more in touch with God’s handiwork.  Why was the water so blue green?  Who would believe it was glacier fed, and that it poured down the color of milk from the delta but then turned an emerald greeny-blue once it hit the pooled water? Why did the sun hit the land in such a way that it could be captured in hazy rays by my lens? Why were the plants so beautiful? How many wildflowers does it take to win Jessica Skarda over?   Even the trees! I kept remarking that I thought it was funny to see so many Christmas trees. (In Alabama, we have Christmas tree farms… here, they just let Christmas trees grow everywhere! LOL)  Okay, so I got weird looks for that one. But I haven’t even mentioned the  mountains rimmed with powdery snow like rings on fingers. Or the tiny rivulets undulating off the side of mountains, fed by the glacier above, sometimes cascading as a waterfall, and at other times etching back and forth down the mountain, deeply cutting as a knife.

Scott and I stumbled upon one waterfall by accident. (Jez stayed behind in the truck with Deano (Scott’s dog)  because he messed up his foot, and needed to regain strength for the rest of his amazing trip, in which he planned on hiking a “ginormous” amount. Anyhow, we saw what we thought was the waterfall at the top of the trail— a poor example. (More like a skinny, bodiless stream of water spilling out from a ridiculously tall gutter. But as we kept walking, we rounded a corner and the sound of rushing water got strangely louder, even though we were very far from what we thought was bridal veil.

When I turned the corner after Scott, there was a surprise– a massive waterfall full of body, in the shape of a bridal veil! And as I walked closer, I was slightly misted, even though I was at least sixty feet away.  I couldn’t help but be drawn to it, and even though the closer I approached, the more saturated I was by spewing water, and I was already cold, I kept mounting rock upon rock, inching closer.  At this point Scott remarked that out of all the places he had been, this was definitely in his top three.  And in my mind I compared it to Multnomah Falls in Washington, which might have been slightly more beautiful, but simply could not compare in ruthlessness or power.  In my mind, it would be a perfect place to be kissed. 

But… my romantic fling with nature was soon ruined by a need for concentration. Scott and I both decided that we were going to try to hold onto the rope attached to the face of the rock, and side step along the ledge by use of the rope (which someone had so graciously mounted) in an attempt to go behind the waterfall.  But then after we had done this, we saw that the rope fell a good amount of feet, and was attached to nothing along the rock face below.  One way or another, it led underneath the waterfall, but if you slammed into the rock face or lost your grip, it also meant imminent death.  Scott let a few rocks slide down the side to see just how far we would fall and what all we would hit on our way down.  Then he decided that since we had no proper equipment to harness ourselves in along the rope, that we shouldn’t do it.  Smart and wise decision.  But, I must confess that even though it would have been stupid for me to have risked it, I couldn’t help but think that both Scott and I were physically capable of doing it. 

He seemed to be of another opinion, and as we walked back he informed me that I wasn’t physically capable, and that I wouldn’t have enough upper body strength. How he knew this I’m not so sure.  So then I informed him that I wasn’t of the same opinion, and that not only did I believe that I could do it, but I also believed that he could, too, although it would have been foolish for us to have tried and been wrong… especially without the proper equipment.  And so he said he’d keep his thoughts to himself.  And so I huffed along the trail ahead of him, alone.  Just when I thought Scott was getting cooler by the minute, he had let me know that I once again wasn’t extreme enough. Perhaps I lacked the testosterone neccessary.  And, while I surely don’t have as much physical strength as he does, I would have loved to remind him who jumped off the high cliffs first. But that would have been “offended Jessica” talking, and not me. In actuality I was just plain hurt and a bit prideful because I had already been told several times in some form or another that I wasn’t “extreme enough.” He had told me that I could not make it through the winter in Fernie because I wasn’t “extreme enough.”  And my fear of mountain biking was reiterated earlier by a bloodied knee and a seat I couldn’t remount because my feet wouldn’t touch the ground, as he rode on ahead of me.  I was so mad and prideful and hurt all at once that I didn’t tell him how bad the fall downhill was because it only reminded me of the one time I fell hard into Ben Fowler’s bike up near Mount Laconte in eighth grade, and that I had never wanted to mount a mountain bike ever again.  (Road bikes are different).  Now I want to be all of these things, but how can you hold a lack of skill against me when the tallest hill in Alabama is 5,000 feet and three hours away, or the fact that I haven’t seen snow in four years at all, not even an inch, or that I don’t own a mountainbike and haven’t owned one since seventh grade?

But I am rambling now. I should probably tell you about the rest of the trip.

I have no idea on which day this happened, but it was early on.  I went to read my Bible on the hill, and to get out and explore on a little hike.  And so I ended up in an area suitable for snowboarding I think (not really sure, never done it), and I laid down underneath some sort of wooden ramp to read the entire book of Hosea savagely, from beginning to end.  As I read I couldn’t help but cry.  Sometimes I feel like such a bastard when I read the Bible because I wanna be closer to Him, but I am just not there.  And then I feel the alienation all the same, like if I were somehow bigger or better or brighter that this wouldn’t have happened.  I wouldn’t experience grief or doubt or pain.  And I certainly wouldn’t mutter “Lord Jesus, heal my unbelief” in the same prayer that I manage to whisper “ABBA, Father, does He exist?”

But then the weird thing about this is that God’s kindness is what leads us to Him.  I remember praying that He would cleanse me of every bloody thing I had ever done.  I told Him I certainly didn’t want to grieve His spirit, and that it hurt me to even think I was capable of such.  What a tremendous thing.

And then I prayed one verse that I have been referring back to lately quite frequently.  It’s the verse where Abba holds us in the palm of His hand.  And so I prayed that He wouldn’t drop me, and that He would please, please, please not let me fall from it out of my own stupidity— basically I prayed for a tight grip. And no, I don’t care if the verse is figurative.  All I know is that if I am in His palm, then I want to stay there!

And then I kept reading.  Hosea’s commanded to love a prostitute who spits in his face by having other people’s children.  And God actually told Him to stay with her.  Hosea must have balls of steel, and God must have given them to him, because I certainly couldn’t do it.  And then to name the children… Lo-Ruhamah, Lo-Ammi.  Not my beloved, not my people.  Not not not not not not not NOT.

At this point I stopped reading. I started praying.  “Ruhamah Ruhamah Ruhamah Ruhamah”… was all I could whisper. I wanted that for me, to be his beloved. And then “Ammi, Ammi, Ammi”, to be one of His people. For minutes. And I knew that in my own special, messed up way, I was Gomer, and Abba was Hosea. 

And so I wanted Him, but I didn’t.  I knew Abba is a gentleman, and for that I hated Him for a split second because something in me wanted Him to come and take me by force. I know that’s not a healthy thought, but it’s true.  And then part of me wanted Him to stay just the way that He is, and realized that it’s my inability to love Him fully that causes me to want Him to change.  On top of that, deep down, perhaps I think He’s boring.

Yes, I said it.  And I know a lot of people are thinking it subconsciously.  I’ve read the Bible eight times through, and the stories are not getting any newer.  Jesus Christ isn’t getting any fresher.  I’ve heard the cliche sermons.  I’ve even bashed the collective church for their inability to love Him and do what He says, like I could somehow separate myself from my spiritual mother.  And yet, through all of this, my desire— a deep hunger that refuses to be satiated– still remains.

I’m tired of the bashing.  Quite frankly, I don’t look like my spiritual mother, the church.  Honestly, though, if I hear one more person talk badly about her, I am going to hafta bussacap or something of that nature. Okay, not really, but I do get so frustrated.  It’s one thing to admit there are problems… it’s another thing to spread those problems like self-fulfilling prophecy, much like maggots swarm around carnage. What does complaining really accomplish?  Unless something is done, it serves to further alienate us from others. And we need each other.  We go together like pb & j. 

Just like on facebook, how you can have the relationship status, I could easily put down for God + me that “it’s complicated.”  Very, very complicated.   But maybe that’s the problem.  I’ve started to look at Him like he’s a run-of-the-mill guy when he’s not even Human. What is more, I am trying to please him just like I would some guy, and I wonder if I am going to fall out of favor if I am myself. 

I guess it’s a fear that I have or something, because it seems like every time I am on the brink of a really good relationship, I either go postal and retreat as much as I can, or I try to please whomever and they end up losing interest.  And the one time it’s not that way… I end up being crazy about someone who is just that beautiful, that poetic, that inspiring, but has lost his faith in Abba over time.  And I am stuck with these feelings.  Some would say that to even have these feelings is a betrayal of my first love, but since I am here in this spot, I am not so sure I agree.  Honestly— what condition where we in we He found us? 

Ohh, and this crossed my mind.  I am tired of hiding my gifts, or being held down because I am a woman.  I am not a feminist in the sense that I have no desire to bash men— I truly love them.  Manhood gone right is one of the best things to observe and experience second hand.  I am a fan of testosterone under control.  

My brother-in-law and his male friends are truly some of the best people on the planet. Council Vaughan, Nathan Heald, Zach Stone, and my bro Philip Kierce totally rock my face off.  I am not kidding. I admire them. My favorite theologian is middle and highschool bestfriend Benjamin Burke. And then there are scores of other intriguing people who are raw and real, like David Miller, Paul Dow, and Scott Newland.  And then there are my newer friends that are so cool… (definitely a-list): who can beat Jesse Aarsen’s people-friendliness or Jez Wheeler’s freakin’ humongous heart?  I’ve got nothing on them! And please don’t feel bad if I left you out. 

All this to be said, I hate being told I can’t do something just because I am a woman. I am tired of having to break these stereotypes just so people will allow me to be the person God says that I already am. Jez reminded me of the verse that so many people look over in an effort to indoctrinate Southern Baptist women into blind subordination, and it says this:  

There is no longer Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male and female. For you are all one in Christ Jesus. And now that you belong to Christ, you are the true children of Abraham. You are his heirs, and God’s promise to Abraham belongs to you.(Gal. 3:28-9, NLT )

I’m never going to be the woman who is so domesticated that she bakes pies all day, and quite frankly, neither was Jael, or Pheobe the deaconess, or Anna the prophetess, or Deborah the judge of Israel. And neither was Rahab the ex-prostitute, or Hannah, or Priscilla the teacher.  And I still remember someone telling me that if I travelled, I wouldn’t be able to marry, and holding spinster status over my head as if it hadn’t already occurred to me that I am twenty-three, which is getting on up there for a girl from the south. Pretty soon I’ll be a christmas cake: who really wants it after the 25th? (Or my 25th birthday?) Hmm, I think I am about to throw this psychotic biological clock out the window, because it’s based on societal pressure and not who I am or what time it really is.  Okay, big tangent.  There’s so much more to write.

Wow.  It’s been a really long time since I’ve written… let’s see if I have enough memory to highlight the main points.   Basically, I felt odd and at a distance when I came, because of some things going on in my heart that I am not going into.  But despite this weird sense of alienation and even a bit of loneliness, Canada is still what she is— rare, beautiful, unspoiled. 

Since the second day in, my friends and I have done a lot. We hiked this trail to get to a beautiful restaurant up top, and when I got up there my food was free because they my pizza dough was undercooked! And we ate wings at the 30¢ wing night in town. I’ve drank Tim’s three times now I think, and I must say that I like this chain a good bit, and it’s certainly cheaper than Starbuck’s! (It’s like Starbuck’s + Panera – a little bit of white collar – for a fraction of the price= Tim Horton’s. 

My third day was pretty cool… we went up to the top of the hillside, and then we went to the Taste of Fernie.  At the taste of Fernie, they had set up white tents and were letting everyone try their incredibly good salmon, smoked pork, shrimp kebabs, almond salad, and the like.  After eating as much as I could, I watched in wonder and half amusement.  Such a small town, and yet the people were beautiful.  Most were fit, the granola-y type, and beautiful, even the men.  And half of them at least are transplants from other places.  I couldn’t help but feel that I was watching an old episode of Providence… but it’s weird to feel nostalgia in a place you’ve never visited before, isn’t it? 

And the sky that night was beautiful, and down came a little bit of rain.  Scott and I went to try samples of the pale ale in the white tent across the way, and I had the white wine.  He finished my Scotch for me. (I’m not really a fan.)  The best part about where we were was that the tents were lined right in front of the railroad tracks.  It was a little odd and majestic all at the same time.

Today I jumped off two forty five footers with Jez and Scott.  It was pretty cool, and the water was amazing.  I forgot my bathing suit, so I had to change behind a rock into more clothing.  

The lodge is absolutely beautiful!! I have a jaccuzzi in the bathroom, and I am sleeping in a king sized bed. 

Last night a bunch of us went to a country bar and just hung out.  The bar was like right out of a movie or something. Canada has a very rustic feel to it.  Well, gotta run… being rude!

Ciao!

Ohh, and for those of you (mainly my sister), who have been wondering about whether or not North Dakota actually exists, I am happy to tell you that it really DOES EXIST and that as far as I could tell, is NOT a government experiment.  It was very Western-y, and had its own version of the Badlands. So mainly it’s just like South Dakota except it lacks the south’s huge network of caves!   I still wouldn’t mind going to grad school here!!

Yay for linguistics!

Wow, don’t know what to say about all that I have experienced in the last few days. But, I am gonna go for it because I am sitting at the Motel 8 in Kalispell, Montana, and have hours before I need to do anything else. Literally.

I guess it all started in Opelika, AL, at the greyhound stop, and then I got off and made my transfer in sketchy Atlanta.  I stayed inside the terminal for the two hours I was to spend there, and for the most part I did not move from one spot on the floor.  I sat adjacent in the floor from this other woman, who had two very sweet, yet hyper toddlers who had their dance pants on. And it was nearing midnight. 

The toddlers began asking their mother repeatedly for food, and so I handed her an unopened bag of gummy worms.  And she waited and waited for her gate to be called, and couldn’t get up because someone would surely run off with her bags and maybe her children would go haywire.  And so I said that if she would watch mine, I’d go and ask.  It turns out her train had left forty-five minutes ago, and that she had somehow missed it being called. That meant the next train wasn’t until 5 a.m., and she was stuck in Atlanta.  I felt so bad for her.  She left tired, weary, and exasperated.  I could tell that she had been through a lot.

All the while that I was making funny faces at her children, and they were playing  with me, a young guy about my age came and sat near me and watched me.  He was white with reddish hair and he made me feel uncomfortable, like he needed to get a life or something instead of watching me read and play with children. 

 And then this guy came up, who was the black version of my ex-boyfriend as far as looks go.  So needless to say, he was extremely good looking.  Or, maybe, that was just all in my head, and I saw what I wanted to see subconsciously… or something. Anyhow, this guy proceeded to beg me for money, and gave me his whole spiel about how he was in jail for trafficking drugs, and now that he was out, they paid for his ticket, but they didn’t give him any money for food. Waaah waaah waah.  And needless to say, for whatever reason, I didn’t feel sorry for him, and I felt like he was using me and that his life was a waste if he knew how to connive that well.  And I hate it when people have that much, and waste it all.  And so I said no, that I didn’t trust him, and that I couldn’t get up because I didn’t want to leave my bags.  He kept hammering me, and I finally told him to go away.

Then the redheaded kreepazoid sitting near me told me that I “handled that well”, as if I had “handled” a cow instead of a person, and I scribbled in my book quickly, “I can’t help but wonder if I denied Jesus himself by denying him.”  And then I went on numbly, and then thought to myself, “Perhaps there will be redemption… even for me.”

Well, then we got on the bus.  Tick tock… Nashville, Louisville, Indianapolis, and Chicago. The leg to Chicago was stressful because the headlight was crooked and so the emergency thing kept beeping every ten minutes or so, and the driver kept yelling at the woman who wanted to charge her personally a fifteen dollar toll.  And then when we made it to Chicago, they didn’t have my baggage… it had been taken off in Indianapolis I guess, which didn’t make sense because i had been on that bus the whole time.  But I took it as a perfect blessing, because I wanted to see Chicago, and now I wouldn’t have to pay for a locker.

It rained that entire evening in Chicago, and was 55 degrees outside, but that wasn’t going to stop me.  Luckily, I had packed pants to put under my dress in my backpack, and also my raincoat and tennis shoes.  I went out alone, first content to find a Starbucks.  Then I asked where Millenium park was, and made my way there by foot, all while it was pouring.   

When I got to Millenium Park, I met a girl who had gone Amtrack and had almost the same layover as mine, so we decided to explore the Park together, all in the rain. And then we went to the Pier, and whatnot.  And we walked down the magnificent mile, and I took pictures wildly as we went.  I had this feeling that we were in Gotham city. Chicago during the day was somewhat mundane and ordinary, but Chicago at night Chicago is magical. Just ask King Lear. 

Then I went back to the greyhound station, hoping my bag had come in on the next bus.  Nope.  They said it had now went ahead of me.  SO basically I was wet and had nothing to change into.  I went into the bathroom and stood under the hand dryer for a good thirty minutes, trying to dry different articles of clothing I was wearing.  But nope. I was too soggy.

When I got on the bus, I shivered throughout the night.  Mainly my feet were soggy, and I kept twitching.  But God is merciful in what gifts he gave me.  He gave me the gift of being to sleep anywhere and through anything! Haha   So I just wipped off my shoes and went into a little rolly poly ball under my pashmina.  Ohh, and thank God for clinically approved deoderant!

After Chicago, my ride got magnificently better.  There were five of us who had wonderful conversations.  There was this one guy who was overweight and madly in love with his wife, and who kept a little tub of jolly ranchers and other goodies.  And then there was this girl named Brandy who reminded me a lot of Peter Pan because of her short, wavy hair, and her enthusiasm.  She was so kind to everyone.  And she talked about what it was like being an “adopted kid” on her Indian Reservation, and what her father is like.  She knew all about different mountains and inlets and different tribes forced to converge and her dad’s language and her mother’s Germanic temper.  Lol.

So she gave me a different view of native Americans than my old roommate Tara from Billings, notorious for stealing all the money I had to live on in Colorado, viewing internet porn, and a ton of other things, had given me. Because of her, I thought of Native Americans as lazy and theives and liars.  But I keep meeting people who are far from that, and I realize that I cannot judge a culture on the basis of one bad apple. And that power corrupts, no matter what race, and that all of us contain the root of bitterness and hatred, like a germinating seed.

Then there was this other lady who sat next to her, an older woman with fluffy white hair, glasses, and a constant, thin-lidded smile, who any person would be honored to have as their grandmother. :)  She just smiled most of the time, and uttered gracious comments at others. 

 And then there was this guy who was sitting behind me, who got to talking about how foul the Canadian French was compared to “pure” French, and as a linguist-lover who finds the evolution of languages possibly more fascinating than their preservation, I kept my mouth shut. 

 But we talked about so much, and I realized that the Greyhound trip had been worth it, just to meet this motley crue.  As we went along, we got down to five people, and we enjoyed God’s magnificent creation with the driver, and talked about Sylvester Stalone’s house there along with Schwarzenager’s, along with how a lot of celebrities wanted to buy this one Island in this Indian Reservation, but the Salish Indians wouldn’t let them.  Brandy got off at Polson.  She was awesome.

Ohh, I forgot to mention… the night before, in a layover in Billings (a cute little town that I’d like to go back to, I must confess), I met a guy who had been hitchhiking from Washington, but then had to speed it up a bit or he’d miss his friend’s wedding in Minnesota.  I totally admired the whole hitchhiking thing, but explained to him that in the South that it’s pretty faux pas, particularly as a lady. He said he was going East, but sure wished he was going my way.  He was beautiful and tan, and maybe in about fifteen years he’ll have dark leathery skin like a good leather jacket, and silver hair setting in. I think he said his name was Josh; I was just flattered that he actually thought I was pretty after four days of not showering. My hair could have greased a frying pan!! Lol.  Anyhow, I love all of the Western granola kids!!! Lol.  Maybe I was meant to live out there.  I still remember Washington four years ago.  Never again, I think, will I feel that beautiful, that natural, and that small all at the same time.

I am amazed by God.

When I got to Kalispell, I went into the Super 8, explained my situation, and they allowed me to wash up and mooch off the internet.  I took a sink bath, reapplied my clinically strong deoderant (hehe!), and changed clothes for the first time in four days.  I feel all clean and pretty! LOL.

Ohh, and I lost my phone I think, on the bus, so don’t try and call me!  Skype me instead! My name is: jess.skarda

Well, peace out my friends!!!

This is too weird.  Last night, as I was travelling on the Greyhound Bus, I had a dream that I was with some friends from “back home”, in which one of my friends from Florida was there sitting at the table outside with me.  We were talking very casually, it was probably around seven p.m. or so, and then all of a sudden he proposed, half-jokingly.  I kept making small talk, ignoring his request, until five of my teeth fell out while talking.  I told him, “wait just a minute” and put my hand over my mouth and ran inside.

When I got inside, I got a chance to look at my teeth.  They were all brown and disgusting and they kind of looked like butterbeans.  And the guy who was on the bus sitting across from me reminded me that if we cooked them, that would bleach them white and take the brown out of them.  

Well, when we cooked them, they turned white, but they also turned into something akin to pancake batter.  I thought to myself that dentists do this all the time, and I needed to just let them cook for a while and they’d go back to shape.  Well, then I thought, oh no.. they look like pancakes.  I am going to have to go to the dentist now, and get five new teeth, and I can’t really afford that. 

And that was it!!! LOL.