The Fiery Furnace of Relaxation

Anyone who knows me knows that I don't know how to relax. I come from a family that doesn't know how to relax. Growing up, we never took family vacations to the beach. We're not beach people. No, we always vacationed in the mountains. When I was younger, it was in tents, and then later in a pop-up camper, and in more recent years, in semi-remote cabins. But it was always in the mountains. And we didn't just retreat to the mountains. We hiked those mountains. Miles on end, up the mountain tops to breathtaking views, down in the valleys to gorgeous waterfalls. Several hours a day, until our calves were numb and our lungs were shredded. That was, and is, how my family relaxes. Not lounging on the beach, reading some trashy novel and playing in the waves, but by pushing our bodies beyond their physical limits in an attempt to capture as much natural beauty as we can. I admit, as my parents have grown older, and now that my mom and I both have chronic back problems, our hikes have grown shorter with more breaks. Whereas we formerly gave no thought to a five mile, one way strenuous hike, we now have to discuss whether our backs can handle a moderate two mile loop. This, however, isn't a sign that we are finally learning how to relax a bit, but rather a sad commentary on the rapid deterioration of our bodies. 

This summer was no different. I wrapped up my job as the Summer Session Program Assistant on August 16, and my parents arrived the following day to whisk me off for a week to a cabin about 20 miles outside of Yosemite with no internet, no TV and barely any cell phone reception. On Monday, we decided to go to Yosemite and, at my mom's insistence, stopped at Hetch Hetchy. As we left the reservoir, we missed our turn and were thus re-routed by our GPS to take a more scenic road. It was at this point that my dad noticed what he referred to as a "really cool cloud formation." He proceeded to stop the car multiple times to photograph these clouds, which were fluffy and white on top and had a red glow coming through underneath. I had a growing suspicion that these "clouds" were actually a forest fire, but I didn't want to panic my mom, so I didn't say anything. As we proceeded along this scenic road, we passed a fire truck blocking a road, and my mom made a comment about someone hiding out and avoiding work until it was quitting time. My suspicion grew. Then we passed an "Incident Base," filled with fire engines, police cars and personnel. My dad remarked, "Look, they are practicing putting out forest fires!" At that point, I knew that there was indeed a forest fire, but I was still hoping we would make it back to the cabin before I had to tell my parents. 

No such luck.

As we went to turn on to the highway, we were greeted by police and fire trucks, informing us that the fire had just jumped the highway. It was only then that it really sunk in for my parents that what they thought were clouds was actually a forest fire. We were re-routed, and what should have been about an hour drive became a three-hour detour.

After that, we began scouring the news (parked outside of the public library in order to access the internet), carefully and diligently tracking the fire's growth. At first, we could only see the smoke lingering on the horizon from our cabin, but by Thursday, all we could see and smell was smoke. Ash twirled in the air, landing gently on the porch, on our car, in our hair. Despite all of this, we not only stayed at our cabin but continued to trek out each day and hike. Between the combination of the smoke and high altitudes, I could barely breathe. We watched as the evacuation advisories spread closer and closer to our cabin, but no one even thought of suggesting maybe we should end our vacation early. Finally, on Saturday, the day we were scheduled to return to Berkeley, the advisory reached where we were staying. We were more than halfway back to campus before the air cleared up. My dad's boss, who was on business in Reno, NV, reported that the smoke from the fire was so bad there that things were being shut down.

Being the biblical studies scholar that I am, the forest fire of course reminded me of the Book of Daniel and the stroll that Daniel's friends Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego take in the fiery furnace after refusing to worship the statue of the king. Like them, we came out of the fire unscathed (although my voice is still recovering), but I thought to myself, half-amused, "My family tries to relax and we end up in the midst of a fire!" Not only in the midst---my dad was actually (essentially) trying to chase it! Or perhaps, because we do not relax, we end up in the midst of a fire.

These are the kinds of adventures on which my family embarks. We randomly turn on a side road and discover a lake. We miss a turn and end up in the heart of a forest fire. These are the kinds of adventures which define my life. Intent on attending a very conservative bible college, I instead wound up in an academic religion program at a private, largely secular school. Convinced of my calling to (parish) ministry, I fell in love with academia. Left at home with the dog while my parents took my older brother on family vacation, I decided to move halfway around the world to Jerusalem for a school year. Entrenched in the rigorous demands of biblical studies, priding myself for being so "hardcore," I discovered the experiential application of Christian Spirituality was what I had been missing.

So, no, I don't relax. I take adventures that lead me in wildly different directions than I even imagined. But in the midst of the fiery furnaces, as the flames begin to lick my heels, an angelic presence appears to walk alongside me and to pull me out. My friends -- this lovable bunch of master students who I try to mother half the time -- come and grab me and make me play with them before the clutches of academia have completely consumed me. My friends -- my fellow PhD classmates, as equally as insane as myself -- take a lap with me through the flames, encouraging me to continue and to embrace the unsuspecting turns that my studies are taking. My friends -- this FB hodgepodge from various times and places in my life -- journey with me, reminding me that I am never alone.

And perhaps, one of these days, I will finally learn the art of relaxation, so I can avoid the fiery furnaces altogether!