Why I Chose to Hike the Andes Mountains

I'm getting married this weekend. Still not sure what to think of it. Sometimes I'm excited, other times I'm scared. A lot of times I'm just weirded out.

Usually I'm a visionary guy. I like to plan, rearrange future events in my mind over and over till they fit just right, then throw some gas and a match on the whole thing and start over again. I'm learning that my ability to do this relies largely on a similar event I can use as a reference. I've not yet had sex, I've never had to live with one person day after day (other than family) for more than a months time, I've never had to continually share a bed with someone, and I've never felt the pressure of someone else's well being so closely connected to my decisions. As a result, everything after Saturday 7pm (when the wedding starts) is a black abyss that my mind cannot comprehend.

I suppose I've been given glimpses by other married people.

"Oh boy, you sure you want to do this?"

"Hey, marriage is great!"

"Marriage is an institution, I would rather not be institutionalized."

"After the first night on our honeymoon I remember thinking. I'm hungry."

My landlord is quite experienced at marriage, he has had five. He said congratulations (sort of) and asked if my air conditioning still worked fine.

I have this vague idea that the first couple of weeks will be great, then at some point someone will get cabin fever and mutiny. Eventually our selfishness will need to be tried and hanged, then it will start all over again.

I had a friend say that marriage will show you just how selfish you are... really fast.

I'm sure he's right. I know that's not why God made up the idea of marriage, he did after all make us as not so selfish people, but I bet he likes it when we more deeply realize, "wow, I cause problems when I try to get my own way."

I'm looking forward to marriage. Sort of in the way that I looked forward to hiking the Andes in Bolivia. At first there was this sense of awe and infatuation that one gets when he tells people that he will be hiking the Andes mountains. As you begin there is this sense of accomplishment that yes you will be hiking the Andes mountains. Three hours into the ordeal you say to yourself, why did I ever want to hike the Andes mountains? Then you step over a ridge, see a mountain lake, run to it, sit on the rocks as the sun sets over the Andes mountains and think, this is why I hiked the Andes mountains. Had I sat at my house in Cochabamba, I would not have endured pain, nor would I have enjoyed one of the greatest memories of my life.

So here's my prediction. Lots of selfishness and difficulties as I try to live with another messy human being, highlighted by some of the greatest joys with the deepest human relationship I'll ever have. Maybe some day we'll go hike the Andes mountains together.

I Love You Courtney, I'm looking forward to sharing the rest of my life with you!

A Snapshot

The limitations of pictures depress me. Someone will come back from a trip to Tibet, show you a picture of Everest, then expect you to be overwhelmed with the immensity of their 4x6 piece of paper with ink on it. If this really worked, no one would need to go vacation in Tibet anymore. I am equally depressed when I look at pictures from my past, that no longer have their emotional power. The memories have faded, so the picture is now just an image.

I feel frustrated trying to relay my relationship with God to others. I want them to understand how awesome the snapshot I'm showing them is. "Isn't Jesus so cool!" Sorry, cool is a trite way to describe the most significant part of my existence.

"Yea, Jason. That's a nice picture. Very neat."

Sometimes when people think the picture is insignificant, that means the thing itself is too.

Pictures do have the ability to peak peoples interest. Like when I drove through Nebraska. I had seen pictures of Chimney Rock and Scotts bluff. They didn't seem all that exciting, but I was within thirty minutes anyway, why not check them out? The pictures weren't powerful, but sitting there, looking across Scotts bluff, the rest of the plain standing in contrast to the rocks, it was surreal. I definitely want to go back. The picture gave me a push to go see what I was already close to.

I'm grateful that following Jesus isn't about my perfection. for reasons I won't say, I am quite aware of my potential to be a disgusting person. I feel like one of those pictures where someone stuck their thumb halfway over the lens.

If my relationship with God were a picture, I would hope it looks something like a child stained in mud, being hugged by his father unashamedly.