Get Back, Part II

The next morning, I circled the Chicago airport a dozen times, covering ten or less miles per hour. Of course, I did this for fun, and not because the security guards wouldn't let me stay in the pick-up area for more than two minutes at a time, and dad's plane was over fifteen minutes late.

After picking dad up, we headed into Chicago. It was readily apparent that the city was enormous, and we would have nothing like enough time to explore all of it. It was just as apparent that the cost of parking was going to require one of us to sell a kidney, so we needed to find a single safe spot and never move the car on pain of death. We checked in to the Hilton Chicago, which my mother had booked at an incredibly discounted rate online, and parked the car in their nice, expensive garage. We spent the day questing about Chicago. Our conclusions: the Art Institute is beautiful, but way too expensive for two men who have little appreciation for modern artwork. Chicago's hot dogs are good, but overrated. Deep-dish pizza is likewise quite good, but does not excel what can be found at a good Pizza hut, and doesn't hold a candle to a Lupi's calzone. Finally, the ride up the Sears' tower is well worth the cost of tickets, especially when the electronic payment system breaks down and your dad gets in free because he only has a debit card, although this does cause you some mental anguish since you already paid with cash. I'd like to post some pictures of the city from above, but I don't have them on this PC, and my flash drive is elsewhere. So, I'll post again with these pictures, and I'll do what I can to describe the enormity of Chicago viewed from above. It is truly staggering.

Getting Back to Where I Once Belonged

Get Back to Where You Once Belonged, Part I

Two weeks ago I left South Dakota. However, this is not the story of my leaving South Dakota, but the story of my coming to Chattanooga.

After saying goodbye to my ministry teammates, I headed out for Sioux City, Iowa. Along the way, I called Uncle Jeff and Aunt Stacy to see if they could get me a place to stay with Stacy’s family in Chicago. They could and did, and I am very grateful for that.

From that Sunday afternoon until 1:30 Monday morning, I drove across South Dakota and Nebraska. The Nebraskan landscape is eerily alien on a clouded night. The road disappears completely beyond the reach of a headlight’s beam, and nothing can be seen in the rearview mirror. Untold thousands of dangers could be waiting in ambush a hundred feet away, and one would never know. Adding to this blindness is the stretch of the invisible fields to either side of the highway. There is nothing but darkness to either side of the car, continuing until the utter darkness of the land meets the infinite darkness of the sky. One wonders, driving through this blackness, whether Columbus’ contemporaries were not correct: perhaps the world is flat, with edges that pull travelers off the face of the earth, leaving them to fall eternally. If they were correct, this flat planet is at its narrowest in Nebraska, where the Earth’s edges draw close to within a few miles of either side of the highway.

Needless to say, it was a thrilling drive, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Driving through oblivion is a delight to the imagination, although it does make one very sleepy. That night, I slept in a hotel in Sioux City, and then rose early the next morning to drive to Chicago.

I looked forward to exploring Chicago, even more so after Sunday afternoon, when Dad suggested that he fly up and meet me there. The day was enjoyable, although thoroughly uneventful. I listened to music and made a few phone calls along the way. I did run upon a wind farm in Iowa, which was terribly exciting. Whenever I see a large renewable energy operation, I feel the same way I feel when I go to buy something, and find out that it’s five dollars cheaper than I thought. It just strikes me that humanity is getting a great deal. I can power my electronics with the wind? And the wind is free, except for the cost of the turbines? Now I can afford a book that I don’t buy used, and theatre tickets, and a dinner some place where I have to wear a tie to get in. Take that, fossil fuels. So, this is what bargain shopping for power sources looks like:

That evening, I arrived in Chicago. I got to Stacy’s cousins’ house just as the sun was setting, making me quite proud of my timing. I liked those folks very much; they had that hospitable quality that makes one feel comfortable enough to be family right away, but with a gracious restraint that prevents any feeling of forced welcome, or of family feuding. My new Chicagoan friends told me all about their big city as they fed me coffee cake. My head was spinning with the hundreds of things I had to do the next day by the time I went to bed.

Take a Hike

While in South Dakota, I took a number of hikes. Two in particular are noteworthy because of the pictures I was able to gather while hiking. This is a fairly typical view of the Black Hills. Granite rock formations, like the ones in the foreground, break through the pine forests everywhere. These create a certain eeriness, since they can cause the landscape to look rather unearthly in places. They often appear to be huge meteors, or, when clustered together over a wide enough space, a piece of lunar terrain that has been terribly misplaced. The pine trees that make up the majority of the area’s vegetation, and the entirety of the arboreal life, give the Black Hills their name. The Hills were originally called Paha Sapa by the Sioux. Meaning, “Hills of Darkness,” it’s derived from the appearance of the Ponderosa-covered Hills across the plains.

Snow! In the Hills, snow lasts in shady places, and even continues to fall, into June. Of course, being from the Land of Snowless Winters, also called Chattanooga, I was quite excited to discover this wonder, and jealous of my Dakotan neighbors.

This is the old firetower atop Harney Peak. From here, where one can see for scores of miles across the Hills, rangers used to watch for forest fires. Now, the tower is vacant, but open to the public.

Harney Peak, at well over 7,000 feet above see level, is the highest point between the Rockies and the Alps. From here, one can see four states and numerous national landmarks, including the back of Mount Rushmore.

These last two, taken on separate hikes, are shots of granite spires, for which the Black Hills are famous. The unique formations are the subject of numerous Indian legends, and offer rock climbers some of the most challenging climbs available. The original idea for Mount Rushmore came from these spires, when a historian from the Dakotas decided that Americans needed a revival of patriotism. His idea was to carve a few of these spires into sculptures of Wild West heroes like Wild Bill and Annie Oakley. Because the spires were too brittle to be carved, Rushmore was sought out. Once it was decided that presidents were a more appropriate subject, the Mount Rushmore National Memorial was born.

Speaking of…

Mount Rushmore is a pretty incredible Memorial. The carving is impressive, but when one visits the Memorial’s museum and begins to understand the superhuman effort of turning a mountain into a sculpture, it is truly staggering. It is a fantastically successful memorial in that experiencing the sight of it, and understanding the passionate American patriotism that motivated its creation, gives one a strong sense of national pride. More, having this experience in the midst of hundreds of other Americans creates a strong feeling of American unity. It’s remarkable.

These are shots from a drive on Custer’s wilderness loop. Note the young buffalo. Many of these calves are a month or less old, and they seem to me much more cow-like at this stage than as adults.

So that’s a look at South Dakotan wild space, as typical as I could make it. It’s a hiker’s paradise.

Illustrated by Me

These pictures were supposed to accompany the following post. However, I had technical difficulties, so they have to be separate. Chronologically, they are all in order, and they all precede the images posted in "Arrival at Custer." Enjoy.

Arrival at Custer

Day III of the Road Trip was beautiful, if not terribly eventful. I drove the length of South Dakota, and was fairly well surprised by how much the terrain changed as I went. I started out the morning in flat farmland, bid farewell by a couple calves. Soon, the countryside changed to become hilly once more, and I spent a few hours driving through some of the prettiest hill country I’ve ever seen. It reminded me why I like to take back highways instead of interstates when I travel.

Interstates are concerned with very little other than getting you from one large town to the next large town as quickly as possible. They have no concern whatever for the land they cut through. Highways, however, move through the country. They weave between hills, flow alongside rivers, run through the forest, fly to hilltops, and plummet into valleys. They show you how beautiful a place can be.

So, exploring the state by highway, I got to pass through some incredible hillside ranches, with cattle grazing on the slopes. Along the way, I realized that I wanted to get a good picture of the road for this blog. In the top right of the page, you can see a shot of the highway, stretching off into the distance. This was the shot I took. Upon cresting one hill, about midmorning, I knew that I had found the picture I wanted. I took a few pictures, then headed on. A few miles later, I crested another hill, decided that I had been wrong the first time, and knew that this was the shot I wanted. Once more, I got out of the car, took a few pictures, got back in, and prepared to drive on. Then I realized that there was a picture rather better to be had. To really make my shot, I could get a picture with the road stripe in the foreground, and the highway stretching off into the distance. So, boldly daring South Dakota traffic and ignoring everything I had ever been taught about not playing in the road, I walked to the center line, stretched out on my stomach, prayed that I wouldn’t become roadkill for my stupidity, and took a number of pictures. It was frustrating that I couldn’t seem to get the angle or focus right at first, since I was keenly aware of the danger of my position. Finally, I got what I wanted, sprang to my feet, decided that I’d better not stay in the road any longer than necessary, dashed to my car like a frightened child, and headed on.

Early in the afternoon, I experienced one of South Dakota’s less delightful wonders: gravel highways. I decided to drive through the Badlands. I had seen their multi-hued cliffs stretching above the plains for some time, and knew that I’d like to go explore them. I haven’t yet decided whether this was a mistake. When I pulled into the Badlands National Park, the highway which I’d been following all day turned to gravel. How quaint, I though to myself. I snapped some shots of the huge edifices

and headed on my way. Fifteen minutes later, I realized that the highway had no intention of returning to pavement any time soon. I thought this was no big deal, and continued along. After another fifteen minutes, I found myself clutching my steering wheel in terror. I was perched atop the Badlands cliffs, careening down a gravel highway, desperately trying to avoid being blown off the top of the ridge by the winds that were gusting forcefully enough to make the car swerve badly left and right. To make the situation even more delightful, I was passed every few minutes by rangers in large trucks, going in the opposite direction along our less-than-two-lane gravel strip. Rarely have I though of death as such an imminent reality.

Finally, I made it down off the ridge and onto pavement. As I did so, I was confronted by this sign

Great. The Badlands had tried to kill me, but now marauding animals were apparently going to finish the job. I began to imagine the herds which were terrorizing the plains, armed at “at large.” Now and again, I passed by herds of cattle. I knew I was in their neighborhood, and tried to fit in, hoping that they wouldn’t take advantage of this poor, lonely traveler.

Eventually, I made it out of the territory of the dangerous wildlife, and back onto a large state highway. I drove for another hour or so, and finally arrived in Custer State Park. There, I was met by a welcoming committee of buffalo, strewn all across the road to celebrate my arrival. Weaving my way through these one ton well-wishers, I headed for Sylvan Lake Lodge. Along the way, I got numerous view of the Black Hills which made me excited to get hiking.

Finally, I arrived at the lodge, reported for duty, and was given a room in the dorms. These rooms seemed to be old hotel cabins, with two twin beds, a sink, a bathroom, a nice view, and little else. They were small but sufficient, and I unpacked, went to get some dinner in the employee dining room, and set about my work at Sylvan Lake Lodge.

The Boy is Back in Town

I’m back in Chattanooga. Surprised? Me too. But, I had to make a choice, and I think I chose well.

I was gone from home a month. I learned at least as much in that month as in the entire year preceding it. What exactly those lessons were is a subject for another post. For now, you will have to content yourselves with the story of how I got back here. To be precise, it is the story of how I arrived at the decision to return.

This story must begin with an understanding of my intentions in going to South Dakota. From exploring the ACMNP site, speaking with representatives on the phone, and attending the training conference, I gathered that ACMNP is a two-fold ministry, divided into relational and formal aspects. The formal ministry is the Sunday morning services, put on for the rangers, staff, and visitors in the parks. The relational ministry takes place through the constant interaction with coworkers, in which relationships are fostered and, through these, faith is shared. This second aspect was my primary reason for going to Custer. I wanted to spend a summer getting to know other people from all over the country, hanging out with them and discussing the meaning of life, as well as whatever else came to mind.

I was mistaken about this second aspect of the ministry. In point of fact, the relational ministry is much secondary to the first, and any significant interaction with fellow staff members is usually rare, if it happens at all, outside of the work environment. But I was not to find this out for weeks. In the meantime, I just tried to cope.

After a little more than two weeks at Custer, I felt nothing so strongly as a feeling of complete isolation. In truth, there was a support committee in the area, and they were wonderful, but all of them lived about an hour away. Thus, my only hope for daily human interaction was my fellow employees at Sylvan. This would have been fine with me; actually, it’s the very reason I came. However, it didn’t exist. Between extensive langauge barriers, conflicting work schedules, and the absentee commuter population, I was rarely able to spend even an hour with anyone outside of work.  So, I spent three weeks wandering the park, the common areas, and the lodge by myself. It was a great time for introspection, but I was thoroughly 'spected by the end of the first week, and going out of my mind by the end of the third.

So, I realized that all I wanted was to leave. But I wasn't about to leave until I tried to fix things first, so I started a campaign of sitting down with people who had more experience than myself with the ministry. First, I went to the head of my support committee. There, I got my first inkling that perhaps I had been quite mistaken in coming to Sylvan. My leader told me two particularly helpful things. She told me that Sylvan was one of the most difficult sites in the ministry, and that she herself often questioned the ministry’s decision to put anyone there. Secondly, and more helpfully, she said that I had completely misunderstood the focus of the ministry. Later, she told me that she had never met anyone with such a huge misconception of what ACMNP did. In point of fact, the ministry was not focused on the staff and coworkers. Rather, the primary work of ACMNP is putting on the worship services on Sundays for the traveling public. In fact, the staff rarely, if ever, has much of anything to do with the ministry, although the volunteers in the parks are encouraged to do as much as they can to engage the staff.

Now that I knew that my reasons for coming to the park had all been wrong, I set about finding out why I was supposed to be there. More than anything else, the ministry is something like a worship internship, in which students are given the opportunity to try their hand at planning and leading formal worship services. These services are attended almost exclusively by devout Christians, who are “uncomfortable missing a service,” according to my leader. I asked around, and found out from those who have been there that the ministry rarely brings in non-Christians, and that the services are almost never what you might call “life changing.” Now don’t get me wrong, I still think that they’re wonderful, and a valuable service to Christians across the nation. It’s a fantastic opportunity for anyone who wants to explore formal ministry, or needs a summer job and likes outdoor living. However, it isn’t the ministry that I came for, and, after trying to work it out for a few weeks, I found that it also isn’t a ministry that really utilizes my talents.

Having discovered these things, I called the national head of the ministry.  I asked whether we could rearrange things: if he could get me moved to one of the other nearby sites, so that I would have fellow volunteers to work with me, or help to get my work schedule changed. He confirmed what I had learned, and had a few good reasons for staying to offer me, but he also told me that there really wasn’t anything he could do to improve my situation. So, without the possibility of moving to another lodge or somehow getting another volunteer to work with at my site, my decision was simplified to two alternatives. I could either stay and hope things improved, waiting to see what would happen, or I could go home and try to engage myself elsewhere.

With this in mind, I came to grips with the fact that staying would mean an altogether different ministry than I had expected, and one that I wasn’t sure I wanted. I’ve no intention of becoming a worship leader, and an internship along those lines wasn’t, in my own eyes, at all worth my misery. Of course, God’s intentions and my own can be vastly different, so I was determined to wait out the week before deciding anything. I prayed a lot, examined my options, and continued, with no success, trying to engage anybody I could find to hang out for a while.

So it was that, after working for a month, I decided to call it quits.  And now,  here I am. I’m trying now to find something else that will utilize my gifts. You may be wondering if I have any regrets. Of course, I wish things had worked out, because it was a beautiful place and I’m sure I could have grown to like it there. However, I feel better now than I have in a month, and I’m sure that I made a wise choice. No, I do not regret my decision.

I must say that I do not wish to disparage ACMNP. It is a unique ministry which fulfills its purpose well, and if I’m ever passing through a park on a Sunday, I will certainly try to attend their services. It simply wasn’t a ministry for me.

Yet fear not. This is not the end of my blog. I still have to finish recounting my trip to South Dakota, as well a few hikes I took while there, and my trip home. And, best of all, Europe still awaits. So stay tuned.