The Tourist

Hello again! Here I am, having finally arrived at my new home, Rexburg, Idaho. Although I'm excited for the challenges ahead, getting here was definitely part of the adventure, let me tell ya! 2 1/2 days driving across the country on I-80 with my 2 cousins, aunt and uncle, a small car, and a large, U-Haul truck.

Finding out right away from my uncle that we would be going through New York rather than directly through PA, I was disappointed that I wouldn't be able to help with any of the driving with my measly PA learner's permit. It became my task then to help in the best way that I could: keeping aunt Wendy awake as she drove the car the entire way to Idaho. Thankfully, we stopped for the night at hotels, otherwise my ability to perform my duty would have been a more dire task than it was. Uncle Dave drove the U-Haul and my 2 little cousins traded places between the car and the U-Haul, as there was only spot enough for each of them to choose one or the other.

Normally, keeping someone entertained with conversation isn't hard for me but since 1. the last month or so I've been consumed with moving so not much of interest has been going on and 2. I have the tendency to day-dream when riding anywhere. As it was, I kept my aunt entertained with stimulating conversation about people and things we were leaving behind, plans for the future, Rexburg treasures that lie in wait for us ahead, movies, books, music, and anything I could think of while looking out the windows at the scenery. Oh, and the Shack. I just want to say that I am grateful for my aunt Laurie, who had the foresight to pack my cousins and I little bags of goodies and things to keep us occupied during the ride. Especially for the book that ended up in mine because it kept us entertained for 2 whole days. But I seriously have a bone to pick with that book the Shack, by William P. Young. Excuse me for the small tangent.

Seeing trailers for the movie last month, I was excited to find the book among the things prepared for me, since it is so rare to see Christian themes in the mainstream and the movie looked good. I was a little cautious though, hearing from my grandmother, who had seen the movie, comment that it was "confusing until the last 5 minutes." She's a pretty smart cookie, my grandma, not one to easily be confused, so, it was a small red flag but I decided to hold back judgement until I'd had a look myself. So, I read the book aloud to my aunt Wendy and whichever cousin happened to be in the car with us at the time. I will say that William P. Young is a beautiful writer, with very purple and flowery descriptions, and we were all immediately hooked and intrigued by the first several chapters of the book that set up the premise of the entire thing: the tragedy of the missing girl. It was heartbreaking and even disturbing in parts to read how these events unfolded but even as it destroyed the main character, the girl's father, we were all looking forward to the catharsis that would come later.

That search became neverending. I'm not one to let my religion get in the way of enjoying someone else's interpretation of religious icons and stories but Young clearly had an agenda and decided to preach about it in the most annoying way possible. Because not only is the Shack a shill for hippy dippy, "anything goes" religious nonsense and leftist talking points, it's poorly written for its own goals as well. You can tell when an inexperienced writer is trying to write for a character that is smarter than them because of the mistakes they make. Weaving, meandering, circular dialogue, vague and mysterious hints with clever one-liners intended to allude to something deeper, or rambling on about nothing and saying just as little, all to make you think this character is smarter than you, smarter than the writer. The problem is, you have to back it up with something. You can't write an evil genius with a super, complicated plan that defies common understanding without knowing the plan yourself. You just can't. Because there will be questions about what the plan is and you will need to deliver on it. And I truly think Young doesn't understand religion or how it works. I could chalk this up to the holes in other Christian religions that make them really inconsistent and logically unstable even to a minor bit of scrutiny, but because of the other aspects of Young's left leaning agenda, I think he probably has other things in mind. Like not so much staying true to Christianity itself but watering it down so that it works within a framework of moral relativism.

There was something incredibly ridiculous in not only the presentation of God as a very stereotypical black woman named "Papa" but also the way she never answered questions from the main character, nor stayed true to any assertions she did make. God is everything and nothing, yet God is very distinctly a father and a son. Structure, rules, and independence are bad, yet she can justify punishment and very clearly relies on structure and the universe running a certain way. Mankind's fall was an unplanned mess and yet it was what they intended all along to have this mystical, indepth relationship with all of humanity, based on love(which, if you can reason your way out of a wet paper bag, then you know that the "all of humanity" wouldn't have been a thing at all without the Fall; it would have just been Adam and Eve forever, with nothing else).

It was frustrating and yet funny at the same time and was the source of a great bulk of our discussions during the ride. Despite my annoyances with it, I'm very glad we had it and were able to enjoy it as the only books I brought along were Believing Christ and Following Christ by Stephen Robinson, which are both doctrinal books. Interesting but sort of counter-intuitive when you're looking for a bit of entertainment to keep someone awake during a long drive.

During most of the ride, it didn't feel like we were moving; I felt like I was taking a very long trip. I grew up a Navy brat so, moving is not new to me but I've been living in northeastern PA for about 10 years. That's a long time to stay in one spot, even moving to different houses within the same county. And the farthest West I have ever been is Iowa, which was a trip I took at least 15 years ago, with most of my years in this country being spent on the east coast. So, it felt a bit like taking a trip to another country as we drove and the landscape changed around us.

I've been told so many things about Idaho. About how it is a dry heat rather than humid. How it is colder here. How it is flatter, how there are actual mountains. How it is less green. I've been told that it defies description, to expect colors and beauty the like I have never seen before. And you know, I was actually starting to get worried that my expectations and hopes were being held so high, that a let-down was inevitable. Turns out, sometimes people are exactly right and the land acts like an over-achiever to the ideal set in mind. But I do take umbrage with the "defying description" part because this great land of ours opened up a well of poetry within me. *cracks fingers*

In the transition between either New York, PA, or Ohio, the rolling green hills of PA disappeared suddenly. One minute they were there, the next they were gone, replaced by flat, vibrant green farmlands, punctuated by elegant sprinkler systems and barns. I felt at home for a little while looking at that color, reminded of the golf courses all over Susquehanna, until it was replaced by a sea of yellow grass. We were right in the middle of Little House on the Prairie, fields of gold on either side of long, straight stretches of tarmac.

I was disoriented as we were in Illinois or Indiana and once again, the hills returned but different than the tree-covered, rounded mounds of home. Here the earth was red! Green brush lined the tops of mounds of exposed, ruddy rocks, like gigantic watermelon quarters laying about the ground. And the hills that hid their internal colors, were bare! Trees dappled here and there on these gentle curves, like bikini clad hills compared to the more modestly dressed ones I knew so well. And when there were no trees to speak of, it all seemed less hilly and more like a blanket thrown across the bed, folds and wrinkles in need of slight adjustment and straightening.

My first look at mountains in Illinois, I thought they were clouds. That's how faint and distant they were, like a shy greeting and a promise to "see you later." Then there was nothing but these flatlands and gentle curves for the longest time. I was suddenly startled as higher, more dramatic hills rose up around us, like strangers pulling you into a welcoming embrace. The grass was a milky green color I had not seen before and junior Christmas trees dotted amidst the sage.

When it opened out to flatness again near Iowa, the horizon had gained a perpetual, dark blue collar, hills or peaks promising distant adventures. As the sun began to drift downward, the shadows danced across the hills, looking like contoured bronzer on elegant cheekbones. Eventually, I noticed lines of windmills on the horizon's collar, like embroidered daisies.

As I was able to look around and actually see distant structures and land formations, it occurred to me the symbolic nature of this transition I was making. At home, the lushly green, tree covered hills that always seemed to have one more hill, and another, and another, just behind it, they obscured my vision so much. There was a sense of being protected and comforted as the hills contained you and kept you from getting too overwhelmed about things outside your immediate field of vision. Out here, the landscape opens up so you can see everything. The goals ahead are far away but I can see them clearly, like it'd be very hard to lose my way or become disoriented or lose my focus on where I'm supposed to be. And the sky is always optimistically blue. The land is so hard and rugged, I feel squishy and tender by comparison and I think about how hard these creatures and plants have worked to survive out here. Green can be thought of as life and growth but it is also new life, innocent and naivety. The terrain of Nevada is not lifeless but adapted to the harsh conditions, made stronger by its challenges. It is so hot and the sun so bright - truly, this is where the phoenix burns.

Grandma used to compare the singular bared lines bisecting the trees at home as making the hills look like the butts of giants. If that is true, then Wyoming is where the giant's shoulders are. As we neared Idaho, we went through several reserves, parks, and campgrounds. Red earth reappeared in angular formations jutting from the earth like giant pieces of Betty Crocker red velvet cake. Then into Idaho as the mountainous hills went away yet again, we passed by chartreuse fields, laid out with perfectly straight edges, turning the hills into a quilt and the road into the hemmed border.

Getting here to Rexburg, I was stunned by how close the temple is, how we can basically walk to church if we wanted to, how close the campus and everything is. The neighborhood is so manicured and gorgeous, the houses so refined and rich, I had a moment of hesitation, thinking that I am out of my league. I especially became anxious when we met the bishop and several other families in the ward who came over to help us unload the truck. It felt like everyone had a handle on their lives and I don't know why but I felt both ashamed and defensive telling them I'd be going to BYU-I for art. An art degree is pretty useless in general but I didn't really have the moment to explain either why I wanted to get it nor how deep my gift actually is.

Then uncle Dave mentioned how I'd only be staying with them for 6 months and I felt overwhelmed by my own insecurities. I know now that he was giving them a general idea, that he wasn't talking strict plans or outlining for me specifically, "alright, you need to get going and get out of here by 6 months." But in trying to calm myself down, I realized I didn't really know how long this journey would take me. Can I do it in 6 months? Do I believe that I can? I mean, with barely any resources and a lack of true support at home, in just 6 months of returning to the church I was able to get a temple recommend, a learner's permit, and start the application process for BYU-I. What could I do now with not only everything within literal walking distance but with the support of these strong members living in just about every single house on our street? And then I thought of what that meant, that uncle David, as my father-figure here, that he believed in my ability to do this in such a short amount of time. He didn't have to tell any of them about my limitations or what I'm really here to earn and gain but just from that simple thing letting everyone confidently know, "She's here now but not for long! Stand back! Watch her go!"

I'm so used to the baby mindset, that of course, getting here, my first, gut-reaction to being faced with the realization that this is really happening and we're here now was to whine and cry and feel isolated. But then the Spirit was there helping me find that nugget of truth, remembering what it will mean to have these things, to have challenges and failures and successes of my own. I just can't wait to get started and the next few entries will detail my progress as I set up my list and what I accomplish, item by item.

Thank you for staying with me, and even though I miss them so much, the people I've left behind are with me in my heart.