The Hard

'This is what people often forget about adventures. They are exciting, and they are hard.' 

-Leeana Tankersley 

Isn't that the truth? We long for the adventure but immediately begin balking when the road becomes rough. We dig our heels in and immediately question 'the hard'. Why does it have to be -12 when I woke up this morning? Why is this adjustment to being a mom of two so HARD? Why is God not revealing more of 'the plan' for our future? The thing is, whether I like it or not, this 'hard' is exactly the material required for a grand adventure! When I reflect on my life it becomes glaringly obvious that my favorite stories to tell, my best memories and the journeys of epic proportion have never been times I would define as 'easy'. Quite the contrary, actually.
Easy is nice; easy is comfortable. Sitting on the beach, sipping margaritas is easy. (And, don't get me wrong, I could go for some sitting and sipping right about now!) But the times that are painfully hard, frustrating and even a little bit insane usually end up being our best adventures. The fact that it is, indeed, an adventure may not be immediately realized. But, without fail, the best times of my life have always formed out of the messy, the exhausting, 'the hard'.

Before getting married, Derek and I had the privilege of spending several months in Surfers Paradise, Australia as we studied with YWAM. I absolutely loved the touristy experiences, kangaroo petting, early morning surf sessions and delving deeper into Aussie culture. But one of my favorite memories is actually the time when, in preparation for the 'outreach' practical phase of our schooling, each team was dropped off in the middle of nowhere with a few bottles of water and a map to our campsite for the night.
Upon arrival at said campsite, we were instructed to build our own shelters, figure out how to light a fire and cook our dinner. We were rudely awoken in the middle of the night and instructed to pack up camp and move to a new site. And we couldn't do any of this at a leisurely pace; if we didn't complete each set of instructions in a set time there were consequences in the form of push ups and crunches stacked up against us throughout the entire weekend. It was insane and exhausting and... completely exhilarating! We tight-rope-walked across rushing rivers, completed obstacle courses with bleary eyes and learned how to open cans of pork and beans with nothing more than a rock. Every ounce of me was required in order to endure and conquer. I was absolutely convinced our leaders had lost their minds. Now I reminisce with the most ridiculous grin on my face.

I then had the privilege of spending my two months of 'outreach' in the rugged country of Papua New Guinea, which made three days in 'the bush' seem like a vacation. Those two months were both emotionally and physically draining. An unbelievable amount was required of me every single day and you better believe I balked on more than one occasion. We jostled along for hours in the back of trucks, accompanied by men with machine guns, in order to reach remote villages. There we would perform rehearsed skits and share our testimonies through a translator (sometimes more than one, depending on the dialect of the area) and stay up until all hours of the night attempting to converse with and pray for all the locals. We never stopped. Always another place to go, another market crowd to preach to, another bug infested hut to sleep in, another fried fish (complete with eye balls) to 'enjoy' under the scrutiny of village elders. We bathed in rivers, climbed mountains and came up against witch doctors and a spiritual opposition that was almost tangible. I slept for two full days upon my return to 'civilization'. The experience had been absolutely unreal in the fact that it was the most REAL thing I had ever done. I had been pushed completely out of my comfort zone; I wouldn't trade those two months for anything.

(Yes, that was the bathroom....)

As you all know, and have so graciously followed the journey, Derek and I moved to Hawaii after being married for a year and a half. We trekked into the middle of an overgrown coffee field, weed whacked our way to a greenhouse that we would call home for the next six months and then set up camp! We worked those coffee fields from sunrise to sunset, then drove to the beach to shower and eat our ramen noodles. It was the most difficult physical labor I have ever done. It was certifiably crazy. And we loved it! Or rather, looking back on it now, I love that we did that!

After two seasons on 'the farm' we found other work but ended up staying on the Big Island for 3.5 years; our adventures could fill a book. The perfect beach days were absolutely glorious and I was definitely longing for that sand and surf as I chipped ice off my windshield this morning. But what will go down in our memory books will be the conquering of those coffee fields. We'll tell our boys about the rainy nights of 'camping' with a tarp over the back of the truck, waking up soggy and cooking our oatmeal over a propane burner. And I KNOW they'll ask over and over to hear the one about their mom running through the jungle, armed with nothing more than a kitchen knife, the night Derek trapped, killed and butchered a wild pig. We were pushed to our limits, we experienced countless frustrations, we (mostly I) had to battle homesickness. It was the hardest of hard. And it changed our lives, solidified our marriage, grew our faith and instilled in us the knowledge that 'the hard' is exactly what makes this life excellent.

The real mystery of 'the hard' reaches deep into my faith and my marriage and parenting and the fact remains: the most difficult seasons are exactly what make these relationships so true and rich and irreplaceable. 
So here I am, literally up to my knees in snow and trying to figure out how to entertain a two year old without giving my two month old pneumonia. When the sun comes out we chop and load and haul and stack firewood and then burn it all hours of the day in order to stay warm. (In case you were wondering, splitting wood with an ax is just as therapeutic as clearing jungle with a machete! Only difference is the frostbite in my toes!)
Derek shot a deer and, with help from our incredible family, turned it into a freezer full of hamburger and steak! He leaves for work at 5am and comes home at 7pm. The days are long for both of us. On the weekend we drill holes in the iced over lake and go fishing! Dates take the form of leaving the boys with Nana so we can drive up into the mountains before sunrise to track herds of elk. It feels like we are pioneers or participants in an arctic, survival show! Other times it feels like I'm suffocating.
So yes, I'll be the first to admit that I question 'the hard'. But I am beginning to glimpse the makings of an epic adventure in all this. And, dare I say, if 'the hard' is where the best, the most fulfilling and the life changing are formed, then... gulp... why would I ever want the easy?
Why would I settle for anything less than the most excellent path which God has prepared in advance for me, for us?! [Ephesians 2:10] The days may stretch long as the cold traps us inside and we search for direction but I take heart at the realization that we will look back on right here, right now and say, with confidence, how we wouldn't trade it for anything. May we each rise to the challenge in front of us and embrace whatever form 'the hard' may be taking in anticipation of the adventure that we are currently living!