I do actually live in a canyon. Sort of. I live in a canyon in the sense that compared to the East coast, every inch of Idaho is canyon. These foothills are taller than what some people call mountains.
But I didn’t know that, when I first named this blog. When I started I was just trying to write about a gap that ripped me in half. I was a feminist and LGBT ally who respects my atheist husband. And I was also a Christian who sings Our God is an Awesome God and prays with hands. I couldn’t make the two halves fit together. I started writing into that space…into what I call the canyon.
Now I write about a sense of the sacred in nature. Now I write about God in the Wild. I write about the contemplative life I lead out on this mountain. I write about church in the wilderness, and church in the wild.
It is easy to feel alone and unrepresented. It is easy to feel frustrated by what I hear in one place, and simultaneously saddened by what I hear somewhere else. It’s easy to feel like the one who doesn’t belong. But there are so many of us out here, walking in the wild…walking our ways. We are enough to be a church.
I live in the canyon. It is a Rocky Mountain canyon, with the tall trees and the hawk and the hummingbird. But I also claim membership in our shared canyon, the church in the canyon, carved between the camps.