Tackling Bear Mountain

Scrambled eggs with zucchini, onion, and aged sharp cheddar, alongside wedges of what was a giant whole wheat cinnamon roll fresh from the bread shop. When Ken and I started our Saturday morning with such a delicious (and substantial) brunch menu, I knew that the day was bound to be memorable. The temperature outside hovered around freezing and the bright blue sky beckoned us outdoors. After compiling care packages to send to our friends overseas, Ken and I packed up our hiking gear: camelbacks, layers of clothes, and bear spray, along with our other essentials (afternoon tea and cookies, and fish-flavored treats for Gracie, my in-laws' border collie), we were ready for an adventure! We decided to tackle Bear Mountain, one of my husband's favorite hikes in Alaska. It's been two years since we first summited the mountain together and what a joy it was to reach the top again! Honestly, there were moments when I considered turning back, especially when I slipped and slid along the half-frozen mud patches and felt the weight of my backpack increasing exponentially as I gained altitude up the steep trail, but I disciplined myself to keep moving, one foot in front of the other. The view along the ridge line was spectacular, dappled with whispy wheat grass blowing in the breeze and dense clusters of wild blueberry and cranberry bushes lining our path. Although a cold wind greeted our arrival, we were prepared with snow pants and thick windbreakers, and were able to comfortably take in the beauty of the view. We had made it to the top! God reminded me through this tangible victory that He continues to give us strength for the journey ahead. Through persevering and trusting in His faithfulness, we will make it. God will give us the victory.

I hope you enjoy these photos from our hike!
(Click on each to enlarge.)

P.S. In case you missed it, here's a link to the recipe for Pumpkin Spice Chai Tea Cookies. We brought these on our hike and enjoyed them with warm cups of tea at the summit, around 3,000 ft above sea level. Feel free to enjoy them in the comfort of your own home at a normal elevation as well.

Pumpkin Spice Chai Tea Cookies!

Fall Greetings friends! As a cool, crisp Autumn wind blows swiftly through the Willow and Poplar trees outside, I'm warm in our kitchen, busily preparing my next batch of seasonal cookies. The fragrant smell of ginger, cinnamon, and nutmeg, combined with a savory note of pumpkin, provides a cozy backdrop as I take in the ever-changing landscape outside.

I wanted to share a recipe I crafted a couple days ago, which is now my new favorite fall treat: Pumpkin Spice Chai Tea Cookies! Imagine the perfect matrimony between pumpkin pie and gingerbread--well, chai tea gingerbread. Mmm! I got the idea for these cookies as I thought back to some of the tasty treats I received from a friend a couple years ago at Christmas-time. She mailed me a box of chai tea cookies, which seemed incredibly exotic. I had never heard of chai tea cookies although I had been fond of chai tea lattes for quite a while. Thanks again, my dear! You know who you are...Also, since another dear friend recently gifted me with a care package full of seasonal delights from Trader Joe's (insert huge smile), I decided it was time to figure out how to prepare cookies that adequately reflect my love for all things fall.

Pumpkin Spice Chai Tea Cookies

I hope you enjoy these as much as I do! A word of wisdom: consider doubling the batch so that you can share them with others or you may want to lock yourself away in your home for a few days while the delightful smell of seasonal spices beckons neighbors and passer-biers to your doorstep. They're that good!

Pumpkin Spice Chai Tea Cookie Recipe

Makes about 2 dozen cookies

Ingredients:

1 cup butter

3/4 cups packed brown sugar

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

1 scoopful (which is 3 tablespoons) of Trader Joe’s Pumpkin Spice Chai Tea Latte Mix

2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour

Directions

1.     Cream butter and brown sugar.

2.     Add vanilla extract and Pumpkin Spice Chai Tea Latte Mix. (Note: If you prefer a stronger chai flavor, you can add up to 5 tablespoons of spice mix.)

3.     Mix well, until all ingredients are thoroughly combined.

4.     Separate dough into two balls on cling wrap or waxed paper. Then shape each dough ball into a log and tightly wrap each log in its cling wrap. Refrigerate for an hour.

5.     Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (165 degrees C).

6.     Remove cookie dough logs from the fridge and unwrap them. Then, using a sharp knife, cut 1/2-inch rectangular strips from each log. Prick each cookie with a fork and then place on ungreased baking sheets.

7.     Bake at 350 degrees F for 10-12 minutes until lightly golden brown. Transfer cookies to wire racks for cooling. 

Muddy Boots: Recounting God's Faithfulness

Squish, squash, goes the sound of my rubber boots as I wade into the knee-deep mud at my grandparents’ farm, I read aloud to the 20-some classmates in my senior Advanced Placement English class on Maui, legs buckling and hands shaking, as I grip my essay with both hands. I’m nervous, obviously. It’s hard to be the center of attention when so much is at stake. My English teacher just moments before had told our class that she came across one of the best college essays she’s heard and that it beat out all other essays for the highest score. Anxious to hear whom the writer was, combined with the excitement of it being my 17th birthday that very day, I stopped chatting with my high school best friend and gave our teacher my full attention.

Maile, your writing is beautiful. Can you come up to the front of the class and read your essay to us?

My eyes shift across the room, glancing at my classmates, as I awkwardly fumble out of my chair.

Ok, I think I can do that, I replied, after what felt like a long period of silence.

I then shared the story I had lovingly crafted as a tribute to my grandparents’ taro farm and the magical childhood I experienced while working in the fields there—planting and harvesting fruits and vegetables, playing in the mud and climbing trees with my dear cousin Isaac, and learning the invaluable skills that my family ingrained in me during those times: a strong work ethic, diligence, reverence, and respect. We all worked together toward a common goal.

It was during these times that I grew in my love for adventure and exploration. I remember with fondness, the few times I snuck away from farmhouse chores with Isaac, to play hide and seek amidst the thick grass or run at full speed through the macadamia nut fields, pretending that we were being chased by robbers or some other form of evil. With a tinge of guilt, I can still hear Uncle Francis calling for us in a loud shout: “Maile! Isaac! Get back here—you have to do dishes! No running from chores!”

But his voice is hindered by the growing distance between us and him, and so Isaac and I run faster, laughing breathlessly, away from certain punishment.

It is stories that like these, which the Lord has been calling to my mind the past few days. Perhaps it’s because I turned 28 years old last Tuesday, and the life I envisioned for myself as a child has turned out to be very different than I expected. In reality, it’s so much better.

As a child, I dreamed that I would travel the world and live for God with abandon. I wanted to explore the wide, open terrain of this marvelous world and I wanted to learn about other people and hear their stories. But I wasn’t sure how that would all play out. I grew up on a small island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean with very limited means. All I knew was how to work hard for the things I wanted and so I fiercely committed to my studies, in hopes of going to college on the mainland, far from home. During high school, I took as many advanced classes as I could. I also chose Japanese as my four-year language because it seemed like the most competitive option.

My work ethic carried over to other aspects of my life as well. Through rigorous training and perseverance, I won a seat on the crew team at the 2000 World Canoe Paddling Championships in Australia. This was my first time oversees and I was only 14 years old, competing in what was the Olympics of outrigger paddling.

My sophomore year of high school brought many more “God experiences” where I felt the Lord cheering me on through blessing after blessing. I can picture this moment clearly: I’m 15 years old, sitting alone with my cafeteria lunch tray, huddled in the farthest stall of the girl’s bathroom, praying for God to prove Himself faithful in my life. To help me get to college, through whatever means. Later that day, I found out that my friend and I won the title of “Best Senior Research Project” at the Maui County Science & Engineering Fair, the top prize awarded. We then won a scholarship at the Hawaii State Science Fair and were invited to compete at the International Science Fair, a top honor. At that same time, I was selected through an extensive essay and interview competition to take part in a selective exchange program to Okinawa, Japan. It was the summer of my sophomore year in high school and I was now headed to Japan for a month of total cultural immersion.

Looking back, I can see how God has been answering my prayers all along—prayers for adventure, travel, and personal growth. I have been a part of so many other stories, beautiful moments where God came through for me in abundant ways. I’ve won multiple essay contests in high school and college, where the cash prizes were just what I needed to support my college dream. But the stories I wrote were never just my own; they were glimpses into my childhood, shaped by difficult times as well as moments of rejoicing, and some stories were not even mine at all, in that they were shared experiences where I came in contact with other people who taught me something that I hadn’t known before—and I wrote it down, only to find out later that it spoke so deeply to something within us all. I was privy to others’ secrets and hidden sorrows, which formed the basis for my understanding of how to write and do it well.

I guess I’m sharing all these things because God recently put it on my heart to “Call to mind His faithfulness.” This morning I’m reminded of how God has blessed me immeasurably, through these blessings I’ve shared and also through the times of pruning and trial, which I’ve experienced in great measure lately. My cousin Isaac and his wife recently shared these verses with us: “And we boast in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us,” Romans 5:2-5.

What I’m challenged by in these verses is that we are called to ‘glory in our sufferings’ because it means that God is working on us. I think I’m surprised when I hear this, because along with our society, I’m tempted to commend those who look ‘glamorous’ and ‘perfect’ on the outside, who do so without any struggle on their part. Facebook is a clear example of this. I suppose this blog has been, in many ways, my response to that lifestyle. Rather than modeling only the ‘good things’ in my life, I’ve wanted to give an honest peek into how God is shaping me in both the good and the hard times. Nothing is wasted in His Kingdom. And yes, if I allow Him, God will gift me with suffering and the ability to truly enter in, and experience that He is enough—far better than anything else.

As I close today’s journal-like entry, I’m grateful for a husband who is loving and kind and cherishes the opportunity to grow together. We’ve experienced much loss and grief these past couple months, and there have been times recently when I’ve compared our lives and our marriage to the ‘beautiful people who are doing amazing things’ I see online or hear about in friend circles.

But then, as Ken reminded me a couple days ago, “They might be missing out on the opportunity to grow, and I want to grow.” He continued, adapting a Dave Ramsey quote: “I want to live as a person of discipline so that later I can be a person of maturity and strength.”

My husband wants to do the hard work now, instead of pretending that everything is just great on the surface. He’s committed to God’s best, and right now, God’s best is for us to grow into people who are more like Him, embodying love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control—the fruits of the Spirit that oftentimes grow best in the soil of adversity and suffering, through perseverance.

Transplanting ourselves in Alaska from Seattle has been an incredible opportunity to grow. As I meander through flooded trails along a nearby lake in this wide, open state, I can hear my new navy blue, rubber Bogs slosh loudly as my feet rise and fall in the deep mud patches.

Squish, squash.

I’m reminded of my childhood, and how through hard work, a desire to grow, and trust in a God who is greater than me, I’ve gotten to this place.

My Sand Castles

Much like an infant swaddled in its mothers arms, I'm comfortably slouched on my in-laws' faux suede couch sandwiched between pillows piled over with a giant, cotton-fleece blanket. Pretty kitties and butterflies--I didn't realize that was the linen design until just now. "Hmm," I think to myself, as I take a sip from my too-hot cup of jasmine green tea. "Who knew?"

I'm enjoying the stillness of my Saturday morning. Ken and his dad just left on a work errand so I have the house all to myself. As I reflect on the beauty of the fall colors outside, unfolding in bursts, as the morning sun rises above the tree tops, one of my favorite Switchfoot songs starts to play on the radio. The chorus softly beckons me in:

I wish I had what I needed
To be on my own
'Cause I feel so defeated
And I'm feeling alone

And it all seems so helpless
And I have no plans
I'm a plane in the sunset
With nowhere to land

And all I see
It could never make me happy
And all my sand castles
Spend their time collapsing

Let me know that you hear me.
Let me know your touch.
Let me know that you love me.
Let that be enough.

It's a song about a boy learning to grow up. And it's a painful process. I can understand how the singer must feel. It's been a few years now since he wrote this song and I wonder if things have changed--does he understand life better now? Or perhaps he's still searching for something--maybe elusive--that this side of Heaven will not fully be revealed to him.

In the past week, I've noticed that like the words of this song, many of my 'sand castles' are collapsing. I'm in a season of tremendous transition, filled with moments of intense grief, and conversely joy, along with the growing knowledge that while life events and circumstances are uncertain, there is a God who is not, and He is with me. Always.

Last Sunday night, Ken and I got word that one of his grandmas had passed away. It was bittersweet, as Grandma Alice was a big part of our decision to move to Alaska. Months back, God gave me a vision to pursue relationships with family by living closer and it was an honor to share in Grandma's last few days here. In retrospect, I didn't realize our time together would be so short.

I guess that summarizes much of how I'm feeling in our current stage of life. Ken and I are faced with many uncertainties. Without a steady income and no job prospects on the horizon, we are at the beginning stages of considering what that means for us. Realistically, can we stay in Alaska? Likewise, did God bring us to this place just for a season? If so, when is that season over--how will we know? As we review our budget based entirely on savings, we know at some point our money will run out. Our relative financial security that we've enjoyed by living frugally the past few years is not enough to postpone the inevitable. And so, in a spirit of faith, we are pursuing job opportunities together and I am placing my business endeavors on hold, while we seek God for what's next.

In many ways, I see dreams of mine being placed on hold, seemingly collapsing. The hope of starting a family, of living near family, and my desire to feel secure and have a place of our own. Right now, I have to release those things to God. I have to believe that in faith what He gives us is better than what I can take for myself. My prayers in the past few days have become much simpler. Lord, help me to know that you're with us. No matter what.

Let me know that you hear me.
Let me know your touch.
Let me know that you love me.
Let that be enough.

The Fog is Rising: Musings on Value and What Really Matters

“Try not to become a man of success. Rather become a man of value.” 

Albert Einstein 

My eyes dart across my computer screen toward the bright blue and silver mist gleaming outside our living room’s giant picture window. The fog is rising. Some mornings these condensed cloud formations hover softly above the valley below and seem to disappear; other mornings, they rise quietly—steadily gaining altitude until they blanket our wood cabin in all-consuming grey. I glance out toward the horizon and all I can see now are dark shadows of Spruce, Alder, Willow, and Birch trees; the faint outline of their leaves are vaguely yellow, and as the fog rolls in, even those colors disappear into gray.

Salt-water streams fed by reservoirs of discomfort and change, have become the new ‘normal’ for me in the days since I wrote last. The whimsical-optimist side of me sat down to tea with my analytical-realist self and my excitement over our recent move hastily became obscured by the reality of our living situation—hundreds of miles away from my closest connections in Seattle and southern California, and just as far in this season from my parents and sisters as the previous one. I recognize, intellectually, that moving to a completely different location should be like this—initially difficult, filled with moments of regret but also exhilarating—because I chose this, knowing, to a certain degree it’d be hard. But I didn’t know it’d be this hard. I didn’t realize that I’d miss my friends this deeply. Or, that I’d yearn for the depth of community and teaching that we experienced at our former church in Seattle. I didn’t expect that entering into family living would challenge my nature as an introvert as much as it has. I guess, in short, I didn’t expect things to be this way.

I am thankful that in this time of transition, when my hope for the future is blurred by current struggles, I am finding that a deeper foundation lies beneath the shifting sands of emotion. I’m rooted in who I am in the Lord, and I trust in Him to provide the things that Ken and I need to navigate this new season with grace and gratitude. I’m also learning how to wait, patiently, for the revelation of God’s promises—promises to go before us, to provide for us, to comfort us, to grow us in our faith, and to love us. He is Good. And perhaps, I would never learn how to unabashedly confess my weaknesses and inability to ‘make things happen’ on my own if it were not for seasons of adversity, where many expectations seemingly go unmet.

I suppose, in many ways, this blog has become a ‘safe place’ for me, where I am able to live vulnerably and admit that I’m nowhere near perfect. I’m a work in progress and I’m fighting to live a life that has value. Lately, as I’ve pondered the fresh beginnings my husband and I are embarking upon here in Alaska, I have noticed subtle changes taking place in my life. Especially as I launch my own business in a new state. A particular conversation I recently had with one of my cousins reaffirmed my sense of value in what I do for work. It also reminded me that who I am apart from my work is equally valuable, or perhaps more so, and that naturally, who I am and who I strive to be overflows into all areas of my life. The choices I make in who I market myself as in the business world must correlate with how I’m living as a wife, a family member, a friend, a believer. So, as I focus on what business goals I’d like to meet and what successes I’d like to see in my career, I’m drawn back to these words by Albert Einstein, which I stumbled on a while back: “Try not to become a man of success. Rather become a man of value.”

Living in the tension of who I am and who I want to be has value. 

Loving others well has value.
Discomfort has value.
Being honest has value.
What God is doing in me in this unique season has value.

“Praise the Lord! I can see something!” Ken exclaims as he peers out the window.

My thoughts are interrupted as my husband shouts happily that he can see a hint of light. He jumps up and down and repeats his words to me. I pause to take in the sudden transformation taking place outside. The sky is brighter; light blue patches start to appear in the distance, and I can tell that the sun is out.

 
It’s refreshing to finally see a glimpse of light breaking through. It was there the whole time, just hiding.

The Siren Song of the Marmoset & Other Adventures as of Late

“MREEAK!” A sound like that of fingernails grinding across a chalkboard deafens my hearing. “Mreeeeak-mreeak!” It comes again, this time with a howl like a child being tortured. My eyes dart across the valley, crazily scanning for the origin of the noise. Ken turns to me and we realize that the shrieking is coming from a marmoset off in the distance. He’s on a large granite boulder, perched roughly 75 feet away from us. And he’s calling to us.

Gracie, my in-laws’ black and white Border Collie, instantly leaps forward in the direction of the marmoset. She’s ready to charge the wild creature. After pouncing through the knee-high brush, she’s at its rock.

But then it’s gone.

A cacophony of screeches ensues, some 40 to 50 feet away, now from different boulders. Gracie runs after the marmoset, indifferent to their changing directions. She loves to hunt. Meanwhile, Ken and I follow, happily chasing after her in pursuit of the marmoset.

This was last Saturday, as the three of us hiked through Archangel Valley near the now nationally recognized town of Wasilla, Alaska. It was my first time venturing down the bumpy, two-mile dirt road leading to this trail, within Hatcher’s Pass. Ken excitedly planned this ‘maiden hike’ for us, in hopes of helping me train for the much more involved 8-hour hike to the crashed B-52 Bomber Plane perched atop a glacier farther along the trail. The hike was wonderful, and a great starting place for me. I enjoyed basking in the verdant mountain landscape while breathing in the crisp 50-degree weather. Likewise, the abandoned mining buildings scattered along our path intrigued me. So much history happened here, I thought to myself, as I walked through the rubble, alongside a rain-swelled creek. I imagined gold miners panning for gold in those waters and digging beneath the surface for the smallest glimmer. And then there were the marmoset, those cat-sized animals scattering across rocks and among shrubs. I felt like we were on an adventure, transported back in time, to a rugged place in history.

In pursuing the marmoset, we quickly lost sight of the main trail and eagerly climbed boulders in the direction Gracie ran. Exhausted from the chase, I sat down on a rock ledge overlooking the valley, where we unpacked our sandwiches and snacks and enjoyed a late lunch. We never made it to the first set of lakes on our journey, our original goal, because we followed the siren call of the marmoset. Although it was a delightful detour, hopefully next time we’ll evade their captivating cries.

Along with our hiking adventures, Ken and I are learning to appreciate the ‘simpler’ aspects of living in a more rural community. Ken’s parents boast a lovely vegetable and fruit garden right outside their front door where we can harvest fresh potatoes, kale, broccoli, and cauliflower for soups, stews, and side dishes. Also, their woodsy and windy street is perfect for wildlife sightings. A year ago, I spotted a moose right in their front yard. More recently, Ken and I came across a beautiful red fox perched along a bank near their property. The majestic creature held a regal stance, as she watched us pass by her early one evening. We endearingly nicknamed her, “The Guardian,” and from time to time, question where The Guardian might be as we weave up or down our road. We live in a marvelous place, ideal for imaginations such as mine.

It’s been a month now since we drove up the Alcan and settled just outside of Anchorage. I’m adjusting to the change in climate, and the heaviness I feel from missing my dear friends in Seattle and scattered throughout Washington, Oregon, and California, is slowly lifting. Honestly, it’s very difficult to now live so far from my closest friends and away from the amenities of city living, and yet, I’m finding glimpses of joy in ways that I’ve never known before. Alaska has a sort of savage splendor to it. A wildly untamed state bold in its assertion of natural beauty. A diamond in the rough, or if I may say so, a nugget of gold pulled from a rocky mountain stream.

++

Here are some photos from our recent adventures!
Click on each to enlarge.

A Slice of Rhubarb Cake: Contemplations on Loss & Living Faithfully

Three bites worth.
That's the amount of crumbly oatmeal-flour cake, with its moist chunks of rhubarb hidden beneath the golden fluff, I have left on my dessert plate. All of a sudden a wave of remorse overtakes me; I wish that I had eaten my cake slower. I'll have to savor every last bite.

I feel that way right now, as I recall the day's events and ponder what the future will look like for myself, my husband and his family. One of Ken's grandmas is at the hospital and we are unsure as to when she'll be able to return to home, let alone her current state of health. It's a tough situation. Today, upon visiting grandma at the medical center, I felt mixed emotions as I walked through the brightly-lit corridor leading to her room. The hospital where she's staying is so peaceful and welcoming. Likewise, there are Bible verses and references scattered throughout the hallways and waiting areas. I remember being in a place like this one in the not-too-distant past. However, the hospital where I spent my time was not located in Alaska--it was back on Maui. And there were no Bible references to comfort me while waiting in the lobby. The smells of Maui's main health center were quite different than the well-ventilated, fresh scent of the hospital where I spent this morning.

It's crazy how experiences in our everyday can trigger memories from the past. Maybe this is something unique to me. I have always been commended on my ability to recall past events with prolific detail but I don't usually feel that my ability is such a gift. Today included moments like that. Moments when I was transported to a place and a time that felt incredibly real, in its emotion and experience.

All of a sudden, I am back in the Intensive Care Unit at the Maui Memorial Hospital, sitting beside my 74-year-old grandma, watching her body deteriorate--her lungs had collapsed after filling with fluid and she was literally being pumped with oxygen through a breathing machine. My right hand strokes her soft gray hair, as she rests peacefully in a half-propped position. She's in a coma right now and I'm not sure if she can hear me, but I start reading to her anyway. I have some Bible verses that I brought, along with a wealth of stories from my day at work. Grandma loved hearing my stories, I would think, as I now shared them without any type of acknowledgment on her part. I clasp her warm hand and hold it steadily as I whisper into her ear that I'll be back again soon. I love you, Grandma. 

And now I'm back. I realize that I'm not on the little island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean that I called home for so long. I'm actually in the rugged, mountain-strewn state of Alaska. I'm also not sitting with my grandma who is dying of emphysema. I'm with Ken's grandma, and she is awake and coherent, able to respond to my stories and recognize who I am. This is a different situation, although it brings up memories that I had tried to bury so deep.

It's hard watching loved ones suffer and experience pain. I wish that God didn't allow us to walk through such things and yet I believe that one day, perhaps in Heaven, it will all make sense. For now, I can only trust that He is good and place my hope in Him. I still miss my Grandma every day. The hardest part, I think for me, is not being able to talk to her. She had such a funny sense of humor--her Bronx, New York upbringing added to her candor. Quick-witted and extremely wise, Grandma provided a sense of stability in my life. When she died, it took so long for my grief to subside. I still carry with me the invisible wounds of having lost someone so dear.

My emotions are fresh, my pain laid bare before me. As I spent time with Ken's grandma today, I thought back to all the times I have been blessed to walk with people through seasons of suffering: as a Stephen Minister (lay counselor), a Memorial Service Coordinator, and also in just being available for people I've met along life's journey. It's so hard to watch people hurting, but I am thankful for the way it pushes me to see beyond this life, into the hope of what's to come.

So, here we are, now living in Alaska, and pressing into Christ for hope as we walk with family members through the aging process. I am confident that God has us here for a reason. In response to my constant questioning, I've heard Him whisper in my ear, "for such a time as this" (from the story of Esther). I want to be faithful to that calling. Six years ago, if I hadn't moved home to Maui following college, I would have missed the opportunity to walk my grandma from this life into the next. Instead, I answered God's prompt. I'm amazed at what God has brought my husband and me through these past few years of marriage, and I am confident that He will continue to meet our every need.