Border Crossing

Free from high school and primed for adventure, a friend and I went on a loosely planned motorcycle trip. A

Wide open Manitoba prairie

Yamaha Enduro was my friend's bike while I rode wild and crazy on a Honda 175. Leaving from southeastern Minnesota we went north. Cruising along Lake Superior's north shore brought us into Thunder Bay, Ontario.  We returned to the North Star state via Fort Francis, Ontario. I have no remembrance of either border crossing. What I do remember is not having Canadian currency. Gas and food was paid in US dollars. Lodging in Thunder Bay consisted of laying on a picnic table underneath a canopy in a city park. 

During the early years of marriage and family, trips were made to Regina and Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, along with Winnipeg, Manitoba. I felt out of place sensing I was in a foreign country. Measurements were different. Currency exchange rates were now factored in. Both English and French were used on signs and consumer products. The Folklorama Week in Winnipeg exposed all of us to diverse expressions of culture and living not seen in northwestern Minnesota. 

Local cooks and servers

The frozen, sparely populated, and windswept prairies of Manitoba have drawn me over the past decade to an ultra endurance event named, "Actif Epica." Similar to other winter challenges, participants choose a

230km bike start

predetermined distance and one of two modalities (bike or foot) to complete that distance. Mid-February is the time frame. What serves as a counterbalance to the
harsh conditions is the generous hospitality of local people and the copious amounts of lovingly created foods. Soups, breads, smoked meats, pierogies, sweet and savory treats, and beverages, along with salty snacks and candies await behind the doors of the unique checkpoints. It is not published, but of equal challenge to the austere environment, is the fortitude required to leave the warmth and conviviality of the checkpoints. The event may learn more toward emotional stamina that physical prowess. 

Proud banner at the start+finish

The tagline for the event, "Celebrate Human Resilience" is more than a published phrase. First of all the event is a cornucopia of humanity. All ages, ethnicities, nationalities, and lifestyles are embraced. In reality no one asks about those categories. Instead the inquiries are about hunger, thirst, physical condition, and celebrating the current accomplishment of distance. Secondly, there is celebration. This is not a competition for podium placement and medals of achievement. Participants are supported and recognized for who they are at that given moment. Whether a person goes back on the course or decides to conclude their effort, each person is embraced as part of a community facing unique internal and external realities. Finally, the characteristic of

50km foot participants
(Gregory C. McNeill photo)

resilience, whether spoken or unspoken permeates the setting. This is not limited to the participants, but to the volunteers, support staff, checkpoint hospitality providers, and family and friends who give from their hearts, as well. Not only are Manitoba prairies wide and awe inspiring, but Actif Epica reflects the reverence and expansiveness of human connection with equal grandeur. 

In my current experience the celebration, humanness, and resilience in life are retracting into tightly walled borders. Restricting community to those of a defined social, ethnic, and economic status closes interaction. We no longer celebrate one another for their unique journey which brings them to the present moment. Instead we negate and denigrate out of 

Being in the moment
(Gregory C. McNeill photo)

misinformed notions of scarcity. Even long established relationships are cast aside because we choose anger toward others out of the disingenuous perceptions propagated by those in leadership and the media. I believe it is time to open our personal borders so we can cross over, as well as allow others to come into our lives. The recognition of our humanness, the celebration of our unique journeys, and the strength generated by respecting resilience will create a meaningful life far greater than that promised by massive walls and impassible obstacles. 

Actif Epica, I will return to again be enveloped and celebrated for nothing other than being human!

50km finishers from Crystal
Spring Hutterite Colony
(Scott Sugimoto photo)

                                                 

                                     

Cornucopia of humanity

Playmate

(Online image)

It was an invigorating and secretive part of my mid-teenage years. I was able to buy a used copy of Playboy magazine from a schoolmate. Do not ask about the articles in the publication. I was not interested in reading! I wanted the excitement and fantasy of the pictures. I had a Playmate!  As much as I wishfully dreamt, a meaningful relationship never developed. However, I certainly enjoyed many aspects of this titillating relationship. 

For more than a decade I have been in a primarily one-sided relationship. I have been enticed and captivated by the siren song of politics. The promise of, "This is the most important election in history," captured my attention, devotion, and massive portions of internal energy. The promises grew and my response intensified. Over time this relationship became lopsided. I began to sense and now fully believe that I have been played. It is about abject loyalty. It is about taking sides and forsaking all others. It is about isolation and exclusion. I have come to realize that believing in politicians to care about me is the same as fantasizing that Playboy's Playmate would personally visit me because I gazed longingly and lustfully at her photos. 

Fostering and cultivating relationships is foundational to having a playmate. Play contributes to exploration, listening, and understanding. Play expands not only relationships, but the perspective of everyone involved. Playmates enhance and uplift one another. Even in the midst of disagreement there is a commitment to respect each other. 

I choose not be be played in the current deluge of political pornography. Visual and online media bombard enticing images and alluring sound bites with little concern for their effects on people. Everyone involved in this morally offensive drama wants to entice, stimulate, and engorge which produces an organism of venom. No soothing endorphins and cuddly afterglow follows. Rather it becomes an addictive rush to gain false righteousness and seek retribution.

Farmer's Market in L'Aquila Italy

I am intentionally focusing on relationships and interactions which are positive, playful, and enhancing. This does not mean that I choose ignorance or apathy. Instead of wallowing in anxiety or the quagmire of misinformation, I am cultivating perspective through action. I want to feel free, alive, and aware of my surroundings and the people who make up the communities in which I interact.  A healthy system of community will withstand the chaos of random humiliation, exclusion, and elimination. My plan is to continue enjoying time with people in personal, civil, and life affirming interactions.

70 Isn't 40

Just a few varieties.

SPAMtown was my address thirty years ago. My spouse had a meaningful job, I was in a residency year at the Mayo Medical Center, and the daughters were involved in school. The commute from Austin to Rochester, Minnesota was far more scenic than the flatlands of the Red River Valley. Opposite ends of the state, as well as opposite outlooks on the future.

The recognition of my fortieth birthday was a surprise event. I was positively impacted by the friends who traveled to mark this occasion. I was also apprehensive about the future. At midlife I was making an uncertain shift in my career focus. Leaving parish ministry behind, I was in a Clinical Pastoral Education residency program. The training provided national qualification and recognition as a Chaplain, but little else. There was no guarantee of employment once the training concluded. With young children, a single income, and more transitions in the future, there was no inkling of security. Forty was a fretful experience. 

Running scared

At seventy the future is less fretful. The worries are in the past. There are no surprises kept nor next day clean-up with which to contend. I have a deeper sense of security because all that is yet to come is death. Yes, that word is complex and numerous emotions are attached to it. However, I now see it as more inevitable and less disruptive than at forty. I am not certain how it will present itself, but it will happen. I am unable to change it.

As humans we prioritize security. In other words, if we can control the external, the internal sense of well-being should ensue. Yet our society thrives on promoting insecurity. There is never enough. Cameras are more important than doorbells because people come to steal not visit. We divide into factions. We are fearful that someone else may get what we deserve. We speak of wanting change and vote for change. Change often means returning to what was seemingly secure in the past. We want change to benefit ourselves at the expense of others.  For our businesses, governments, and healthcare institutions to maintain their status they need to promote a fretful future which only they can control. 

Wisdom and guiding principles flicker like candles in the wind. Like all things in life they are tested, used, and suspended. Yet if they endure through time and regularly return to our mind, then it must carry wisdom. These words of the late educator and author, Stephen R Covey have served and continue to serve me well, "The main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing." These words evoke reflection, exploration, timeliness, and thoughtfulness. At points in my life the main thing became getting ahead, achieving status, and being recognized. I don't believe I ever achieved those things. If I did, I wasn't satisfied. The

Satisfied in all seasons

overarching main thing which I have finally come to accept is to marvel at creation, accept human nature, and embrace what is. I feel secure in life, but not invincible. I enjoy life while not being fretful of death. Seventy isn't forty. I'm satisfied. 

Cannonball

Historic Island Park Pool in
Fargo ND being remodeled and
updated

Swimming is not part of my usual activities. I did not learn to properly swim until my early twenties through a university physical education class. However, I always enjoyed playing in the water. Jumping off the diving board, low or high, was a joy. I did not dive. Instead, I became proficient at cannonballs. Using my size, I made a huge splash with radiating ripples (more like waves 😁). The cannonball effect was useful in getting noticed. Often it was more attention from annoyance. The point being, I was remembered.

In the small community tucked away in the northwestern corner of North Dakota, the pastor was in the top five most influential people. Soon after settling in, my picture adorned the wall of pastors who had previously served the parish. Pride erupted inside of me which was greater than when I was chosen as the scholar/athlete as a high school senior. I only had verbal recognition along with my name and graduation year placed on a plaque with the prior recipients of the award. In the church basement I had an 8"X10" framed, color photograph. I was and would continue to be remembered!    

The original St John's Hospital
is recycled rubble

At a recent graveside service, I noticed something unusual: human beings less than twenty years old. The trend is moving toward fewer people coming to cemeteries. Those that do have been receiving Social Security payments for years. The ripples radiating from acres of organic, fertile stories are barely noticed. What gets noticed are the polished stone benches, along with the solar powered luminaries. I am not upset by or bemoaning this reality. It is my observation. This observation along with numerous others have recast the aforementioned cannonball effect.

The common advice of: "Leave a legacy," "Make a difference," and "Leave the world better than you found it," all can be heard as a cryptic way of fostering fear. These phrases lightly cover the underlying fear of being forgotten. Realistically, I will be forgotten. I have no doubt been forgotten by many people already. A forty year old photograph, no doubt with its color fading, gets passed over along with all the other old pastors. What happens to the photos when the congregation dissolves? I have been involved with some church closings. Sure, give items to a museum or the regional archives. When was the last time you visited one of these places? Times change. Perspective change. Culture transforms and what is important gets redefined. As a history major, I find meaning in the stories of the past. Yet, I live in the reality of today. 

Seasons come to an end

Forcing someone to remember and appreciate the past is like forcing someone to like Swiss chard. If nothing gets brought from the past, life in the present will continue. The prophet Isaiah was insightful when writing, "The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of God continues." (40.8) I believe the word of God is life. Life lived fully in the moment. Life lived as a new gift to be unwrapped.

Instead of making waves, my plan is to simply slide through life like an otter entering the water. If there is a phrase I choose for today it is, "Leave no trace." I want to promote each person being free to explore, discover, and enjoy their journey in life unimpeded by me. 

No splash necessary

Staying Dirty

 

Current Sign

Over a decade ago, gravel bike events within a reasonable driving distance were rare commodities. Scouring the internet for these events took more than a keyword search or a hashtag. Events were mentioned through links on web pages, stumbled upon by reading random race reports, or by word of mouth, often second hand, from other bikers. The names of the events were as unique as the routes themselves. Overall, these were low-key, grassroots, free events with massive portions of hospitality and camaraderie, often punctuated with food and libations. It was July 2013, when I began my gritty gravel relationship with the Dirty Lemming.

Jim and Suzanne, along with some like minded bikers staged this event from their home on a cul-de-sac in Watertown MN. The 7am start was preceded by a friend with an operatic voice singing "The Star Spangled Banner." Then the wheels turned for a distance of 100km or 100 miles. A couple of well staffed aid stations were along the route. Post ride nourishment and refreshments took place in the shaded backyard on the cul-de-sac. Cheap trophies in normal, as well as humorous categories rounded out the day. In 2021, I went home with 2 trophies: 1st Fat Bike and Last Lemming!

Covid, as well as Jim and Suzanne's relocation appeared to push the Lemming off a cliff. However, it is difficult to not only get rid of ground in dirt, but the scent of a tight knit community. In 2023, Deb and Garry took over the reins of the Dirty Lemming. The venue changed to their farm. No more annoying the 

Camp Setting

neighbors in the cul-de-sac! Features of onsite camping, an outdoor shower, new routes (same distances), and a refurbished barn replaced previous components. The critical characteristics of submitting an entry post card, a soloist singing the National Anthem prior to the start, cheap trophies (now the "Farm Edition"), and the all embracing hospitality remain.

Pre-start Anthem (Deb's photo)

My plans to navigate the 100 mile route crashed in early June due to my bike accident. The time away from the bike to allow my clavicle to heal and the effects of the concussion to dissipate meant I could not participate even in the shorter distance. However, this provided the opportunity to volunteer. Lemmings are communal rodents. There is support and strength in numbers. Sleeping in the one person tent on a humid night after sharing a meal and conversation with a dozen other riders and volunteers, while a bit uncomfortable was overcome by an abiding sense of serenity. Filtered pre-dawn skies at 5am, walking through dew drenched grass to the porta potty, and brushing teeth at an outdoor sink began a full day. Supplies were loaded, the timing tent was popped up and tied down, and moving tables and chairs for post-ride hospitality filled the hours. Connecting with others in a drama free, nonpartisan, story sharing, high heat and blustery winds day was fabulous. Cheering tired pedal pushers as they sliced through the unrelenting wind to the end of their ride was priceless. While filled with diversity, the gravel dusted, gritty group of Lemmings savored not only the struggles of the day, but provided support for life beyond the farm. 

Lemming returns home
(Deb's photo)

While many are watching the Olympics, tracking medal counts, and having emotional reflexes to the made for media stories of athletes, I savor the opportunity to get dirty with lemmings. There were no podiums on which to stand or coaches to hug. The scene was sweat-streaked individuals; exhausted, giddy, relieved their mechanical fix lasted to the finish, and satisfied that a ride was completed.  Tech workers, medical staff, individuals thankful for another day in recovery, retirees, novices, and veterans once again followed a line on a bike computer and a line through the gravel. It is a dirty community with staying power. A community of gravel I intend to join again in 2025.

Ready to roll

Limiting the Limitless

Seen on the prairie

Laying on the hard packed snowdrift staring into the sky, I was mesmerized by the infinite dots of light. My preteen mind made the connection to the Sunday School God who created the heavens and the earth. I still marvel at the intricacies of texture and color in flora and fauna. Crouching, gently pushing aside grass, leaves, and other detritus another lively ecosystem is revealed. This one is equally as complex as the one in which I exist. A Creator of all this splendor, in my current concept of God cannot be limited. In so many ways, all of these interdependent systems are beyond my comprehension, but not beyond my appreciation.

Standing tall in the midst of other signage was the billboard proclaiming God's magnificent design. When it comes to the supposed pinnacle of creation, being limited to an either or seems to be illogical. Amidst the immeasurable creativity and limitless possibilities, God finally grew weary and 

Truth?

settled upon two choices. If humanity is created in the likeness of the Creator, shouldn't we be satisfied with the simplicity of the binary? What?My preteen mind goes back to the kitchen cupboard gazing at the cereal  options: corn flakes or crispy rice. Neither of these options assume space in my current cabinet. If it wasn't for granola, some of which is mixed with fruits, seeds, and nuts; infused with added proteins, possibly being organic or gluten free, the product named cereal wouldn't be in my home. While binary exists, are we willing to be so limited? Marketing departments would be nonexistent if we were so simply satisfied. If choices and variety are vital, who are we to boldly post that God is limited?

Colors, contours, and creation

A quote attributed to Susan B. Anthony, an American social reformer and human rights activist, "I distrust those people who know so well what God wants them to do, because I notice it always coincides with their own desires." During the past decade I have seen a revival within the religious community of stances which are claimed to be approved by God. These interpretations are not limited to liberal or conservative groups. I sense that instead of marveling at the grand diversity in which we live, while attempting to incorporate our thoughts into the understanding of life, we have to attach God's authority to it. If God's approval is placed on our perspectives, our perspectives have to be correct. Right? The longer I remain in pastoral ministry the less directive I become in suggesting my interpretation of Sacred Stories is beneficial for others. I may be developing the aches of aging, but my willingness to appreciate life is becoming more flexible. 

Another quote which I appreciate is from the late professional boxer and activist, Muhammad Ali, "A person who views the world the same at fifty as he did at twenty has wasted thirty years of life."

Discovery Is More Than Digging

Trail in Scotland

The bouncing balls in my head were extremely active during a recent walk. Thoughts were converging, colliding, and exiting. One that rattled around longer and never found an escape route involved a book entitled, Finding Meaning in the Second Half of Life. The author, James Hollis, explores ways to grow in order to fully become ourselves when the traditionally sanctioned ways aren't providing satisfaction. With enough effort and searching meaning will be found.

Returning from the walk, I logged onto the catalog for the Fargo (North Dakota) Public Library. Placing the keyword "finding" into the search function, I was immediately shown that there were in excess of 28,000 results. It appears that a lot of searching is taking place. Finding Nemo is an adventurous tale, yet I believe most people are searching for something that isn't easily found. Even though locating misplaced vehicle fobs and cell phones may be frustrating, the search usually concludes positively. As we search for the intangibles: love, beauty, meaning, serenity, etc. we believe these slippery concepts have a specific location. If we could only be directed in the general area our lives would be so much better! As well, once found we could cling onto them forever. The search would be over.

My experience, as I have spent decades attempting to find those elusive, internal qualities has brought me both frustration and acceptance. The gradual revelation, often fueled by my need for success along with a perception of superiority has left scars on my skin and on my spirit. As often as I use Alexa, the smart 

Roman Ruins

speaker was not forthcoming with advice. In the progression of life, interacting in a listening posture with others and with nature brought the endless digging to FIND something to an end. In the efforts to find, I missed all that had beauty, meaning, and surprise in the everyday. Now instead of finding, I observe; instead of answers, I question; instead of stagnation, I proceed. All things have purpose, vitality, and beauty. Constriction imprisons meaning. Cultural buttresses depreciate beauty. In the frantic effort to find there is great loss.

As my life continues my need to categorize has diminished. The concepts of light and darkness, good and evil, positive and negative are no longer held in opposition. Realizing that binary (having two absolute parts) produces humanly framed differences and divisions which too often are destructive, I see more of daily life as fluid. There is discovery in darkness. Actually, there is another world that exists in the darkness. Yet we shy away from it. Brutal, stormy weather provides an avenue for adaptation and insight. Events which bring us to our knees give our vision a new perspective. Striving to find that which is controlled, serene, and sterile can provide a rejuvenating respite, but pursuing it as a Utopian goal is vanity. 

Enjoy each day! Expand vision and perspective! Cherish the moment and the movement! There is no reason to exhaustively attempt to find that which is already present.