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Turning 60
...a moment to reflect on the
landscape of my life...and a time to
count my blessings

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It seems common in America for a person to become more deeply reflective and philosophical around

the time of the sixtieth birthday. It can be a season that opens up new vistas of insight as well as mornings that

require three steps to get out of bed instead of one. And on some days, no amount of TV ads chanting “60 is the

new 40” can help cover the bald spots or get the kinks out of the knees and back. But, as it has become my turn,

I suppose I should cast in my two cents worth on what it means to look back on one’s journey of 60 years.

Not long ago, I began to see my life through the lens of a new metaphor:

a landscape

. Anyone’s

landscape of life can reflect a stunning array of rich imagery, like snow-capped mountain peaks, golden fields of

wheat, thick green forests, and rippling streams – all very beautiful. In concert, these images create a

breathtaking view to behold. But real landscapes expose the unexpected features, such as burned-out and

lightening-struck trees, downed limbs and empty, rotting trunks, decaying carcasses – and worse: human

garbage. This is an equally accurate portrayal of nature, reflecting the whole of life, not simply an abstract

moment, or a zoomed-in professional grade photograph. Pictures of ladybugs and flower petals do appear

beautiful when enlarged, matted, and mounted on a wall. But, in a real landscape, there are slimy slugs,

menacing mosquitoes, and poison ivy, too. Things that make us wince and scratch, and sometimes even bleed.

And so, I have noticed that the fuller, more concrete, landscape of my life’s journey has included both the

beautiful as well as the ugly parts. I have witnessed dense cathedrals of giant cedars and firs that tower over

their dead comrades fading beneath the moss and sunken in damp crevasses. But, like so many discomforting

alliances, all these things, from mountains to mud holes – have managed to aid me on my journey. Nature’s

pleasantries, alone, could not help me to grow stronger, nor prepare me for life and death.

It has taken the whole landscape to afford me the opportunity to grow. I have been given a gift. I have

been given the power to choose how I wish to see and experience each of these parts of nature. Each image

has a name and a place in the most sacred regions of my soul. Here I am in touch with the Transcendent; here,

commune with God. There are three choices:

can choose to relish the beauty and

gnore the ugliness

– which

is one form of denial. I can

grovel in

the rot and pretend that

ountain tops do

not

exist – another form of

denial.

r - better yet -

can

choose to embrace

verything I see and experience for what it is

For, after six

decades, I have come to see how the fuller and more realistic landscape has

erved as

both the

background and

the backbone of my spiritual growth

. And, when I take the time to think about it,

makes me even more

grateful for the life I have

lived and the person I

ave yet to become

Larry, heading back to Seattle on a Sunday afternoon in the
summer of 2009. From October, 2008 to the end of September,
2009, I lived in Seattle in a one room apartment during the week,
trained in a VA hospital, and drove home on the weekends. It
was a time of great learning and great stress, times of
loneliness and a growing reverence for the gifts of my wife and
family.

The simple beauty of a flower belies the hard truth
that behind it are harsh conditions and learning
survival against the inhospitable chaos of nature's
fury. The real miracle is in the process, not the
product.