When I planned my itinerary, I was most concerned with drive times and whether or not I would be able to do everything I wanted to do in the 5 months I gave myself. I thought briefly about weather, but since I was starting out in mid-March, I figured I was in for a long hot spring and summer since I would get to Texas and the Gulf Coast by Easter. So weather never really came up on my radar as something to plan for or around. Then I drove from Sedona to Monument Valley.

It was supposed to be a 4-hour drive, but it took me over 6 hours. I drove through two different hail storms with stones so big I was worried they were denting Bluebell! Then I encountered heavy snow so thick I couldn’t see more than the bumper of the car in front of me. I was, unfortunately, able to see a few 4WD vehicles crashed in the median and shoulder as I rolled by. But I kept my cool, positioned myself behind a slow, heavy truck and followed his tire tracks in the snow. I had some temporary relief when I emerged from the mountains because there was sun – for about 30 minutes – and then there was snow…. again. At hour 5, I called my sister because I needed some company on this loooooong drive. But 5 minutes into the call, we had to end it because the noise from the second hail storm grew so loud that we couldn’t hear each other over it. Needless to say it was a nerve-wracking drive.

Monument Valley is located on the border of Arizona and Utah and is in Navajo lands. When you hear Monument Valley, think Wile E. Coyote chasing the Road Runner around tall, narrow rock formations and then inevitably falling off the long mesas. And after hours of driving through treacherous weather, eyes fixed to the road, my arrival in the valley was well worth the hardship getting there. Pulling up to my destination the skies were clear and it was the golden hour of sunset. Absolutely stunning.

Weeks back when I looked for a place to stay in Monument Valley, I looked for hotels (there couldn’t possibly be an AirBnB offered in this remote area, right?). I found a pricey lodge in Bluff, Utah but it was 40 minutes outside the park (its reservation land so non-Navajo commercial entities aren’t allowed) On a whim, I logged into AirBnB, and there was a listing! An authentic, family-built, Navajo hogan (pronounced ho-gáhn, accent on second syllable) that a lovely Navajo mom had listed. From the pictures the view from the east-facing door (which every door on any hogan will face) was picturesque, it was a decent price, and she offered to cook Navajo tacos for any guests. I didn’t mind that there was no running water and I’d have to walk 20 yards in the cold to an outhouse. I couldn’t wait to experience an authentic hogan!

My lovely hosts met me and made a fire in the hogan’s stove for warmth. Then they brought out their tacos, which are basically taco fixings on homemade thick Navajo fry bread. Delicious! We all ate the tacos together in the hogan, and the mom and her teenage daughter and I got talking. Before we knew it, it was nearly midnight. I asked them a bunch of questions (as is my way), and they told me a ton about Navajo history, the differences between Navajos and other tribes, and then they took me through some of their cultural ceremonies. I heard about births and burials, weddings and sweat lodges, but one of the most interesting ceremonies was the one the Navajos hold when a young girl becomes a woman (don’t worry, there’s nothing gross ahead). Navajo tradition marks this transition with four days of events. The young woman wears formal Navajo dress and moccasins with bracelets and jewelry given to her from the elder women in her tribe, and the young woman performs symbolic activities like running and collecting certain flora and fauna on each of the four days, all of which culminate with the family and friends coming together to bake a huge corn cake in the ground, celebrating and offering her blessings and advice to becomes the woman she is destined to be.

Now clearly, as a believing and practicing Christian, I have a different worldview. But at some point as they shared, I began to feel a bit jealous (hold on, there’s no faith crisis here). I’ll explain: what struck me as so wonderful was the time they set aside and the energy they spend to honor significant events in life. Moreover, they engage in all of these rituals as a family and as a community. I remembered the Israelite practice in the Old Testament of building altars and monuments as tangible reminders of the times the Lord had blessed or delivered them. We don’t do that anymore. Not really. We often don’t take the time to honor the landmark occasions in a life. We may have a party, and then we post and tweet about it, but then it feels like we get right back to our busy lives, barely carrying forward the celebratory memories. On the other end of the emotional spectrum, neither does our culture see grief as a valuable thing, something to devote significant time to. It’s okay to be sad, but it is kind of an unspoken rule that we’re not allowed to be too sad for too long, or we’ll risk being labeled whiners. I’m not advocating we sit in sackcloth and ashes for months on end, or that we party hearty until we drop, but somehow I think we are missing something- missing the abundant part of life Jesus talked about – acknowledging the breathtaking highs and devastating lows and all that is between that make up a rich, well-lived life. I know that a person can’t live constantly in such extremes, but we are increasingly becoming a culture full of antidepressants, addictions, and distractions, all in our ongoing efforts to suppress our deeper feelings. Why is that?  Maybe we think honest, unabashed celebration is more selfish than joyful, or that profound grieving is self-indulgent, instead of honoring and healing the loss.

I realize none of this is new thinking, but spending hours with this Navajo family hearing their traditions was simply reinforcing the value of making time for such things.  I am taking these 5 months to rest and travel, think and learn, and yes, to grieve some significant losses that I was not able to let myself grieve before. I want to learn to process my emotions more fully and healthfully. What’s more, I don’t think people need to take a huge road trip to do this. It might just take determining in one’s mind to do it and then designating the time needed. I don’t remember who said it, but the quote goes something like this:”It is not for lack of time that we can’t do things, but lack of setting priorities.” We were designed to feel, and both medical science and spiritual practice back up the healthfulness of processing all our emotions. God gave us such a deep capacity to feel — to experience abundant life – and to rejoice with those who rejoice and grieve with those who grieve. I know that when I have allowed myself to feel deep pain and loss, my capacity to empathize and offer grace to others only increases.  And when I have given myself permission to celebrate fully, my tendencies toward cynicism and judgment are diminished and I have a greater capacity to celebrate (and without envy) the many blessings of others.

So why don’t we allow ourselves to feel deeply? Are we too busy? Too afraid? Or both? Or maybe we simply don’t know how. Then I remember Jesus celebrated, and Jesus wept. We can ask Him how.

After an amazing sunrise, and more Navajo fry bread for breakfast (this time covered in sugar and cinnamon!), I said goodbye to my host family, hoping to return again. I got in the MINI, pointed her northward, and began to think about how I can be better and more intentional about marking and honoring both the good and the bad times in my own life and history.

As I drove through a valley full of breathtaking God-created monuments, I was determined to build, honor and celebrate more monuments of my own.

NEXT STOP: Four Corners & Santa Fe, New Mexico