Enkindle in Us with Deacon Dan Wagnitz
By Deacon Dan Wagnitz | For On Mission
On a trip to the library in sixth grade, I discovered J.R.R. Tolkien and his classic novel, “The Hobbit.” The novel’s main character, Bilbo Baggins, titled the story of his adventures “There and Back Again.”
Our God allows us the right to title our own life story. I guess he is more generous than Tolkien was with Baggins. Still, I actually prefer Baggins’ title because many of us, including me, have lived it. We have all had moments when we have gone “there” and, by God’s grace, found our way back again.
I just experienced it again.
I say again because I clearly remember the feeling I had 11 years ago when I, quite innocently, asked my wife, Michelle, what gift she wanted to mark our 35th wedding anniversary. She surprised me by suggesting we buy kayaks.
Kayaks?
I openly questioned why we needed kayaks when we already had a perfectly good canoe. “I want my own,” was her reply. Then she explained, “I sit up front in the canoe. I know I don’t even really need to paddle because you can paddle us by yourself, and besides, you do all of the steering.” I realized the request for a kayak was more about self-confidence and independence than it was about paddling. So, we purchased kayaks.
We both agreed we would find a nice cabin up north and spend our anniversary week learning to paddle. When I started searching the internet for a cabin to rent, I found myself drawn back to Minnesota’s Arrowhead Region.
Maybe I was caught up in a sense of adventure. In my youth, our family summer vacations always involved camping. We traveled to the national forest campgrounds of northern Wisconsin and Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. But the summer before sixth grade, we circled Lake Superior, and it felt like my first real adventure.
After coming back from Canada, we spent several days exploring the Arrowhead Region, especially its many waterfalls. Even as a young boy, I was impressed by the region’s beauty and felt drawn to return.
Throughout my married life, I had taken Michelle and later our children to some of my favorite places from my youth. But this trip felt unique. It had been over 45 years since I had been to the Arrowhead Region.
By God’s-incidence, it happened to be free-admission weekend at state parks while we were there, so we visited most of the same waterfalls I had camped by with my parents years before. At times, it felt like I was a ghost haunting myself.
My oldest son, Jacob, and his family moved to Colorado nine years ago. This past May, his oldest daughter, Samantha, graduated from high school. We decided to spend some extra time with them, enjoying the beauty of the mountains.
Although we visited some great places, I was especially looking forward to our final day at Rocky Mountain National Park. Forty-four years earlier, when Jacob was only six months old, Michelle and I had taken him to that same park. Now, we were returning—only this time, Jacob was a grown man with a nearly grown family of his own.
The day was gorgeous, with an endless cerulean sky and meadows filled with wildflowers in bloom. We saw mule deer and elk, but the highlight of the day came at one particular lookout. From the viewing platform, there is a panoramic view of the park’s major peaks.
As spectacular as the scene was, my mind was 44 years away. I could very distinctly remember holding baby Jacob in my arms as I looked out at these same mountains. It was windy that long-ago day—a cool, steady wind. I remembered. Once again, I felt that I had closed the distance measured in time. This time, however, I did not feel like a ghost. I felt blessed. Such moments are special graces gifted by the One who is timeless.
Since COVID, visitors to Rocky Mountain National Park must purchase a timed-entry pass. The intention was, and is, to space out the many visitors who frequent the park each day. One unintended effect is that some visitors feel an inner urge to drive as quickly as possible from lookout to lookout, trying to “get their money’s worth.” We saw them that day — vehicles that didn’t stop. They just slowed down to snatch the view and then sped off to the next lookout. Attempting to see everything, they miss much.
It is much better for the soul to stop frequently. Get out of your vehicle. Walk into the view. Feel the wind (even if, like me, you can’t feel it in your hair anymore). Leave some footprints. Become part of the place, part of that moment. Because you never know when God may bless you with the grace to return someday.
