“If you want to use the cabin to think and talk this over, you’re welcome to it,” said our good friend who was standing right there after Dan got the news of his escalating cancer.
Two days later, on a cold spring day, Dan lit a fire that would begin warming the cabin. We donned layers and walked upriver to the spot where we said, “I do,” beneath towering trees.
Before Dan and I were married, we spent a day at a conference center in the Ochoco Mountains. He was finishing up a major electrical project and I cleaned the smaller of the two lodges.
We had lunch with the conference center directors, and then completed our assigned tasks. “That was fun,” I commented on the drive back to town.
Although it happened over a short stretch of time, Dan and I fell in love slowly. While hiking wilderness trails and browsing through hardware stores and cruising on his motorcycle and eating food truck cuisine and volunteering with the shower truck and trekking through soft powder on snowshoes and eating ginger spice cookies from the Old Mill District.
What if we could collaborate with those whose skin color, ideology, or religious beliefs are different from ours—for the sake of dialogue, and serving the needy, and finding common ground?
Brené Brown, an American professor, lecturer, and author, said this:
It takes courage to say Yes to rest and play in a culture where exhaustion is seen as a status symbol.
Dan and I are very good at playing. Which apparently makes us quite courageous.