Bring It, Donny!!

Ok....here is the long awaited beginning of a string of several staff-retreat related blogs, as promised (AO...I can't promise any more Hebrew. I think I've exhausted it with "Shalom").

Last Saturday we boarded two big yellow school buses and headed North to Oregon for staff retreat. As you just learned in my lengthy and slightly neurotic post...I don't like fast moving vehicles or situations that I can't get out of easily. So when I learned that the first event of staff retreat was jet boating....I was NOT all about it to say the least. When we arrived at "Hellsgate Jet Boat Tours" I sort of wanted to bolt. I like boats...I went on a cruise last spring for goodness sake. However, I had this image in my mind of those speed boats that zoom across the water and barely make any contact with the surface whatsoever. Basically, I felt my death was eminent. So when Jonathan LeDuc, our fearless leader said he needed some volunteers to go on standby, my hand shot up. Then I was faced with another option. Bail entirely and go eat dinner with a small group of 8 in nearby Ashland, or stay on standby. After getting the "you're a wuss....they let people take babies on these things and there are no seatbelts" speech from several people, I started to think that maybe I should have just sucked it up and gone and actually started hoping that there would be space for me.

About 15 minutes later I found myself being herded onto a long metal boat...careful to be in the back row, in the middle. I concentrated on breathing regularly, humbled by the LeDuc's three year old who was hanging tight a row in front of me. I begged our driver, Donny, to "take it easy." I recieved no promise that he would even entertain this thought.

The first part of the ride was amazing. We rode through Hellsgate canyon at about 45 mph (which felt like about 100 mph) which is stunningly beautiful. Periodically Donny would do a 360 degree turn to make the entire boat spin around so that we all got wet. It was amazing. After about an hour and 15 minute ride, we pulled up at a beautiful lodge looking building on the cliff where we ate an amazing dinner. My table turned into an demi "accountability-group" meeting of sweet sisters in Christ talking about what the Lord has done in their lives. It was so edifying in the Spirit and encouraging.

On the ride back, Jamie Herndon (pictured with me) and I decided that we would be "team Awesome" and ride in the second row of the boat. I took everything that Donny threw at us in stride and even stood up at one point and yelled, "bring it Donny!" to which he responded (via microphone) "weren't you the scaredy girl that was sitting in the back row before?" I loved it...Jamie and I screamed and ducked whenever a tidal wave was headed our direction. By the end of the ride we were soaked and happy...and I couldn't help thinking, "I almost missed out on this." Somewhere along the ride I turned to Ronnie who was next to me and whispered a thanks for providing the opportunity to come to the Ranch and for being firm with me when I was waffling in whether or not I was supposed to come. He looked at me and said, "thanks for taking risks." Wow. Risks. And I say I'm not a risk taker....My thoughts returned to the thoughts of security that had been tumbling in my head for the past week or so (if you read my previous blog entry...you're tracking with me) and I wondered how many opportunities I had almost missed out of fear. Riding in that jet boat next to two of my friends screaming like banshees was one of the most exhilarating things I have ever done. My high school Sunday School teacher Forest Allgood told a story once about how he felt prompted by the spirit to share Christ with a particular man for years but never did. The one day he summoned the courage, the man wasn't there...and never returned to his office building. He encouraged us as high schoolers to "not miss the blessing." I've quoted this story many times, but it came back to mind on the boat ride....the ride I almost missed by being on stand by. By being too uncertain to come to the Ranch. By being hesitant to move to Nashville. By feeling silly going to meet Travis Crim who introduced me to Ronnie. By not wanting to go on the retreat where I met Travis. I could continue chasing this chain backwards and backwards (like the movie Sliding Doors...all the what if's...and if I hadn't been there's) but the point is that:

Security is found in God. Within His Will there is safety and no fear. (The Scripture teaches that perfect love drives out all fear, and certainly He loves us with a perfect Love!) Get off the stand-by list and get in the boat. Sit in the front row. Raise your arms and scream. Prepare to be drenched by the water from all around. Bring it, Donny!

security blanket

Besides pounding into my heart over and over that “He loves me, oh how He loves me,” the Lord has been driving the point home this summer that He, and He alone is my security. I am definitely a “wade in the water” type of girl. I like to stick my toe in to see what the temperature is, then I’ll stick my feet in, then I get in up to my thighs. Then, if I’m feeling pretty good with the situation, I’ll dive my whole body under the water. Its not that I’m not adventuresome, on the contrary…I love a good adventure and when I think back over choices I’ve made, things I’ve done and life stories the Lord has written for me, I am almost astounded at how “out there” some of them are and in a few cases I have to catch my breath in disbelief that I actually experienced these things that I call “my story.” I, Bethany Daniel, (in no particular chronological order) have gone to England, to Scotland, to Costa Rica, to Panama, to Peru. Have ridden a camel. Have held a boa constrictor. Have jumped off a cliff. Have wakeboarded. Have flown to San Antonio, Texas on a plane ticket bought by a person I’d only met once to play with an artist who didn’t even know I was coming (this is how I met Ronnie Freeman…I’ll have to blog that entire story some other time). Have gone camping. Have quit my “good job in the city,” moved 7.5 hours away, to try my hand in the music business. Have ziplined through the rainforest. I’m no shrinking violet, but I’m also not a fan of situations where I feel out of control, where things are moving to fast (literally or figuratively speaking). I have a strong dislike of roller coasters and other thrill rides. I get scared riding 4 wheelers on gravel roads. I absolutely hate free-falling, be it 2 feet or 200.

I guess really, I’m a control freak. If I go somewhere with friends, I like to drive so that I know I can leave if I want to. I just like driving period because I don’t really trust anyone else’s driving. While I actually really enjoy flying in a plane, I hate that out of control feeling that occurs whilst hurtling down the runway for takeoff. I much prefer the actual flying and landing. I like my personal space…be it my own bedroom, my car, my seat; whatever that might look like. I like knowing the schedule (or better yet, making the schedule!), being the one to call the shots, etc. etc. I think I also look for “security blankets” be it a person I know in a crowd of strangers, a role to fill (for instance I’m fine walking into a gig where I don’t know anyone because I’m secure in that I’m “the violinist” …I find security in knowing the task that I’m there to do.), or a place (I don’t mind traveling all over the country because I know that there is an apartment in my name in Nashville, Tennessee for me to go home to.) (Wow…I’m sounding a bit neurotic. Sorry!)

This summer God has asked me to let go of all that makes me feel secure. I don't have cell phone service. I don't have a vehicle. I didn't have an abundance of people I knew...and those I did were not exactly at my disposal to hang out with. My role as a violinist was combined with my role on housekeeping staff, making it unfamiliar. I certainly don't have any personal space. For the first week and a half I didn't even have a bed to call my own. All I had was the Lord. And He has impressed on me that He is all I need. Relationships with people without a relationship with the Lord first, are empty. Without the Lord, the ability to travel somewhere turns into a twisted and tangled trail. Playing the violin is merely a role He allows me to fill, but my IDENTITY is in Him alone. Personal space is merely of this world...but I am in Him no matter where I am, or if there is space for me there. My place is not in or of this world anyway....there is a place prepared for me in Heaven. That is my only true "personal space."

At the ranch we have "intercessors" who come and stay for a week or longer whose sole purpose is to pray for the staff. One intercessor couple prayed over me the other day and the husband asked if I'd be willing to leave Nashville if the Lord called me to. I responded that the Lord had led me to Nashville and wasn't calling me to leave at the moment. He laughed and said that I hadn't answered his question at all. The question was not IF the Lord was calling me to leave Nashville...it was would I be WILLING if the Lord DID. I had to think long and hard about this and concluded that I was not willing. That I take so much security in where I live and having a plan to return there. My thoughts turn to Job who had everything stripped of Him...serious things like family...and yet his security remained in His relationship with the Lord. He identity was that of being the Lord's. Period.

Ronnie and I had a discussion the other day about a desire of my heart...but I expressed to Him that I desired to follow the Lord's will and the plan that He had for me, not one that I would manipulate of myself and Ronnie suggested that I "do this" with it. He stretched his arms out in front of Him and cupped his hands together, palms upward. (My thought was of a little kid showing his mom a frog he'd caught.) He said that he would stand in agreement with me before the Lord (pray prayers of intercession) but not for a particular outcome on the topic...just that I would continue to hold it out to God and say, "Here...you take this. Hold it for me. Keep it safe. I'll be here next to You following along in what I am to do with it." I loved that response from Ronnie. I've adopted this particular physical posture when I pray over decisions now. It's the only way that I can remember that I don't get to hold on to things. I hold onto God..and He holds onto my stuff. God is my security blanket.

The Oregon Trail.....

Just got back from an amazing weekend of camping and jet boating in Oregon. Much adventure was lived out and much thinking was accomplished therefore much bloggage will be completed when I have a moment to sit down and write. Headed to town at the moment with the housekeeping staff for dinner....but wanted to let you all know why I had been so silent. Be on your guard...I'm liable to throw up several posts in the next day or two. Hope all is well in your respective worlds. Shalom.

hockey and music

I once read that you can't fully appreciate something until you meet someone who is passionate about it. I find this to be a curious truth. I came across the following quote today and although I don't have a particular intrest in hockey, I could identify my insatiable thirst for music with his love of the game.

"They say that Wayne Gretzky, as a 2-year-old, would cry when the Saturday night hockey game on TV was over, becasue it seemed to him at that age unbearably sad that something he loved so much had to come to end, and I've always thought that was the simplest explanation for why Gretzky was Gretzky."

At two and a half when I gave my first recital, I cried when I was told to leave the stage and put my violin away after rehersing for my first recital. The only way they could make me get off the stage, was to tell me that I had to get down, before I could get back on to play again. To my toddler brain, this logic seemed reasonable.

Nashville Symphony conductor Kenneth Schermerhorn once said "Even before I knew what a musician was I knew that's what I wanted to be." Me too, Maestro...me too.

fire on the mountain....run, boy, run

Figured I'd give you folks some updates on two interrelated topics of concern at the ranch...fires and mountain lions.

The California wildfires continue to burn and the staff continues to pray that the Lord will send rain upon this place. While we aren't in any real danger of the fires, we have been impacted greatly by the smoke. It makes everyone have sort throats and is causing lots of sinus problems, as well as impacting some of our hiking activities and what not. Please join with our staff as we ask the Lord to bring rain to this dry clime and put out the fires.

Because of this, we are seeing lots more deer and wildlife than usual as these animals are being displaced by the fires. Most notably, a family of mountain lions has taken up apparent residence about ten yards north of the Green Bean. Last friday night, two staff girls spotted them (two adult lions, 4 babies) as they walked home and then last night, Matt, one of the boy staffers was out for his nightly run at dusk when he heard something stir beside him and looked over to see one of the adult mountain lions a few feet to his left. He ran to the Green Bean (which caused a bit of a stir) and called the front desk to alert everyone. Again, I don't think there is any real danger....we now have men in golf carts driving us home at night to the Bean and no one is allowed to wander by themselves at night...but it was sort of exciting to have "mountain lion survival training" at lunch today.

The pictures above are of the California wildfires from 25,000 feet. Photo credits: Scott Booth...as he flew his fighter jet over California on his Transpac journey from North Carolina to Japan.

TheirSpaces

In effort to support the indie music community (of which I am a part) I've added a list of My Space sites of folk I consider to be quality musicians. check em out. maybe even purchase their music. give some love to starving artists. i'll be updating the list when i see fit...but it will always hover there on the right side of the page for your listening pleasure.

My Granola Weekend: further jammage in Scott Valley

So as fate (or God) would have it, it just so happened that Sandra and Don who own the drugstore also organized the Bluegrass festival which I was dying to attend. I apparently had established a much larger reputation in Etna, California the night before than I'd realized because when I walked in the door, Don proclaimed, "the Fiddle is here!" (And when Sandra caught me washing dishes she cried..."we're letting 'fiddle fingers' wash dishes!") After we finished the ice cream extravaganza, they were adamant about getting to hear me fiddle again. As David didn't have a guitar this time around, we improvised by putting different rolls on their old upright player piano and I fiddled along to "Tennessee Waltz" and sang along with "The Lullabye of Broadway." Satisfied with my entertainment, Don gave David and I free day passes to the festival that was in full swing (in full two-step?) about 6 blocks over at the local park.

We wondered that way and enjoyed the good (cheap) food, quality tunes, various homemade wares (I bought a beanie hat made out of alpaca wool) and just the good feeling of sitting on the ground relaxing and watching the locals dance about. We hung out for a few hours and caught some really great bands and then headed back to the ranch for dinner. Not to miss any moment of music however, I rounded up another crew of folk and headed back post dinner to catch a few more bands and of course...to jam.

I'd met a few folk the night before that were excited about jamming with me again so as the last band left the stage we headed to the campground next door where they had set up a tent lit with lanterns. 12 of us crammed beneath it...a myriad of accoustic instruments and Mark the dobro player nodded at me and said, "alright fiddle...what'll it be?" Unable to convince them that I really DON'T know any old bluegrass standards, I finally taught them "Cuckoo's Nest" (the one tune I know) and from there my education began as we played a host of old time standards I'd never heard (I spent a small fortune on iTunes when I got home downloading recordings of everything we'd played so I can listen and learn and not embarrass myself next time) although everyone seemed to feel that I'd hung in pretty well. I loved the atmosphere....the pitch black night with the blood red moon, the ragged assortment of unshowered hippie musicians playing their weathered assortment of axes (several guys had headlamps on their heads!)...the tent with the lanterns hung from every corner for light....how we went around the circle, each one in turn choosing a tune and kicking off the solo, and then the hook getting passed around the circle so everyone had a chance to show off their chops. It made my heart sing. I could have stayed all night. At about 11:45 my fellow staffers decided they'd had enough for a night so I wrapped it up with a lively version of Devil's Dream and headed back to the ranch exhausted and happy.

Yes folks...I had to leave the hills of Tennessee for the mountains of California for a bluegrass education...but the genre is alive and well. Music is truly a language...one I'm glad I speak.

(If you would like to incorporate the Scott Valley Bluegrass Festival into your summer plans next year, A) here's the website B) be sure not to go without inviting me! :) http://www.scottvalleybluegrass.com/ )

My Granola Weekend: cliff jumping and free ice cream

Saturday I had the entire day off. I'm splitting this day into two installments of "My Granola Weekend." So part one opens with loading up a camp van with about 60 sack lunches and coolers and heading about 45 minutes north east of the ranch followed by a school bus of church group kiddies to a place called Shackelford Falls. It is absolutely amazing! We ate sack lunches on the various rocks in the river and then the cliff jumping began.

No (Mom..I know you are reading this and freaking out....) this was not impromptu cliff jumping....this was planned. It was the entire point of going to Shack. There is a "natural water slide," a "low rock" (just over 10 feet up) and a "high rock" (about 20 feet up) above a basin about 20 feet deep of freezing cold mountain water. You climb up a rock face and then jump off the top into the frigid waters beneath and then swim against the current either to the person holding the big metal hook on a rod to pull you out, or pull yourself out with every ounce of upper body strength you have. I'm not really a huge fan of being cold...ever...and certainly not cold and wet, so this wasn't really my thing. However, I'm also not one to pass up a good opportunity and I do like a bit of adventure, so I climbed to the top rock with the best of them and got out on the edge...and froze up. We're talking knees locked, heart pounding, chest tight. I also climbed down like a champ....but not the whole way. When I reached the "low rock" I took the plunge and am proud to say that I pulled myself out without the assistance of the strong man and his metal hook. And that was all I really felt I needed to accomplish for the day in the danger category. :)

After the falls we headed to Etna to the old time drug store for ice cream. I changed from my cold wet bathing suit into my "flowy hippie pants" (love me some sale racks at Anthropologie) and a dry top and headed in the store. Now I've always heard jokes about washing dishes to pay for one's supper...but have never actually experienced this....until Saturday. The drug store owner cheerfully tossed me a dishrag and said if I washed dishes my ice cream would be free. David and I hopped behind the old timey soda counter and he collected money while I scrubbed away. (By old-timey I mean old timey. If you order a soda they pour syrup into a cup and then add seltzer water from a special metal tap on the marble counter.) At the end of the process I got a cone of chocolate chip cookie dough and a hand made coke. Mmmm. Delish.

The photos above are of Shackldford Falls, Me with a newly washed blender and Ms. Sandra and her orange sherbet exravaganza and of me looking disgusted at something that refused to come clean while Sandra and Don chat in the background. (More on Sandra and Don in the post to follow)

My Granola Weekend: pickin' on Main

Friday night I had the night off which excited me greatly, so I decided to rally the troops and head into the booming metropolis of Etna for dinner at the "Trail House." Thomas Blackmon, David Dailey and Jamie Myers and I loaded up in Thomas' car and had a fabulous dinner of "tri tips" (which was really quad tips...these little mini steak things) with much random entertaining chatter...you know...those good deep belly laughs that just make you feel healthy. Anyway. After our meal was finished we wandered out into the dusty streets of Etna, California and into the midst of an impromptu bluegrass pickin' party. Seems that the "Scott Valley Bluegrass Festival" was Saturday and Sunday and pickers and strummers from near and far were kicking the festival off by jamming in the street. The one Etna police man had blocked off main street (all two blocks of it) with hay bales and the entire town was either playing something or dancing about to the strains of banjos, guitars, double bass and mandolins.

I of course, was taken with this entire idea and plopped down on the sidewalk to listen in. We hung out for a few minutes and then had to get Jamie back to camp to work snack bar so I reluctantly was torn away and rode back to camp. We had no sooner unloaded at the Ranch when Thomas pulled me aside and asked if I'd like to go back to the bluegrass jam with my violin and see what I could get into. (Thomas gets the friend of the year award for this). So we piled back in the car, picking up my fiddle, Trenton's guitar for David to jam on, Trenton himself, Jordan Mahy, and a few other folks, and made the 15 minute drive back to Main street Etna.

The next two or so hours were pure bliss for me. I floated from group to group picking up what I could learn, engrossed in the melodies of a host of bluegrass standards. The folk there were true pieces of "Americana" if you will. It was such an awesome evening of relaxation, good music, good friends, and authenticity. Everyone was happy to be there and genuinely happy to meet new folk and to exchange ideas and tunes. When I was finally dragged away, I felt that my inner musician was more than satisfied....if only I'd known what the next day would bring.

The pictures above are of me (fiddle) and David Dailey (guitar) jamming on the street. There is also one picture of some of the folk jamming without us.

My Granola Weekend: the grand introduction

Welcome to numero uno of a multi-part blog series. Granola, you ask? Let me explain. You know the type of folk that only eat organic foods, that grown their own vegetables, that make their own clothes...or better yet that sheer their own sheep to make yarn and thread to make cloth to make their own clothes. Who don't always bathe. Who travel in large vans that barely run with stickers proclaiming various political views from decades past. Who don't always feel the need to wear appropriate under garments. Who don't wear make-up. This isn't really the type of life I lead.....although I do love shopping at Whole Foods, I did grow tomatoes and the like in a garden with my mom when I was a kid, I have been known to make my own clothing (and even won first prize at the county fair in high-school for a dress that I made), I haven't had a shower since before I swam in the river yesterday (but hey...I'm at camp), I do drive an SUV which is sort of like a little van, but my bumper stickers advertise various Christian ministries...but I do wear underwear and makeup (well, makeup some of the time). OK....so maybe I'm pseudo granola. It's times like this weekend, or really the entire time I've been at camp, that I get to enjoy little "Granola vacations" if you will. Where I can run around with no makeup and no one cares. I loved feeling like a hippie this weekend. Hope you enjoy my tales. Hope you don't think I'm nuts for this post. (Jess...I know you're tracking with me. haha. love you!)

p.s. the pictures are of this cool old car I found in Etna. I think the small dog inside it had some sort of mange and seemed a tad snarly. I assumed that this car and dog were a permanent fixture in the town, however, to my surprise, at the end of the night, a man walked up, jumped in the car, cranked it and drove off!