(The many looks, thoughts and the one responsible for keeping me alive and well. I love this girl right here. Leigh Ann. When I found Leigh? I found me.)

Editor’s Note:

About two weeks ago, my beautiful wife, Leigh Ann, and my “Aunt” Kelly took me and Uncle Bill on a trip of a lifetime. Part II. A few years ago, the girls planned and executed a trip to Iceland, with the help of another family member — the lovely Sarah. She is a pro. A professional trip organizer and planner. And, her talent shows. She makes trips even we can’t mess up.

I thought nothing would ever compare to Iceland. And, probably, that is true in so many ways and memories.

But this trip out West to Utah and Arizona was just as amazing in totally different ways.

Iceland is a winter wonderland, full of rain, waterfalls, glaciers, and the green, green grass of everyone’s home. The cows are so full of milk their utters drag the grassy ground. The little horse’s mane grows so long and fluid that the snarls of hair nearly touch the heavens and the ground in just one silly gait. The sheep run all the time. I don’t know why. They just do.

It is plush.

On the other hand, Arizona and Utah are both a stark contrast. They are barren lands now, that once was the bottom of the ocean. Twice.

But still…

You can scoop a hand full of sea shells out of the dry and shifting dusty pellets of the desert now. You can find fossils of sharks still imbedded in the rock that juts out of the land like nothing you have ever seen or imagined. You can find the tracks of dinosaurs still ground into the hardened ground and fossilized. These “big dogs” have a stride that would cover a city block. No kidding. And, you can still find the Native American’s artwork on the sides of the mountains — depicting their life and leaders in a kindergarten sort of way. Stick figures gone wrong. Hangman was invented.

There are mountains, yes.

But they are red in some places; gray and white in others. They curl up, as if designed by the same guy who invented the strange game of Twister. They stagger over, as if hit with a Muhammad Ali right cross. They stack together as if they are a Jinga puzzled about ready to capsize.

They are jagged and shoot out of the dry dust like a rocket in flight to the heavens above, where there is surely some drops of rain still left. And, much to the wandering eye should appear? An evergreen tree, wrapping its roots around the rock for dear life. Out of rock. A tree. That never dies. That grows so green. How does that happen, God? I can’t even grow one in a potted soil that I water and fertilize every single day. Guess God’s green thumb is bigger and better than mine.

Time — like millions of years, er, I’m sorry; like hundreds of millions of years — has carved these rocks into artistic masterpieces.

There are arches that bank into the sky, leaving gapping holes for humans to roam.

There are canyons, cut so deep that you think they surely go right to the bone of this great Earth now.

There is little to no rain, yet, the clouds came three straight nights to drip a little droplet on the scorched soil — which lapped up every gulp like a puppy in a pond.

There is resurrection moss on the rocks that look sparse, brown, dried up and dead. Until one single drop of water turns them a vivid green and growing. Resurrection day. The moss is back. One drop. I promise.

And, yet, you can find a river that snakes its way South. The Colorado River, of course. But other ones, too. The Green River, which is aptly named. You know why? Every single inch around it is lush green growth and sparkling water that bubbles up from the ground and through the cracks in the sandstone. Natures own filter system renders a water that is so sparkling and clear you can still cup it up and drop it in your mouth. I promise. I did.

It also creates some remarkable…this is a pause here while I struggle to find the right word…er…things(?). (I know that is an inadequate word and woefully short of descriptive, but it’s the best I can come up with for now.) Things. Amazing things.

There is “Weaping Rock.” Carved into the mountain. The water drips down the layers of solid rock above until it meets this ridge and crack. There the grass and moss and all living things grab hold and hang on. Water is precious here. And they are paying homage.

You can walk under the overhang. You can feel the chill of the water as it drips on your neck and down your back. There is nothing better when it is 110 degrees. (But it is a “dry heat,” right?)

Here, you just stand. And, look. And, amaze.

There is the perfect profile of a Husky Dog’s face “painted” into the rock and by the rock itself. You have to look hard to find it. But once you do? You can’t see anything else.

The trees grow green and strong. The Cottonwoods join hands with the evergreens.

The grasses grow up, giving the cattle something to munch on all year long.

The rivers run through it. With a haunting chill that they, too, may disappear some 100 million years from now like the oceans that use to roar above them.

It is an amazing racetrack of dirt, turns, and stretches that demand the best of you each and every day. There is no shortcut. There is only one way. You must be strong and you must have faith. Most of all, you must have heart to win this race.

These lands have not only survived. They have been created over and over and over again.

And, if truth be known, they are changing right now. In front of our own eyes. But at a rate of speed that only God can see.

One hundred million years from now, this place will not look the same. The single grain of sand that all humans have created into just one little speck of history will be the only thing that captures our own existence here, when we were there worst tenants of this amazing place.

Every single day, I got up and looked around this amazing wonderland of history that still lives. That is still being both told and made. And, I realized how insignificant I was. How little I mean. How tiny I am in both size and imprint.

And, I knew right then and there. We are so lucky and blessed to live like the blowing sands, looking for a place to land and throw our own roots around this rock, to hang on for dear life, and grow straight and strong like the little evergreens in this place.

In closing, I would like to recant a conversation I had with the lovely Leigh Ann, on this very trip.

As we stood together and looked at the massive mountain sides, I asked her if these amazing works of art — created by Mother Earth and zillions of years of constant change — made her belief in God stronger or weaker.

I have to admit, as embarrassing as it is, I sacrificed my answer first.

“I think I’ve under-estimated what Mother Earth has done. I think my belief is weaker.”

Leigh Ann shrugged, and nodded a bit in agreement, before she answered — something like this (there is some creative edits and poetic language license, thanks to “yours truly:”)

“But how do you explain how this rock, we call Earth, swirls around for these 100s of millions of years, and has evolved so much, and, at the same time, we have stuck around, too, and have evolved into what we are today?

“I’m not saying the world is getting better. I’m not saying the human race is getting better, either.

“But we are growing together. Maybe not at the same pace. But we are growing together.

“And, something had to create both of us, right? Do you think we just flew together out of the sands? Do you think this rock is just flying debris that came together and had both air and water? And, someone had to allow both the ground and the humans to grow as one. Together. Right? That’s where I like to think God comes in.

“I think God put us both here. And, we had better figure out how to co-exist.”

I always knew Leigh Ann was brilliant. After all, she is the youngest person to have ever graduated from the University of Louisville Law School. After all, she clerked for a Kentucky Supreme Court justice before she could ever buy a beer.

Leigh Ann nailed it.

I looked at these hills that surrounded me again. With a different light. And, instead of seeing stark and dark, I suddenly saw a rainbow. Not a real one, silly. There’s no rain in this desert. But an Earth-made one. A Rock One. A Solid One.

In the blink of an eye and the wise-away of a sand kernel, I was a believer again. Strong than ever before.

I could see.

And then, out of nowhere, Leigh Ann said this:

“The aliens must think we have something to offer. Or they wouldn’t keep coming here to check us out.”

She was serious, as I laughed out loud until I could see that was a mistake.

And, I agreed.

We must have something to offer.

Thank you, Lord, for the ride of a lifetime.

Here’s a few photos to commemorate our trip: