Stanley,
Idaho. Population 63.
Surrounded
by incredible beauty. The Sawtooth
mountains, rising up jagged and strong and stunning. The Salmon river, swirling and splashing over
rocks the color of the sun. The rolling
valleys, dotted with trees and cabins and life.
We had lunch
at the bakery after our white water rafting trip. I’m pretty sure the entire town was there
with us. There aren’t many options in a
place with sixty-three people.
They were a rugged
bunch, if you want to know the truth. It’s
an hour’s drive when you run out of razors, after all. And you don’t need a collared shirt to float
the river, fish the banks, farm the land.
There are
new faces in Stanley this time of year, or so we heard. They come for the summers. Leave their ski resort jobs in Salt Lake and
their college classes in Boise for a few months in paradise. They live out of the backs of their cars,
pulling out tents wherever the camping is good.
They bathe in Redfish Lake, which was frozen solid only a month ago. They come year after year, enticed by low
humidity and miles of hiking and biking trails.
I imagine the desire for solitude must draw them in too, or maybe it’s
simply the slow pace of life in the middle of nowhere.
I felt torn
in this town. A town with no traffic
lights, no parking lots, and very few choices.
I couldn’t survive here, I thought.
I wouldn’t have enough to do, enough places to go, enough people to see,
enough things to buy. I wouldn’t be able
to work and seek and strive for . . . whatever is it I’m constantly striving to
attain. Recognition, appreciation,
knowledge, success, wealth? Bigger and
better and more? Deep down in the dark
and dirty places of my heart, I know what I’m really striving for is a
completely unattainable goal. It’s what I’ve been striving for most of my life
and can’t let go of, despite knowing with every certainty that I
will never reach it.
Perfection.
Stanley,
Idaho is far from perfect. It’s far from
anything, as a matter of fact, and so very far from Atlanta, Georgia. Yet, the people in Stanley . . . they seem so
happy. They smile easy, unencumbered by
any real responsibility. No one we met
was married or had children. One of our
fly-fishing guides has been building his home in town for over thirty
years. He’s not quite finished, what
with helping out when they need him over at this ski school and that road crew
and down the street at the local rafting company. They live wild and free in Stanley, capable of
making decisions only for themselves and their immediate futures. Their worries are few, their burdens light. They seem a community of wanderers, bound by
their love of this amazing place and their inability to leave it for long.
Could I live
in a place like this, I wondered? I would
revel in spending a few hours among the undeniable glory of God’s untouched creation,
yes. My hours there fueled my faith and
filled my soul as I witnessed the majesty of our Creator rise up around me. Only He has the power to show this obsessive-compulsive
mind that astonishing beauty can lie in a lack of order and planning and symmetry. But could I spend days and weeks without the possibilities
I’m used to? Could the quiet and the splendor
and the stillness fulfill me for more than a day or two?
We had to
leave. It was only a summer vacation and
our life is here, amidst the concrete and the traffic and the constant busyness
of one of the biggest cities in the nation.
The heat felt oppressive as we stepped out of the airport. Welcome home, I thought, and I smiled easy.
I’m not
meant to live in Stanley, Idaho, but I’m glad God took me there. It’s good to
see the differences in people. Good to
realize my choices have brought me to a specific place, and despite its
downfalls, I can find happiness here. I find joy in my many responsibilities,
though he can upset me, she can anger me, and it all seems heavy sometimes. There are no mountains just outside my window
today, but there are hydrangeas as blue as the sky. There is more striving than stillness, and I’m
sad for that, but God allowed me to visit a new place and He offered a new
perspective, and I’m grateful for that.
I’ve seen what people are capable of, when they live their dreams and
stop worrying about what others think. I’ve seen what it looks like to take
life day by day, with the support of others doing the same. I’ve observed those
who aren’t seeking approval from the world, but from within. I’ve realized that the idea of perfection is drastically
different for everyone, which means there
is no perfection.
Life in Atlanta
can be overwhelming. It can feel
disconnected and demanding and exhausting.
But I imagine life in Stanley has its own disadvantages.
There is no
perfection.
We make our own choices, and
we look for the blessings in what we’ve chosen.
They are always there, at the top of a snow covered mountain range, or in
a city filled with millions of pines and people.
If you’ve
never been to Idaho, I highly recommend it. Sun Valley, where our family stayed for the week, was one of the loveliest resorts I've ever seen, with mountains in every direction, meandering streams, and more flowers than you can believe. The town of Ketchum, just about a mile from the resort, is a bustling community of interesting folks from all over the country. The town and resort have much to offer. There are cultural events and wonderful restaurants. There are quaint shops and golf courses. There is ice skating, horseback riding, fly-fishing, swimming, and miles of hiking and biking trails. And the summer high temperatures in Sun Valley are usually right around the low temperatures in Atlanta.
If you do ever make it out to Idaho, be sure to visit Stanley, population 63. It’s a wonderful place to
find a whole bunch of blessings you never could have imagined, and return home to a whole bunch of blessings you should have
been counting all along.
