Mommy Dangerous

I love the Patagonia catalog.

Not for the clothes, those are nice yes. But for the amazingly dangerous things that people do in between the pages of the stuff to buy. Women scaling mountains in Third world countries, men surfing in ridiculous places. The photography is usually stunning, the stories equally. The last issue featured two women that were skiing in Pakistan to evaluate the effects of global change on the planet.

Secretly I want to be them. Women unafraid to hike, ski and camp in a strange place. To be confident in my own abilities and strengths to know that I could survive in most any weather conditions, most anywhere on the planet. In a sense, to be a female Daniel Boone.

But that desire stops in my head -- I am only a vicarious danger woman. I like the idea of doing things that are really risky like mountain climbing, biking, trekking to beautiful summits. But in practice, not so much. In truth, I am a big fat weenie. The Patagonia catalog and others like it become my fantasy life. I love reading about women and men doing amazing things that are both mentally and physically daunting.

In my perpetual safety belt, helmet wearing, side curtain airbag state, my life is one constant "ranger danger" event. Always on the look out for safety recalls, safer cars, safer toys, the dangers of this, the toxicity of that. When I got married and had a child, risk became something I only read about in parenting magazines.

Recently, I thought maybe I could satisfy my desire by going on a mission trip to a Third World country -- that would be risky and an adventure, combined with doing good works. A safe risk if you will.

I thought about this as I drove by a woman in crutches standing by the side of the road wearing a hospital gown. She obviously was waiting for a ride that had not come. I thought, maybe I should stop -- but then just kept driving on to finish my tasks. About a half hour later, I was coming back by the same spot and remembered the woman. She was still there.

I pulled up and asked if she needed a ride. Her voice cracked as she humbly said no but asked if she could make a call on my cell phone. She was freezing and had no purse, no shoes. I told her I would pull around and she can warm up and make the call. She made her calls and no one answered. She told me she didn't want to ask me to drive her home because it was so far. However, it happened to be the exact same town I live in about a mile from my home. (God is so funny that way!) I ended up taking her to her ride and she was flooded with relief and gratefullness.

I tell you this story not to share how great I am. After I dropped my new friend off, I felt as if I had gone on a mission trip. So often, I like to make things so much bigger and grander than they need to me. It taught me that a mission trip can be found in Cary, NC just as much as it can be found in Costa Rica. People need help everywhere.

I have decided to live more dangerously without going anywhere. But it had to start with opening my eyes to opportunities right in front of me. Every day could be my personal mission trip to help others without Patagonia clothes, scaling mountains or even visiting a Third World country.