Why the book Higher Ground was written.

It’s not just about “Higher Ground” being a log cabin home nestled on 36 acres in the Colorado wilderness, 8,000 feet high. It’s a state of mind that makes ordinary moments feel spiritual, bringing joy, peace, and a craving for the amazing, while pushing aside life’s doubts and fears. 

What was my motivation to write a book about my adventures with others in the mountains of Colorado?

Two little boys were playing in the parking lot of Sky Ranch at Horn Creek church camp. I was the groundskeeper for Sky Ranch. These two boys, maybe eleven or twelve, amusingly sprang onto and then off a small rock bordering the parking zone. The boulder was 2 feet high and 4 feet across. These children were acting as if they were flying, propelling themselves as if jumping a deep-walled canyon with superhero strength.

One says to the other, “We’re in the wilderness!” The joy and happiness pouring out of these two youngsters was contagious! I know this; my own desire prompted me to leap onto this boulder. I wished to share the feelings of those two young boys. They were in a world of their own. Unaware of parents around them, they had no cares for what time it was and no worries about anything. Their hearts and souls felt exhilarated by the two-foot-tall boulder.

They were only two feet higher than the normal ground, but they were in their own “Higher Ground”.

While I was parking my work truck, a question hit me. Is there a way I could show people what those two young adventurers were enjoying?

 Working as a groundskeeper at the church camp allows me many opportunities to interact with the staff and employees. On a lunch break one day, I had my meal at one of the picnic tables in a rather secluded part of the church camp. Not that I didn’t want to eat in the cafeteria building. A lovely day existed for enjoying cool mountain breezes. With birds singing close by and children laughing in the distance, I pulled up a stump that would serve as my chair.

I prepared my spot beside the old picnic table, aged by years in the sun. I opened my lunch box that my wife, Staci, had prepared for me earlier that morning. A couple of sandwiches, chips, Rice Krispy Treats, and a thermos of cold, cold water. I spread my entire meal on the old picnic table. Laughing to myself, because the similarity between this table and me is no coincidence. Though time makes us weathered and wrinkled, our core still holds purpose.

Having finished the first sandwich and taken the first bite of the second, a staff member strolled up to my table. It’s Liz. I know her from our staff meetings. She’s from a big city back east. Our interactions rarely extend beyond fleeting exchanges about camp tasks. Liz is a tall blonde, 22 years old, and I knew from past talks she is at camp this summer to learn what’s next in her life’s career. She’s a city girl, not much into the outdoors, yet everyone knows she connects wonderfully with the young children at this camp.

She asked if she could join me at the picnic table. With a mouth half full of sandwich, I basically mumbled, “Sure!”

In between bites, she tells me she has been coming to this table for the last 5 days for her lunch break. I mentioned that I didn’t know it was her table. She assured me it wasn’t just hers alone, and besides that, she had a question for me.

“I hear you like to fish,” Liz says. “What is it about fishing that people think it’s so much fun?”

“Well, alright!” I said. “That’s something I could talk about for days!” Anytime someone wants to chat with me about fishing, that’s a time I’m going to enjoy.

I basically quit eating. My mouth is now filled with words pertaining to fishing and how I like to do this and that. I go into telling a story of how I caught a big one on a fly I tied myself.

Liz reaches for her phone. She doesn’t come across as rude to me, but she texts her friend while I’m talking to her. My fishing talk evidently isn’t landing.

That’s when it hit me. Heaven’s message arrived on winds rustling through the tall ponderosa pines. “Dan, show her. Don’t tell her.”

“Liz, have you ever heard a sunset? Have you ever smelled freedom?”

She put her phone down on the weathered wood. The young girl’s face showed a look of confusion.

For the next 20 minutes, I shared with Liz what an experience at a high mountain lake filled with bone chilling crystal clear water would feel like. My animated hands casting an invisible fly rod brought a generous round of laughter. Her smile broadened when I revealed to her how people like to flaunt how they’ve caught fish.

But it’s not just fishing that makes it fun. It’s watching a sunset boldly change colors every few minutes. It’s the sounds that come and go when sunset approaches. Waterfalls seem to come alive with fresher sounds. Birds attempt to get their last verse of their songs in before darkness hits.

I made her think of what freedom smells like. Standing at the water’s edge and focusing on a fish swimming close by helps you escape life’s troubles. Your senses become more aware because of your concentration on the fish. The water glitters and shines as you try to look through it. Shadows, logs, even a leaf floating by on the water fill your vision with colors and structures that seem to be a living portrait. We can best describe the smell of pine trees, the water’s aroma, and the fragrance of nearby flowers as the smell of freedom.

Her phone rang. I stopped my conversation so that she could answer. “No,” Liz said, “Don’t stop! Keep going. Tell me more because you’ve got me wanting to go fishing! It’s something I’ve never done. But now I got to try this. I can call my friend back anytime.”

I laughed, more out of surprise than anything else. I just used my words to show, not tell. A big secret of communicating my thoughts has just been unmasked in my brain. I can share my adventures and what I have learned with others. Even someone as different as me and Liz. The secret? Show, don’t tell. This has made its way into my conversations and my writing.

Fast forward a month. A friend of mine, Bill, invited me to go along on a trip with him and one of his other friends. That other friend was Andy Andrews, the New York Times bestselling writer! I’ve read a bunch of his books. That guy is good!

We are riding the back roads of Colorado, doing a sightseeing tour. I’m sharing my activities with falconry and how I train my hawks to fly and hunt with me. Andy and Bill are both good ole boys, but they couldn’t hide their distrust and suspicions of my statements. I’ll admit it’s hard to realize how I train a wild hawk to sit and eat from my hand in less than three days. However, pictures serve as proof of this fact.

What I will never forget in our great conversations as we rode through the Colorado countryside was one particular statement from Andy.

“Dan, I can’t help but wonder how many good books remain unread and hide in a desk somewhere. Someone told the writer that the book wasn’t good, so they hid it.”

Perhaps Andy Andrews possessed psychic abilities that day. Because hidden in my desk at home was a book that I was writing. My struggle to finish it was totally from just one person saying it wouldn’t be very good.

One person is still saying negative things about my writing. That one person has doubts about its success and still wants me to give in to the fears. That person is still around; I’ve just learned to look past him. It’s tough seeing him stare back from the mirror. Yep, that person is me.

This book’s inspiration sprang from two young lads enjoying wild surroundings. Liz sparked a desire to show rather than tell what the good Lord has revealed to me over the years.

Andy Andrews’ words reached into my soul with encouragement to not listen to the negative, but write from my heart so that other souls will hear.

The biggest motivation for writing this book? It’s you!

Whether in Colorado’s wilderness, a small town, or a vast concrete city, you see yourself in the mirror daily. Are you listening to that one person who is keeping you down? Well, my friend, look higher. Look to a higher ground. That reflection I see in the mirror matters less now because I’m chasing a Higher Power.

Taped above my mirror is a silhouette of the mountains with the words “Higher Ground” blazing across. It’s a reminder for me to choose to look up. Look above the reflection showing doubt and fear, (along with my messed-up hair). Look and live higher than the everyday normal happenings. Start each day chasing the amazing!