THE PATH IN...

"Gloria forced herself to take one step. Then another..." These are the opening lines of Ten Thousand Charms, the first novel in the Crossroads of Grace series. If you took one step after another up this path and through the gate at the top of it, you would find yourself in the midst of a gathering of small cabins in a place called Miner's Delight, the inspiration for the fictitious Silver Peak Mining Camp in the Crossroads series. I went there once, years ago, just to walk around and see what stories would come to me. I went there again in the summer of 2007, right after finishing the third book in the series, not so much to say farewell, but to see it all again through the eyes Gloria, Kassandra and Biddy. They weren't much more than ideas when I visited the first time, but now they are women fully formed. They each followed a path. They each opened a gate. And for a little while, they lived together in close companionship.

A LIFE LIVED...

A cluster of graves is surrounded by an iron fence. Only one is marked with a name. Anna Anderton. She was 38 when she died in 1875. Her grave overlooks a breath-taking expanse of mountains and valleys, and on the day I visited the sky was a beautiful shade of violet. I imagine Anna spent countless hours looking over that horizon. I wonder if she felt the same sense of awe that I did. Or was she, like Katherine MacGregan, disillusioned and frightened by the raw vastness of it. As beautiful as God's creation is, nothing can compare with the view that Anna has now.

A LIFE SHARED...

Even though the paths are overgrown with sagebrush, you can still get a sense of community from these living structures. Just look through the window and snoop on your neighbors just as you would 150 years ago.

A HOME BECKONS...

The wood is rotted, the windows are gone. The door has long disappeared, and the floor is little more than a huge, gaping hole with a few planks tossed across here and there. But there's something about this little cabin that says "home." I think it's the red-brick chimney that still juts proudly from its shingled roof. Sure there's the more modern stove-pipe right next to it, but nothing warms a room like a crackling fire. I can imagine this chimney spouting dark smoke into the snow-white sky. In the Crossroads of Grace series, babies are born in cabins like this. Women die in cabins like this. Lives are saved and love is found in little four-walled cabins. But, oh, how I wish I could just know what happened this cabin. What wonderful stories must have been told next to the fire that burned below this chimney. How wonderful it would be to hear the conversations, or to just sit in on the companionable silence, listening to the wind outside.

A REMNANT REMAINS...

I imagine this stove would look quite different had it been a cherished heirloom, allowed to nestle in a corner surrounded by modern appliances and family stories. Or, better yet, had it been donated to some museum to live out its days behind protective glass in a climate-controlled facility with little nylon ropes to fend off well-intentioned touches. But somehow, I think this little stove has the more heroic tale. Imagine what it once was-gleaming black, an answer to someone's prayer. Did some equally weather-beaten old bachelor fry up salt pork and eggs? Did a young mother nurse a babe in its glowing warmth? Weathered and rusted, it has stood against the forces of nature for over a century. All vestiges of function have long fallen away, but the intricate scrollwork remains as a testament to its original, noble beauty.

A SINGULAR CREATION

What can you see beyond that fence? Rather, what can't you see? When you stand there and look out across that vast expanse, hearing nothing but the wind-and sometimes not even that-God seems so, so real. Not because of the evidence of His handiwork in the beauty of creation, though that's evident enough. No, you get the very plausible idea that you might be the only living person on earth. It's a powerful thing, getting away from the constant barrage of human voices. Here you feel like you can command God's full attention, as He has certainly commanded yours. You can't imagine that there is any world circumstance, any human suffering, any global emergency that could possibly pull Him away from the needs of your heart. Picture yourself, completely surrounded by plains and grass and sky, singularly important, infinitely worthy. That is how your Father in Heaven sees you.

While the rugged, naturally-preserved noble beauty of Miner's Delight was, well, delightful, there is yet another Wyoming setting common to all three books in the Crossroads of Grace series. It's the town of South Pass City-currently the state's oldest continuously populated town. It's just about a 20 minute drive in a Jeep Wrangler, but the journey there would have taken a little longer for Gloria, Kassandra and Biddy. So say farewell to the robust splendor of the humble gathering of rough-hewn cabins, and say hello to...

LIVES INTERTWINED...

...the burgeoning territory's version of urban sprawl. Come to South Pass City and you won't be picking your way through knee-high sagebrush. Here the rolling valley is covered with soft, short grass. You'll share the wooden sidewalks with fellow tourists as you hear each other's conversations. This is where your path will cross with that of a stranger. For a moment your spirits will be in tandem as you gaze through the windows of these buildings and express your respect for the people who lived and worked there. The bright green building standing out among its plainer sisters is The Carissa. Named for the Gold Mine that employed the town and its inhabitants, The Carissa was a Fancy House of the highest degree-beautiful parlor, piano, cold beer and warm women. I wouldn't dream of stealing The Carissa's distinctive hue, but I did give Jewell's brothel an equally characteristic red roof.

TWO VERY DIFFERENT PATHS...

Beyond the Blacksmith's, the General Store, the Newspaper Office, what captured my attention in South Pass City was the jail. Look back, and you'll see tiny little cells, pitch-black with only a bar-covered window in the door. Yes, the walls are made of wood, not stone, but it's nothing like the comfortable, comforting walls of a cabin. This is packed, compressed, tight. Airless. John William MacGregan (Ten Thousand Charms) spends some time there, and it's there that he found the Lord. Look up- 

 -and you see the faded remains of a painted alphabet. For a period of time, this same building served the function of both school and prison. I'll admit to playing a bit fast and loose with history and moving the time that this building served this dual purpose to meet my story needs, but I know there were days the paths of these criminals and these children crossed. Even now, generations later, the thought frightens me even as I'm fascinated by the idea of such hope and such despair sharing a single roof.

A PROMISE

A beautiful, babbling stream runs through the center of South Pass City. Sunlight bounces off the flecks of gold on the rocks in its bed. It's easy to see how men could be drawn to it, certain that wealth was just a pan away. Guests are still welcome to sift through the depths, but for me, the true treasure of the stream was the coolness of its water. How delightful, on a warm summer day, to kick off the shoes and wade in, feeling the worn smoothness of the rocks cool against your feet while the water rushes past, washing the day's steps away. Here you get the very real sense of why Jesus refers to Himself as the Living Water. Always refreshing. Quenching more than simple thirst. Holding a promise of treasure for any who would seek Him.