Tall trees were uprooted and blocked roads, telephone poles were destroyed, electricity was out for maybe a 50 mile radius. But I stood in safety with a group of 10 people in a partially underground school gym and waited for the storm to pass.
I wanted to go home too.
But my response was not as serene that little girl's.
I didn't know the people around me; we had just prayed adoration together in the church upstairs. I didn't understand how bad the storm was until I saw people head to the gym and through the window watched the trees fall.
The chaos outside matched the turmoil on my heart. I've wanted to go home for years. That storm and that child's words were only reminders that I've searched for home for a long time and I'm not there yet.
But the hour-long obstacle-filled car ride back to the farm and the grace of concrete examples of love along the way gave me hope that one day I will find that place of peace-- in myself, in my vocation, and in eternity.
After attempts to travel three different roads to get back to the farm, I decided to wait in line with a bunch of other cars while men from various pickup trucks and SUVs pulled out chainsaws --as only mountain people can do (they keep these tools readily on hand for such occasions)-- and began decimating the trees that laid in our way.
Men. Ready to serve. To fix, to clear a path for movement. Creativity. Communion. And I was grateful.
I need men and women in my life to show me the way. To show me that even through roadblocks and broken trees, it's okay. Every person, every raindrop, every fallen pine has meaning in my life. God is manifested in the physical world and he created this concrete road to show me I am not made to travel it alone.
It's a work in progress. I've wanted immediate results for years. That's not how it has played out. I just know that I need to write and continue to love the best I can every day.
Constant and small. Personal and real. People and the sacraments. Child-like trust, and simple surrender. Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment