these are my people

We gather in the Great Hall facing the fireplace, sunk deep in soft sofas, perched on chairs, or sprawled on the floor.

And my heart burns with words and songs, and tears flow, but they can’t extinguish the flames.

Since wheels met water and we traveled through the river, I’ve felt embraced by the canyon and living avatars.

And on Sunday, the room is turned around to face the glass wall, a window on the rock that rises above the Frio in this Texas hill country.

The elements wait—icing on the cake of community.

Jeffrey  reads from a piece by Buechner who talks about being good stewards of pain, and Gordon shares vulnerable, and I’m so in tune I forget to take notes.

Steven invites us to share (I forget what order this all happened), and I sense that flutter in my chest, so I raise my hand.

I want to tell of the gift and how being here is a gift and how my heart is so very full because of the gift, a gift delivered straight from the hand of God through a vessel of clay.

You see, I’d entered a “contest” to come and decided if I “won,” I’d take it as a sign that this was my season even in this time of my mother’s illness.

So when my name wasn’t drawn, I contented myself with the hope for next year.

But then, while sitting outside with my mom at the nursing home where she was recovering after her fall and before her brain biopsy, I read an email on my phone. An anonymous someone had given a gift, and God had written my name on it

I want to articulate how my tied-up heart has been unwrapped, but I choke and snuffle and snort, and my pretty words (and dignity) puddle on the floor.

I’m glad I’m in a place where there’s safety in unlocked rooms and hearts and strangled voices.

I know my life now is as turned around as this room.

Before I leave this place, I walk past the fountain, past word-bearing rocks, and down the steps to the dock.

And I remember…

Squeals and hugs here as the virtual morphed flesh, and the real became more real.

A white-billed duck, rock that showered water, and trailing fingers in the river from a kayak

My gentle roommate, coyotes that howled, a scorpion that didn’t sting, and Laura’s laugh that bubbled on the breeze.

A hike up Circle Bluff, and how we reached the top just when I thought I couldn’t climb over one more rock, and we looked down on Blue Hole.

A room where I could play with paints and scraps and plunge my thumb in glue and create something flawed and beautiful.

A circle of poets biting into the round jubilance of word peaches with Julia Kasdorf.

A plate of brownies and friends who spoke of rhythms and rumors and writing while hummingbirds scuffled.

The crunch of red stone underfoot as I walked the path alone in early morning.

A late-night discussion about how to have an online funeral if something should happen to one of us. Just the thought of that tears a hole in my heart.

And red hibiscus tea-spotted white pants (don’t ask), trays laden with grapes and cheese, steaming mugs, fresh-baked bread, Asian soup with shredded coconut, and the famous Laity Lodge cookies.

A vulture soars above, and I realize that something has died in me

But something else has taken root, and I feel its pulse.

Did I not ask Him to enlarge my territory

How do I explain these things?

How do I explain what’s happening inside me?

I try to wrap my heart around all of it, but I don’t think I can contain it.

It bulges like my overstuffed suitcase

I turn around to go, but I don’t leave.

Because these are my people, and this is my home.

These are my people of The High Calling, and two weeks from today, for the third time, I’ll be heading “home” to Laity Lodge. My heart is already packed.

NOTE: If you’re a member of The High Calling, it looks like there’s still a space for you. One day I hope to be able to pass on the gift.

Stilled, but stirred with anticipation,

Sandy

Unearthed and dusted off from the archives.

Want to know more?

New Skin: Reflections from the Laity Lodge Retreat

Into His Presence

It Will Not End Up Here

Linking this imperfect prose with Emily today.

And late with Jennifer.