Going home.

There is something special about going home that takes me back at least two decades. Hey, who am I kidding?  Probably three decades. 

Today I layed in the front yard with my back to the green grass and my face to the sun. I watched an old farmer drive down the city street on a red tractor. I watched a high-school kid leave football practice and drive home on his ATV. My Mom took the dog to the vet without a prescheduled appointment and still got service (in about 3 minutes!). These things don't happen at my adult home. 

Today we also worked at the garden. Holy tomatoes!  On Sunday my Mom and I will probably can whole tomatoes, tomato juice and probably salsa too. I hope Anne and Dylan will join us. Maybe the tradition of canning will survive one more generation. 

I always wonder if we should have stayed in small town Minneosta to raise our family. It's a nagging, reoccurring question without much validity really. It just seems to linger in the back of my mind. The truth is that I believe we are exactly where we're supposed to be. Might it be that if I had never moved away from small town roots that I would never appreciate them now?  Going home is rest. Going home is fellowship. Going home is grace.

Every good and perfect gift is from above. -James 1:17

It's TIME...

There are some things I can't do in the middle of a figurative storm.  I can't listen to music; no music.  Not upbeat hip-hop.  Not that crappy rap that the kids somehow love.  And certainly not heartbroken country music.  I also can't write.  Writing is like bearing my soul and I never really know if I should share that.  So I don't.

I haven't written in over two months.  Which should give you a bit of insight into my recent state of mind.

But with that, I know that my storm should never be my children's storm and we have a waterfall quest to continue.  So here we are:  Cascade Falls in Osceola, Wisconsin.  We visited these falls a few weeks ago.  Dan was with us and it was fun to see him understand the joy that this little quest gives the kids.  Up until now he has never really understood the calling of the waterfalls and couldn't appreciate the benefit our little adventures.  We took in the falls and then went hiking the distance of the river down to the St. Croix.  Wading into the northern part of the St. Croix was a bonus for the trip.

In the month or so that has passed since our visit, I've done much reflection.  It strikes me that perhaps my life (maybe everyone's life) is not much unlike that of a drop of water in this very creek.  It sounds corny, but hear me out.  This drop of water is just floating along the Osceola Creek.  Ya, the water sometimes gets a little turbulent; sometimes flowing faster; sometimes flowing slower.  But life as a little drop of water is okay.  Until suddenly the current becomes faster and almost suffocating.  You try really hard to keep at the top of the water - to keep it all together - why is the current rushing so fast?  Everyone seems to be aware of the impending disaster and the anxiety is paramount, but the reason is still so unclear.  Until...

Until the falls.  Suddenly it becomes apparent.  Smashing.  Crushing.  Disastrous.  Smothering.  The life previously known, of floating carelessly in the creek, seems like it never existed.  In this moment, the only consciousness surrounds survival.  Clinging to a rock seems safe, put its only a temporary safe.  You see, in order to reach the calm waters below.  In order to proceed - In order to keep living - one must weather the falls.  The choice is not "if"; the choice is "how".

My friends, each of us has either recently gone through the fall, is currently in the fall, or will be there sometime in the future.  It might be a sudden serious illness or death, it might be the end of a relationship, it might be a financial ruin.  My question is this:  What are you doing today to prepare for the fall?  Because it will happen. How will you weather the storm?

And so here we are.  I think we're near the bottom of the falls.  The calm waters ahead are in sight.  I reflect upon the past two months with a bittersweet taste in my mouth.  I have much to be thankful for.  I hate the fall but I love the promise of the waters ahead.

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him and he will direct your path" ~ Proverbs 3:5-6