Friday, January 18, 2013

Dirt, Potato Salad and...Home...

courtesy of photobucket.com
At first I laughed and then I felt something more.

A friend told a story of an old preacher who conducted a seminar for some younger preachers.

"One day, " he began.  "One day, you will all die. And, on that day they will dig a hole in the ground, put you in a box, throw dirt on your face and go back inside and eat potato salad."

I couldn't help but think about my own, numbered days in this life, about my funeral, about ladies gathering in the fellowship hall at church and warming up the casseroles...

About this place we now call home.

I wondered about it all, about my priorities, about the brief moment in history we are allowed in this place.

It scared me.

Last year provided a lot of changes for me and my family.  I got a new hip in March.  Lisa and I celebrated our twentieth wedding anniversary in September.  In October, I quit my job of nineteen years to home-school our youngest son and maybe go back to school myself.  And, at the end of November, we adopted our two foster daughters.

But, somehow along the way...well, life just kept happening- that once narrow path became more obscured by the busyness of just getting by.  And, I stumbled off, down into the weedy edge- still proficient at my God-speak, sophisticated with my Sunday show, but lacking in the private disciplines of authentic faith.

Bearings alarmingly awry.

So now, it's here I find myself at this very moment in history- knowing exactly where I am, but lost just the same.

It's probably time to commit myself and our family to something different...something most meaningful...something that will last beyond the dust to which we are destined to return.

And so, my resolution is simple:

to sit beneath the broad leaves of a summer magnolia as the sun finally retreats from sight,

to sip the silvery froth of the moonbeams trickling down,

to be still...and quiet,

and embrace once more
courtesy of photobucket.com

the familiar Spirit of the great artist

who painted it on the sky,

to hope for a place with cloudless

days,

to live and believe with child-like faith

that another home

is waiting

still...