"...not a way but a place"

There is a day
when the road neither
comes nor goes, and the way
is not a way but a place.
(Wendell Berry, "1997: VII" from A Timbered Choir: The Sabbath Poems 1979-1997)

For those of us who still wander in time and space, the idea of home is inseparable from the experience of a journey, or, for some, a pilgrimage toward something sacred.  Concepts of place and journey, movement and stability shift and slip.  Wendell Berry imagines our ultimate hope in terms of our journey ending: the transformation of a time-bound journey into an eternal home.  But "There is a day"--a Sabbath--in which we can find ourselves at home even as we wander, quest, or climb. 

This Sunday, I traveled out of town with my friends Wyatt and Katie.  Wyatt was preaching at the country church where he works as youth minister, and after worship, we three spent the afternoon losing ourselves at a nearby state park. 

Mother Neff State Park, Texas

We found a path and followed it, walking and resting and enjoying the brilliant Texas wildflowers.  It was a very Sunday sort of walk: no hurry, no schedule, no destination beyond a return to where we began.  We were talking and taking pictures the whole way, at home in our good company as much as if we had been settled in our houses. 

Mother Neff State Park, Texas

No matter how far we walk, we will never, in this world, find a place that satisfies our desire for home in any settled or lasting way.  Instead, we find our tastes of that satisfaction in the moments when eternity slips into time: in returning seasons, consecrated hours, traditions, habits, and Sabbaths. 

"There is a day...."

Love Makes Language Exact

"Desire for the future produces words that cannot be stood by. But love makes language exact, because one loves only what one knows" (Wendell Berry).

As I have drawn near the end of my doctoral work, so many people have been ministers of grace to me. This week, I received two gifts from two beautiful friends, Lindsay and Kt. They are not the only friends who have encouraged me during these days of relentless work, but their kindness, coming in the same week, made me realize how blessed I am to be known so well. Lindsay and Kt have proven, as all good friends prove, Wendell Berry's claims that "love makes language exact, because one loves only what one knows." Here are the words they sent me:

This may seem a bit strange, but I would like to give you a small gift today... I just have to trust you to take the gift and use it well since I can't actually enforce it. I want to give you the gift of a cup of sweetened tea: as sweet as you would like with any sweetener you want. I know you usually only have sweet tea on Sundays, but I think you should have one to celebrate your new deadline and because I want you to.


So go make yourself (another) cup of tea and sweeten it to your heart's desire. I know this is pretty random, but this idea got stuck in my head and it won't leave. So hopefully that means you'll enjoy it.
Much love and prayers to you, dear friend,

Kt Ruth

 ***

Did you know that sometimes I just watch what you listen to on Spotify and then go listen to the same things? :) It's not so much that I like the music (even though I do), it's more that it makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, one day we'll be sitting in the same room together with our cups of tea and writing or praying or whatever, just communing together. For now, I'm truly with you in Spirit, and I'm praying for you over these final weeks in your pursuit of this part of your dream. I love you, sister.

Lindsay 

 I am so grateful to be known and loved such friends. They remind me that home is a place where language is exact, capable of comforting and challenging with the same strong words.

Have words ever consoled you during a time of stress of grief? Have you ever received a gift that proves the giver knows you deeply and well?