a new favorite from Wendell B., 1985-II

A gracious Sabbath stood here while they stood
Who gave our rest a haven.
Now fallen, they are given
To labor and distress.
These times we know much evil, little good
To steady us in faith
And comfort when our losses press
Hard on us, and we choose,
In panic or despair or both,
To keep what we will lose.

For we are fallen like the trees, our peace
Broken, and so we must
Love where we cannot trust,
Trust where we cannot know,
And must await the wayward-coming grace
That joins living and dead,
Taking us where we would not go -
Into boundless dark.
When what was made has been unmade
The Maker comes to His work.

And while I still - in many moments - feel a far cry from finding it, my soul is finding ground and starting to let itself breathe.

Here are some of my favorite things -

1. the "restorative yoga" class I went to Tuesday night. It is what it sounds. A lot of breathing and relaxation and letting the body find rest. pure joy.

2. newton, ks. the "big little city" near peabody. which houses the coffee house/bookstore where I now sit drinking my steamer, after my yoga class, where Thursday night is the one night everything stays open late (til 8). there is a "melodrama" going on next door at the natural food store. very fun.

3. my parlor room at the house where I sit and attempt to write, mainly just staring off at the horizon.

4. the 4-mile square Wes and I walked today, home to very friendly cows and dogs and limestone roads and beautiful prairie.

5. my first farm auction. last Saturday. a culture of its own. lots of Carhart. you really just have to be there.

So, its been a while since we've posted.

We left Bolivia on September 1 and have spent the last several weeks regaining our senses, quite literally - our senses of place, of self, of rest and trust.

We have, in all of this, made the decision not to renew our contract with WMF Bolivia and are searching for a place to make home in the old country. It's quite a journey, one Wes and I are joyfully and painstakingly making together, having not shared life here before.

Here's a reflection I wrote a couple weeks back.

I think I may have said faithfulness was my path,
when really I was just being
stubborn,
obstinate,
right,
determined.

I think I may have thought that His favor,
His pleasure, would come through
my misery
instead of our intimacy.

If ever I ran away from home
in the direction of Egypt
expecting that you might delight in
my futile straw gathering,
brick baking,

Now I set down
the itchy straw
and begin picking the mud
from between my fingers.

I tighten my sandals,
turn around,
and begin the long journey home,
back to Israel,
back home,
back through the land
where snakes linger,
lions lurk.

The road toward slavery,
when I turn around,
becomes the road to my salvation.
The very same road.

So I turn,
breathe deeper,
and try quiet trust
(which looks nothing like strength).

I demount, let go.
I take down my tattered flag,
drop it there
and stumble back.

Drawn back down this road
by Your longing,
in Your kindness,
Your grace.

You rise.
I fall.

[On Coming Home, reflections on Isaiah 30:1-18]