A precious couple of hours spent lost in memories with Mom as we explored the contents of a fat envelope she had marked for a scrapbook, 1946-1976. Letters home from camp from both my sister and me, homesick letters revealing a connectedness and love. An invitation to our parents to our backyard production of a play. Homemade cards to Mama and Daddy. My sister's golden locks from her first haircut. Her baby teeth. Poignant. Sweet. So long ago.
How to treat such tangible ties to a time of youth and laughter and exuberance, when living in a community where everyone is staggering towards the end...challenging.
It was a special anniversary party in this community last night, and as we lingered after dinner round a piano and guitar ensemble, I listened to and watched these precious people. All with stories. All with memories of happier, energetic times, when the horizon for them stretched in all directions.
Blessed are those whose strength is in you...as they pass through the valley of Baca they make it a place of springs. Many here continue to reach out and support one another, share laughter and be kind to those who endlessly repeat themselves. Their strength comes from you, loving Father.
May I pass through this Valley of Baca, a valley which stretches into the unseen distance and requires decisions I am reluctant, even loathe, to make. May I pass through this valley, walking Mom home, drawing my strength from you, Lord. I want to be helicoptered out, but I sense I shall be hiking all the way.
A California girl from a hot beach city marries a country loon from the cold northeast of Scotland, and she's spent the last three decades making sense out of life there. Reflections on a rural lifestyle, on identity issues and the challenges of moving so far from home,from a Christian viewpoint.
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