Whew. I feel like I was just shoved down the rabbit's hole. You know, like the one in Alice's Wonderland?!?! What an experience. I was innocently reading with an NFL football game on in the background. (Maybe that was part of the problem....)
I picked up another book by Diana Butler Bass. If you can't tell from my blogs, I like her writing. I am now reading Strength for the Journey: A Pilgrimage of Faith in Community (Jossey Bass: 2002). I find her story interesting, intriguing. We are close in age, not too far apart. She grew up Methodist; I grew up Episcopalian. She switched over to Episcopalian; I switched to Methodist. Along the way she found that she likes John Wesley's theology. My spirit resonates with her thoughts as she writes about Wesley: "He would prove a pivotal figure in my own spiritual development as I came to understand the way he combined Anglican tradition, Catholic piety, and evangelical fervor. I now know myself as one of his spiritual offspring." (45)
A few pages later, I find myself being thrust into that rabbit hole as I read the words "pushing its own traditional boundaries for the sake of God's kingdom in the world." (47) As I reflected, I realized that this is where I feel that God has had me since 2006. Then, out of nowhere, the thought came.....
Even further back..... my thoughts went way back to when I was a kid walking in the woods along the creek beds at my dad's campground. I remembered the mossy banks, the rippling waters. I spent hours in those woods, walking along the creek bed, meandering my way through the woods on trails I blazed. What did I experience in those woods? I experienced freedom. Peace. Tranquility. Fulfillment. Strength. It was one of my "happy spots". I felt the Spirit in creation. Even before I could articulate it. I still do. A question that came to me is, 'What does this tell me?' Hmm... something to ponder.
We spent most every weekend there at the campground for I don't remember how long. Trail's Inn. We would stay in our camper trailer for the weekend and help mom and dad run the office, the pool, or the pond... depending on the season. In the office, we would make change for the laundry and pinball machines as well as run the register if there were purchases in the camp store. I even got to pump gas at the Shell gas station that was at the entrance to the campground, closer to the Interstate. I met all kinds of people, I'm sure. I really don't remember many of them. I do remember the gypsies. I was intrigued as a young kid that the women kept their money in their bras. I usually kept money in a pocket or in my sock or shoe, if I had any. :)
Those campground days.... being outdoors in God's creation and meeting all kinds of people... was foundational to my faith. I don't think I ever realized that before. In an odd sort of way, living at the campground was kingdom living, albeit unintentional. As I was reflecting on this, I attempted to share my revelation with my husband. But the words weren't coming easily--tears had pooled in my eyes and my throat struggled to push out syllables. For a moment my husband wondered if I was having another low blood sugar as I've had several today. I had to admit to him that I wasn't whacked out physically this time, but rather emotionally and spiritually. Why did all of this strike me the way it did? I am not sure right now. But it did. I don't know what I've touched, or rather what the Holy Spirit has touched in me, but something has been pricked. I remembered that once I had thought about owning and running a campground.... as a way to stay in nature and serve people. But that was before I saw the kingdom through the Spyglass. Oops. That's a different story. Sorry. I'll save the Spyglass for another time.
As I felt myself coming back out of this rabbit hole, I thought about the campground and the Enduro races that my dad and others organized and raced there. Those were some good days as well. Lots of motorcycles! Lots of people. And folks wonder why I love motorcycles. I rode with my dad since I was a little kid. We wrecked in the grave yard once near the Episcopal church where we attended worship. Another story. Another time. Thinking about motorcycles today is not good. It is bitter sweet. In fact, I should just "backspace". But, I started and I want to honor an honorable man. I last saw Perry at Nightfall on a summer night. He had ridden his motorcycle down to listen to the music. Several of us were just hanging out, listening to the music. That guy played the strings off that borrowed bass!! We had a great visit that night. I didn't know Perry all that well. My husband knew him better. But you didn't have to know Perry well to be infected by his smile, his joy, and his incredible singing voice. Perry loved life, music, friends, family. Perry was hit on his way home this past weekend by another vehicle. A different kind of tears fill my eyes now. I pray for big arms of love and compassion to enfold his loved ones at this time. I pray for them to have strength for the journey.
From rabbit holes to rabbit trails. whew!
I'm not sure where these rabbit holes or these rabbit trails are taking me-- or taking you for that matter. You may be wondering the same thing. I wonder, what is the Spirit saying to you today?
As I reflected on the thoughts that came from the book, I realized that this rabbit hole is actually the 2nd rabbit hole I've had recently. My first rabbit hole experience happened this summer at Chester Frost Park. I journaled it. I shared it with a few folks for feedback. Since the initial feedback, I've gotten some more clarification and insight on that experience. Maybe one day I'll share that rabbit hole. For now, I'll just say that it existed. It exists. And, I'll throw in a question. Why these rabbit holes? What am I to learn? What are you to learn?
I'm not really looking for exact answers. What I'm attempting to do through asking, however, is to live into the questions. I am learning that as I live into the questions, answers come.
I'm worn out.... that was exhausting.
On a different note, I would love to find some old pictures of my dad's campground and even some of those enduro races. Good memories. There is no longer a campground today... it is all gone. I'm afraid to even go to Connector 3 to see if the woods are still there.
May the mossy banks and rippling waters of the creek beds refresh your soul as they have mine.
~Debra
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