A Friend once told me, “God’s love is poured out for absolutely everyone.” Often human and divine love are impossible to separate, and perhaps that’s as it should be. A few recent “tells” when one gave window to the layer beneath:
I walked into Durham Friends Meeting a week ago after an absence of years, on a visit. It was a Friday night spaghetti fund raiser dinner for a youth trip to Washington, DC. My feeling of being pulled back to the area may as well have been written in the air above my head. Three different people asked me, without prompting, “Are you back for a visit? Or are you relocating?” Yes. And, hmm.
Later that evening, I arrived at the home of — to borrow another friend’s phrase — “my beloveds” — the now 6-year-old boy and 9-year-old girl I’ve stayed connected with since leaving Durham five years ago. I was met at the door by what can only be described as fierce, barnacle-like hugs. It was all I could do to stay on my feet.
The next day, I went to see a small, nearby, quiet triangular piece of wooded land bounded by a creek. The spirits of the land greeted me with a kind of tiny, simple joy: Oh yes, here you are. We’ve been expecting you. Sit down. Rest on this rock a while. We are already doing the same healing work you are. It’s bigger than all of us. Want to stay longer? Where to place a tiny house? Why, right here, of course. Any tiny house will do, really. Any tiny house at all.
And the next day, to the same place, with a friend who has many friends in the plant world: Practically a blueprint. The door goes here. The hammock goes here. As for this corner of the property, a natural small circle of trees — this place is for singing and joy. This spot, with a tree at the back, is for sitting and reading or creating new stories. This spot by the water is for those who come to grieve. I will help, I am helping, said one tree and rock after another. I am part of this. You are part of this. It’s already begun.
The sense of quiet joy, of healing, of peace, of rest — the invitation of that land — is both what I seek, and what I can offer to others. May the process of seeking and finding, and leaping and landing, be gentle and joyful and easeful. May I be supported in God’s Love. And may I keep all my beloveds, from all places, and all times, both past and present, and even those future beloveds I may only have glimpsed out of the corner of my awareness, in my heart which is enfolded and held in God’s own heart. Amen.
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