Thursday, February 16, 2017

Sprit of Place, Continued

Our household is at a curious crossroads. My husband's cold grows worse; mine, I believe, has turned the corner and is headed in the other direction. The place is a bit messy, and certainly a little noisy. Colds come with a cacophony of sounds, and most of them render us unfit to be among the rest of society.    
  
Today, I was able to read a bit from Kathleen Norris' book, Dakota, and I was also was also able to take a short walk in the warm mid-day sun.  I leave you with glad tidings from both.  The Dakota reading reminds me of the ranching families I grew up with. I take comfort in the memory as the sunlight and my energy begin to wane once more.    
 
[One former minister who had come from the urban East] also told me that she couldn't imagine what was happening at the first funeral service she conducted for a member of Hope Church when, as people gathered for the graveside service, the men, some kneeling, began studying the open grave. It was early November, and someone explained that they were checking the frost and moisture levels in the ground. They were farmers and ranchers worried about a drought. There were mourners giving a good friend back to the earth. They were people of earth, looking for a sign of hope.   
  
I am reminded of one of my seminary preaching professors who told the story of her internship in a rural community. As she listened to a young boy ask for prayers for the health of pig, she wondered why they were being called to pray for a pig.  It took her awhile to realize that prayer was for the whole family.   
 
I have no doubt that my father called God, "Moisture." 
    
   


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