Wandering in the desert, spiritual or otherwise, is an experience different from life on the mountain - and I am definitely a mountain person. Gone are the lush forests, creeks and wildflowers that are present below the treeline. I have a favorite mountain trail that I have hiked so many times that I can retrace almost every step in my mind - virtual hiking provides the occasional distraction from the desert landscape.
Stark - barren - inhospitable - dry - this spiritual desert was not my first choice. But here I am, and here is the desert, so this past month we've been getting acquainted. I now spend less time fighting it and trying to turn it into the mountains, and more time accepting that it is desert time - so be it! Less struggle, greater appreciation for the subtle beauty even in this terrain - and a willingness to accept it as gift.
I am learning to read the signs of God's presence in the desert - learning to recognize God's fingerprints in this previously alien landscape. I am not one to ask God for signs, having remembered the story of Gideon and the fleece from Sunday School, and my teacher's admonition that Gideon was weak for asking for a sign. She said that we must show God what strong little Christians we are by not asking for proofs of God presence and guidance (a note to all Sunday School teachers - not the best use of the Gideon story). But signs can be incredibly encouraging, especially when one is feeling baked, parched, and cracked open.
How many feathers crossed my path before I noticed that first one? I'm not sure. The first one I noticed was on the ground outside of the house front door - right where I was going to put my foot. I stopped, noticed the beauty of the feather, and went on my way. Later that day there was a feather waiting outside the church door - again, beautiful. The next day I sat outside in the sun in order to make some vitamin D, closing my eyes for a few minutes of rest. When I opened them, there was a baby quail feather resting between my feet. The gifting of feathers continued every day for two weeks - and with each feather, my awareness of God's loving presence was renewed. Such a small sign became such a large source of comfort and sense of hope!
And then Saturday God hit it out of the park! Back in '90s I affiliated with a Benedictine community in NY - the Community of the Holy Cross. I had gone there for retreats since seminary, but waited until then to feel comfortable enough to let the Rule of St. Benedict guide my life. I made a commitment to be an Associate of this Order at one of their daily worship services - it was beautiful! And as a symbol of my commitment to live as a Benedictine, the community gave me a simple ebony cross that was placed around my neck - a cross I cherished, because it was a symbol of my connection to God, the community and all Benedictines.
In 2007 while doing a blessing of the ground (prior to a home being built on it), the cross went missing. I know I was wearing it for the blessing, and vaguely remembered taking it off in my car (which I still drive today). But when I picked my things up to take them out of the car, there was no cross. I tore my car apart looking for that cross, even going back to the place where the blessing took place in the hope of finding the cross lying on the ground. But I had no luck - it was well and truly gone...
...until Saturday (almost 6 years later). It was in my car all along - all but hidden from sight. Seeing it again brought back a flood of memories and a great sense of joy and connection. Although I now live on the other side of the country, I felt an immediate and prayerful connection to that community - and all communities that have been part of my life - and proudly wore that cross for worship this Sunday past. I had a profound sense of these communities all being one - no separation - all the Body of Christ.
And so with feathers and a simple cross and all that it stands for, I continue my journey through the desert. I thank God for these reminders that I do not journey alone, but that God and faithful communities, past and present, journey with me. May my "forty days" bring me to a place of greater wholeness, strength and vision.
Walking on,
Kim
