(Written on the shores of Lake Cobbosseecontee)
It’s quarter past 7, and the sun, while setting, shines into Cabin 13. I see its light flicker on the surface of the lake. From the waterfront I hear laughter; the other counselors are taking a swim. An early evening breeze moves the trees; I hear and see them.
When I arrived, I updated paperwork, and the young staff member asked what me what I expected of this week?
Why am I here?
On a certain level, I’m here because someone asked months ago, because there were no other pastors coming this week, because they needed me.
But without knowing it, I agreed to my own salvation, a break from all the roles I play at home, at church and on the web.
The only webs here are woven by spiders, beautiful and intricate, easily broken yet strong enough to be a home and a trap at the same time. I’ve created my own web of connections and responsibilities. Sometimes I worry whether it will break, whether I will.
Why am I here? I am here to see what God, the Divine, the Creator, would have me see, to be open to grace; to realize, perhaps, that if one web fails I can still spin another, learning from both the loss and the re-creation.
Birds are singing. God help me to understand the song.