Home.

I’ve been contemplating lately what home means.  My new place hasn’t felt like home.  I’ve put up familiar pictures of recent memories.  I’ve spent time there, cooked there, cleaned there, slept there and yet, it hasn’t felt like home… until this week, until today. What makes home home?

Today topped off a week of letting my dearest friends into this space that I inhabit.  I had tea with them, played Scrabble with them, talked with them on the phone, emailed them, and most recently, chatted with them over an ocean.  They say that “Home is where the heart is” and I’ve never really understood what that even means… I say, “Home is where your heart is not alone anymore.”   I was with them…  I was with the people who have held my hand and hugged me through dank and dismal times.  And now I’m at home, in my new home.

Family Times

We spent last night trekking back in time… to when we set out on an adventure together – to new places and seemingly “more refined” tastes. We started out the day in snow-dusted Solway, saying good-bye to the curved driveway and bare trees. We had packed up our lives into boxes. Each of us had taken a stroll through the house with the video camera, reliving old memories and trying not to forget. For me, it was my first noteworthy venture into complete unknown. I was thankful that I had my family to go through it with the first time. Our dogs, Ginger and Blackie, are quiet and contemplative, as if they feel that was are leaving. Dad shows us the garage… the place where he created, now his vacant workbench and custom shelving. The tractor that carried our wood so many faithful years sits in the corner, to be picked up by a new owner. The yard is a dismal brown, looking so forlorn, even after the winter’s cleansing. The swing set where I first learned to pump my knees. The basketball hoop where I first went Around the World. The memories come rushing back as we view this piece of our lives.

In seconds, we find ourselves saying hello to a new house, even to a new life. First, we are introduced to the office that seemed to set this whole chaos into motion. It was a brown building with several different office spaces inside. Worldbook had the sliver office at the end. My dad was moving up in his company. I am awed by a town that was twice the size of Bemidji, MN. We caught our first views of our street, our drive home. This place would be where we opened our lives, the new chapter. The grass is green in our new manicured lawn. Here, the trees are intentionally placed and not left to come up where the wind blows the seed. As we watch, we are reminiscent of shorter trees, basketball hoop-less driveways, and old wall paper. I remember the new excitement that accompanied this house that has become so acquainted and comfortable. My room has dry-wall on all four sides!

The screen goes blue. I am torn from my reverie, being met again with the reality that it is 14 years later. It is late in the night. There is church tomorrow. All that I want to do is put in the next tape and continue to cuddle with my daddy. Times like these are precious, becoming scarcer with each passing day. I live in the same room that I did while in high school, but so much time has gone by. I can see it in the shooting height of the trees and Cody, in the extra gray hairs around dad’s ears, in my own body’s commencing physical decline. Life continues to go on, picking up speed by the minute. Most days, I long for a cave filled with now…

We hear a song or read a story, & the good feelings get don’t remain inside of us. We are either anticipating them, or we’ve had them and they are gone. We never experience them as now… I’m writing a story about a little girl who discovers a cave where there is a lasting now. – Chaim Potok [The Gift of Asher Lev, p.99]

May you enjoy your Thanksgiving with friends and family, in the now...

Asher.

If you've talked to me in these last years about literature, you will have surely heard me tell you about Asher Lev, the inspiring creation of Chaim Potok. He is an observant Hasidic Jew who is also an artist. I am halfway through The Gift of Asher Lev for the 2nd time in 8 months. The idea for "The Cave of Now" comes from this book. This book is worth every second of your life that you put into it.

The section I am in now is when Asher is asked to address a yeshiva class about art. He starts with simple questions about why we draw, what we draw, etc... but eventually gets to the deeper events of art. He says, "Art happens when what is seen becomes mixed with the inside of a person who is seeing it." [p.135] It is interpretation of the world around us. He drew a picture of a ram in several different styles, emphasizing different parts of the ram that the artist might see and interpret. It is amazing to think that we each have this power to interpret. I may not be an artist who paints or sings, but I write. What I write is a reflection of how the world around me hits me.

A few pages later, Asher connects this to the idea of the cave of now. A drawing. A painting. Capture something forever. Can see it all at one time. No future, no past. Only a perpetual this-moment, only nowness. While a painting or a piece of music or a passage of writing is a rendering of the artist's "now," it can also be interpreted in the future. Those of us in present time can only attempt to know the intention of the author, singer or painter from 100 years ago, let alone 2,000! And yet, God gave me a Helper to enlighten my mind toward correct interpretation of His Word.

Oh, I am loving Asher for how he helps me think about life. Chaim does not give me all of the answers, but invites me to get dirt under my nails and I dig through it all. It's good.

A Reverie

Forests draped in snow remind me of an enchanted forest… One where it is never too dark to explore. It is full of Christmas trees and new places not on any map. It is on a hill, this forest, a foot hill, of the mighty Bettelwurf – a giant just east of Innsbruck . There are deer tracks marking the primitive path up toward the clearing over the ridge. The snow is often knee deep up there even if it is dry in town. My guide knows all of the ways and doesn’t get lost – at least most of the time. But being lost in this magical forest is really a blessing. This forest is enchanted.

The spell that this forest casts is to forget. There is no time in this forest. No deadlines, financial worries, responsibilities, stress or troublesome thoughts cloud the air here. They are not allowed in this forest. These are driven out be the peace that comes from the Creator of this special sanctuary. There is another forest, just off of Rosnerweg, but the effect is much less calming. There are people in that forest, but in this forest, our forest, it is me, my guide and calm. It is very easy to forget here.

The crisp air in this forest greets my nostrils and wakes up my lungs. The invitation to this place is always anticipated by my soul if not by my weary body. It is an invitation to forget my age and fly down the root-laden path on a bicycle or sing a song at the top of my lungs to the birds. Come to forget, this forest says, not forever, just while I have you. This place is not an ultimate escape from life’s issues, but a temporary forgetting so that I might actually remember who I really am for the Creator of all this created me as well.

There is a saying printed on the cross at the top of the Thaur Zunterkopf that states: There are many ways to God, and one of them is over the mountains. There is one way to God, that is through faith in Jesus… but there may be many ways that God uses to stir my soul to believe this Truth… I may not find God in an empty dank church, riddled with religious artifacts. I may find Him in my enchanted forest calling me to retreat.

Chaim says...

Fatigue is a wall to climb, not an emptiness to wallow in.

I climbed the wall today, but too often lately, I've been wallowing. What about you? Is Chaim right?