In Ohio this weekend, the rain grows heavy, saturates the air. Strawberries have grown to the size of kiwis, the wheat bows its fertile head. We are wrapped in the humidity of life.
What is it about a new location that has the power to remind me of the urgent, the beautiful? Here, the scent of new leaf buries the futile consumer culture, the growing spend-and-buy-and-watch-and-sit desire. More important to feel and know and work and write.
But no matter how many times we separate from our lives, to visit family or vacation or do missions, the clear vision gained in removal will disappear quickly when we return. The newness and the lust for pure passions clouds when we let daily life cloud it. How can we wend away from this cloud into a more lasting clarity?
Father, keep the moss from growing on the voice that calls me into beauty.