August, and the monsoons are raging in the Arizona desert! So much for those dire warnings about a 20-year drought; the rivers and washes are full and flowing. It seems strange to think about flash floods in the desert, but that's part of the magic of this place, filled with paradoxes and contradictions.
Most of us - the Sidekicks - originated someplace other than Arizona. MDH [My Dear Husband] and I were both raised in Ohio, went to seminary in Kentucky, served churches in Pennsylvania, Indiana and Illinois, then made our great escape out West when our youngest graduated from high school. (Yes, it's true. The moment he went off to college, Mom and Dad sold the house and left the state!)
After 12 moves in 25 years of marriage, I told MDH I wasn't moving any more. Following the example of another Sidekick, I told him that if he moves to another state, he'll go as a divorced man! So, Godde willing, we're staying put.
Notice how even that statement is gently qualified. Over the years we've learned to rear back and talk back to Godde, but we've also learned our limits. That mysterious thing we know as "The Call" can sneak up unexpected, and too much resistance can result in unnecessary bruising. Still, if we have anything to do with the decision, we're staying where we are now.
Clergy families aren't unique in our mobility. Military families have always lived out of suitcases, and plenty of corporations expect their executives to be ready to transfer on a moment's notice. That's just a fact of life. Still, it's painful. I really HATED to get our house finally painted and furnished in my own colors, only to put it back on the market. And my gardens! It takes at least three years to establish a decent herb garden, and that's about the limit of an intermim's stay at any church. I wonder if anyone appreciated my beds of thyme, rosemary and veronica, or if they've all been turned under for homogenous sod.
During one of my dark times, a therapist told me to find "home" within myself. That sounded wise, but never really had any affect. For me, "home" isn't a psychic space, it's a real space. It's my green chair and a window to my garden, my dog, my coffee mug, my quilts. It's driving through town and recognizing the store where I got that special dress, the hall where we had two wedding receptions last year, and the lake where we fed the ducks. It's buying groceries where the clerk knows I buy whole wheat pasta, and the postal clerk knows I ship gifts to Virginia. It's the spot in the front room where the Christmas tree stands and the shelves my son put up in my sewing room. People are important, too, but for some reason, in my mind, they are in a different category than "home."
My Hebrew professor at LPTS taught us that the concept of "sacred" has more to do with the position of an object than the quality of an object. Something that is "sacred" is "set apart." It's a spacial concept. Maybe that helps to explain my personal concept of "home." It's a place set apart, a place of safety, beauty and rest. It's the place where I'm home.
It's Arizona.
What do you think? Some of you have been in this Presbytery for years and years - some of you are newcomers. Does the desert feel like home? And what does home mean for you?
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