| Packing is arduous business. | | | | completely unknown to them. Each generation |
| | | | pushed a little further West, following a |
| Finding myself relocating to a new city means | | | | hope for more than what they had or could |
| participating in the age-old, time-honored | | | | envision for themselves where they were. |
| practice of pulling up stakes, shutting off | | | | What few pictures I have of these people I |
| utilities and looking ahead to another part | | | | never met reveal great beauty and joy so |
| of my life as it unfolds. The packing is | | | | poignantly real I can feel them with me, |
| simply the physical rendition of sorting and | | | | directing me to take my part in the |
| filing memories, moments and hopes that | | | | adventure. The unknown didn't seem to phase |
| evidence the truth of the time spent in any | | | | them, which is a gift, like their faith, that |
| place we choose to call home. Having done | | | | they have passed down to me. My people are |
| this a few times before, I am familiar with | | | | people of faith, courage and abundantly |
| the process, its delights and its pitfalls. | | | | joyful creativity, an ancestry of which I am |
| Gathering one's life together, releasing its | | | | proud to share, a legacy I hope to embody |
| unneeded portions to the universe, fitting | | | | with grace. |
| the remainder into a box on wheels and | | | | |
| trusting it will be intact and ready to be | | | | The heat of these last days spent in this |
| welcomed into a new space at the other end of | | | | place that has been my home for seven years |
| the road, is both an act of will and faith. | | | | also reminds me that I am not carrying out an |
| This move calls forth a good measure of the | | | | Exodus journey of Biblical proportions. |
| former and a greater measure of the latter | | | | There will be no hot desert winds on my face |
| than any other move has required. | | | | or burning sand under my feet, no blazing sun |
| | | | relentlessly beating down on my head with |
| My mother's family started their journey in | | | | each passing minute, hour or day. There is |
| this country in upstate New York in the early | | | | an address to which I am headed, unlike the |
| nineteenth century. Eventually making their | | | | Israelites, who would wander for forty years |
| way through the Midwest, my great | | | | with only the hope of God's assurance that |
| grandparents met in Iowa in the latter part | | | | there would be a promised land. |
| of that era and continued their travels to | | | | |
| Minnesota by way of South Dakota. My mother | | | | There is progress in the journey. Years |
| remembers that they returned to Iowa each | | | | later Isaiah would go on to speak of a new |
| year to help with the cattle drives, the | | | | Exodus for God's people, a journey to a new |
| women running the chuck wagon to provide home | | | | Eden-like place. "For you shall go out with |
| cooked meals for the cowboys. Their son | | | | joy, and be led forth in peace; the mountains |
| carried on the tradition, moving his wife, | | | | and the hills before you shall break forth |
| son and daughter through Wisconsin and North | | | | into singing, and all the trees of the field |
| Dakota before settling in Chicago. When my | | | | shall clap their hands. Instead of the thorn |
| mother speaks of where she grew up, it is | | | | shall come up the cypress; instead of the |
| Chicago she remembers as home. While I know | | | | briar shall come up the myrtle; and it shall |
| my grandfather moved his family to | | | | be to the Lord for a memorial, for an |
| accommodate his work, I am not sure why his | | | | everlasting sign which shall not be cut off |
| parents kept to the road for so long. | | | | (Isaiah 55: 12-13)." Sometimes what we can't |
| | | | see immediately is as important as what is |
| But what their movement across the land tells | | | | within each task and step of the day. Within |
| me is that they were strong people with | | | | the tangible moments of living are housed the |
| dreams, willing to withstand endless days | | | | grace and mystery of God's purpose and |
| walking next to covered wagons containing | | | | promise. Herein lies our home, wherever we |
| their whole lives to the frontiers of a place | | | | are. |