I am home.
Our little house is bursting with belongings. We are going to get it all sorted out sometime soon.
I visited my beloved farm today and found it much changed.
How to explain?
I love this farm with a love that does not change with time. I am jealous of the people who are soaking in its splendor. I am torn between a gratitude for all that has shaped me in the last year and a desire to share it and have it shared, and an envy of those who are experiencing it all for the first time. What is it about we peoples that makes us cling so tightly to experiences that, of necessity, are passing us by? I have learned what I was to learn, I have become who I was to become, and in my vacating the farm I have opened a place for another to come and learn and be changed. This is glory. This is the kingdom.
The landscape is surprisingly lush. The corn towers above me and the pomegranates are ripening on the bush. The road is dusty and the grass is brown and yet, even in the midst of a Texas summer we see bounty. I know this bounty comes from the sweat of the brow and the hard work of the hands. Isn't it beautiful to see Gods people at work? There is no clearer analogy, no more blatant picture of the kingdom of God than the beginning, middle, and end of this farm.
So I am home. I had a good time in Atlanta with my sister and her roommates. There were myriad attempts to convince me to stay, to move to Atlanta, to garden there, build community there, work there. But how could I? There is life there. Yes. There are people there. There are the more mundane and less romantic things like Starbucks' there as well.
But I have this.