Give me my scallop-shell of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon,
My script of joy, immortal diet,
y bottle of salvation.
My gown of glory, hopes true gauge,
And thus I'll take my pilgrimage.

~Sir Walter Raleigh

A hiker, walking for pleasure, likes to choose between several alluring trails.
The pilgrim desires only the road that leads home.

~Frank W. Boreham

Friday, February 26, 2010

Blessed Geography, An Old-age Mercy

It never occurred to me in the early years, that the time would come when I'd be separated from my children. Of course I knew they would leave home and begin their own families. But the assumption was that they would marry children of those we knew and settle nearby, perhaps an "easy distance" say like that between Longbourne and Pemberly, certainly not over mountains and across borders.

Well, it did not happen according to my carefully written script. They did leave and start family, I mean truly leave as in leaving the territory.

Many were the years of heart-longings, of private tears, even pleadings before The Throne for a nearness regained. During those long years there were times when different ones did visit of course. Those times shone like diamonds on black velvet. Only a very few times have we been gathered all at one time in one place. These are vividly remembered and treasured in mind as well as photo.

Now, in these later years it has come to pass. We are near, at least within a long day's journey to all of them. Well, at least we all live on the same side of the Rockies.

Nearest now, through circumstances that could have only been orchestrated by a Sovereign God, is a part of the clan. And because of that, on frequent Thursdays, there is a meeting together for tea and perhaps lunch. And where do those meetings take place but in my cottage which 'just happens' to be geographic center.

Our smallest group consists of one each from four generations. Imagine! I could not have. A daughter, a daughter's daughter, the grand-nan and most importantly the Wee Man that blesses and delights all our days. Sometimes work schedules permit others to join us. These are golden days for me, heart-bursting days I could not have conjured.

Is there a point or moral to this story? Not really, other than acknowledging the obvious Gift of Grace from Almighty God Himself 'in His time'.

The last note is this: should you be in the neighborhood on any Thursday, Dear Reader, do drop in. The tea is always ready. We'd love to have you join us.

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