Grace in the Wilderness

Every few years I enter a cycle that seems to require that I go back and touch pieces of my past. The places. The people. It is an internal alarm that wakens a part of me that I would like to leave sleeping forever.

It calls me to climb the turret at Shiloh and sit with the dead flies on the floor. It takes me to the mulberry tree at Goshen. It lands me on the front porch at Fairwood. It guides me to the doorsteps of old friends.

The past few months have pulled me in those directions again. Usually, I find a sense of grounding in the ritual of return. This time though it was disjointed like blowing the shofar only to have the sound reach your ears an hour later. Everything was familiar but I couldn't connect.

I visited Fairwood last month during the family feast; and, there was a banner hanging against the sanctuary that read:

Grace in the Wilderness.

I wondered what kind of grace was being taught. Divine grace? Actual grace? Irresistable grace? Prevenient grace? I didn't stay long enough to find out, but I have pondered it in my heart.

One Hebrew word for grace is "raham." It is a word that conveys compassion and offers a merciful restoration of a broken relationship. And, I realized that seeking restoration of the broken relationship between trust and faith drives me to find grace in the wilderness of my past--even when it isn't there.