"dropping my map with a thousand folds..."

"Drop my map
with a thousand folds,
In the distance
I see it glow;

There's a light,
there's a light
in the window..."

Carrie Newcomer's  "A Light in the Window" has been my traveling song this year.

But I am getting ahead of myself. A few years ago our daughters transferred from the private school they'd attended since preschool, to The Link School, an expeditionary high school nestled in high in the Rocky Mountains. I followed them to this small town in our beautiful Arkansas River valley within weeks, and Jeff six months later.

The Link School embraces student families, and I was so happy to be able to sit in on a number of the girls' classes. That Fall, school founder and Director, Bobby Lewis, was teaching a Sunday evening class titled "Explorations in Spiritual Literature." I was fascinated. Especially when I discovered that the The Tao of Pooh was on their reading list.

The Sunday that I joined Bobby, and the fifteen students who had gathered in the yurt, seemed like any other. Little did I know that I would be given a great and precious gift that night

At one point Bobby posed the question to the students: "How would you define the difference between spirituality and religion?" What a great question I thought. I couldn't wait to hear their answers. They were thoughtful and born out of their experiences. Then one of the students asked Bobby, "how would you define the difference between spirituality and religion?"

Bobby took his time. He was quiet for a good minute before saying that, for him:

"Spirituality is the inner landscape
that we all have to navigate.
Religions, philosophies,
are just different kinds of maps
for navigating that landscape.

Some people like a road map,
others prefer a topographical map,
some use a GPS that tells them
exactly where to turn -- and when.

And some people don't want to use
a map at all -- they just like to
bushwhack. And while some use multiple
types of maps -- depending on the
journey -- they all have to find
their way through that inner territory."

To say that I was gob-smacked with gratitude and wonder -- is a serious understatement. I was motionless. I didn't want to move for fear that it wouldn't sink in deeply enough.  I wanted to be able to remember it, so I could carry it with me for the rest of time.

If I had been taking notes to revisit later, they would have been worn-out and in shreds within the first week. It wasn't just that this was simply a great way to think about the question. For me, it was life-affirming.  It resonated with everything that I believed. It gave shape to the substance of my respect for the mapping choices of fellow spiritual travelers.  I felt like I had taken this metaphor into my heart, let it dissolve on my tongue, digested it fully, and it had assimilated in every mental molecule of my being.

You see, I had always thought of myself as a map person. I couldn't ever seem to follow the turn-by-turn instruction that Victoria, my Australian accented GPS tour guide, was giving me. I didn't trust her. I liked looking at a road map and seeing the whole trip laid out before me. I felt safe being able to imagine the next turn in the road.

But I also knew that there were times that Victoria might come in handy.  And  I wanted to understand why this was the navigational tool my daughters preferred. So, the next time I had to go to "the big city," I put aside my Rand-McNally road atlas, and committed to trusting Victoria to get me where I needed to go. And you know, she did. It wasn't what was familiar for me, but I realized that it worked. Yes, I still like my road map, but I can now see that Victoria is a legitimate option for navigating a difficult path.

The next trip I needed to make, I decided that I would use no map, no Victoria -- just other humans. I'd use the trip to connect with fellow travelers. I refused to calculate my estimated time of arrival. I headed southwest -- knowing that where I needed to end up was in that general direction -- and when I felt like I might have made a wrong turn, I pulled into a coffeehouse or service station and asked for directions. Another approach -- not necessarily my preference -- but it worked. I got there, and along the way, I saw beautiful scenery I hadn't expected and met people I won't forget.

I am a planner. Or at least that has been my modus operandi for most of my life. I have felt "safe" being able to anticipate bumps in the road, possible detours and missing way marks.  I like calculating estimated times of arrival based on speed of travel and distance to cover. It's been "the only way" for me. And I've been pretty darned proud of my ability to get out ahead of the traffic.

But I realized recently that I have put very little trust in what I cannot see, with that approach to travel -- or to navigating my inner landscape. So, I have been "dropping my map with a thousand folds," and have begun to navigate this journey based on looking for the Light in the window.

I am waiting for God, divine Love, to show me where He is preparing a place -- with a little table, a bed, a chair, and a lamp. And sometimes, I find that this prepared place is actually right here within me. That the light from the window, is the love-light shining in my own heart -- leading me home to the kingdom within.

But other days, I will be reading the Bible and there will be a story or a message that will serve as a topographical map for my day's journey. Or I might just head out the door without a weather map -- knowing that I will be fine - rain or shine.

This winter Jeff and I have had the opportunity to navigate new landscapes -- spiritually, emotionally, professionally, and logistically. We have maps with a thousand folds, that have served us for years -- and we use them.  But, we have also learned to listen for step-by-step instructions, we have paused on the road and watched the Sun's movement in order to get our bearings. We have bushwhacked and followed half-broke trails. We have walked hand-in-hand, and we have split up, in order to explore new trails -- calling out to one another, "I found a cairn, here is a marker, I see a light in the window."

We have folded and unfolded those sacred maps, used our well-loved spiritual compass, read the travel journals of wiser pilgrims, and we have stood still -- so many times -- just listening for the sound of a nearby river, waiting for the Wind to bring us the scent of home. Love asks us to be still, and Love beckons us onward.

One statement has been as sweet as breadcrumbs found on the path of this journey. It helps me remember that there is a reason for taking every step. Knowing my over-arching purpose has been a light in the window. Mary Baker Eddy writes:

"As you journey, and betimes sigh
for rest “beside the still waters,”
ponder this lesson of love. Learn
its purpose; and in hope and faith,
where heart meets heart reciprocally
blest, drink with me the living waters
of the spirit of my life-purpose, — 
to impress humanity with the genuine
recognition of practical, operative
Christian Science."

This has been my "home." Navigating my way has been so blessed by maps and compasses, cairns and traveling companions, guideposts and an ever-present Light in the window.


offered with Love,

Kate