"the place just right..."

"and when we find ourselves
in the place just right..."

Jewel's recording of "Simple Gifts," touched me deeply tonight. I can't hear it without remembering a moment from over fifteen years ago. A single moment of "contact" with another human being. A moment that had a profound impact on me.

It was the middle of December. For over a year, I'd been commuting twice a month from our home in Colorado to Boston. I'd spend the afternoon flying into Logan, and then I'd take a taxi to the office. My life looked on purpose, successful, and finally - just right. But something wasn't right. Just below the surface I felt oddly disconnected. It didn't make sense.

I prayed often throughout the day, I was engaged in work I loved, working on a project I believed in, had a beautiful family I adored, a dream house we were renovating, served on the board of our local arts council and ballet, was involved in causes I was passionate about, and served a church community I cherished. This feeling of disconnect had no rational basis. There wasn't anything wrong. In fact, I thought everything was very right. Didn't I "have it all?"

But that day as I rode from Logan to the office -- dressed in my Dana Buchman suit and Joan and David pumps, briefcase filled with reports, day planner on the seat next to me, and a pager at my waistband -- I couldn't shake it. I'd lost touch with something vital. It wasn't just that I was missing my daughter's first Nutcracker rehearsal, that the twins were with their nanny, and I couldn't remember the last time we'd eaten as a family. It was something much deeper.

Inching along Storrow Drive during rush hour traffic I decided to use the time for quiet reflection -- to breathe and enjoy the Boston skyline at twilight -- my favorite time of day. The Charles River was on our right, the Back Bay to our left.

Staring out the window towards the river, I saw a large cardboard box leaning against a cinderblock building. In it were two people. A man and a woman, bundled against the December chill of a rainy Boston afternoon just edging into dusk. Her head was resting in the curve of his shoulder, his arm was around her, and his cheek was leaning against the top of her head. They seemed oblivious to the traffic, the cold, their "situation." There was such a profound look of love, contentment,and peace on his face that it took my breath away.

I will never forget the first thought that came to my heart, as the crest of a sob caught in my throat:

"I want what he has..." 

And I knew it was the truth. More true -- for me -- than anything else at that moment. It wasn't that I was unhappy. I loved my family, I loved my work, I loved my home. But I also thought that I was responsible for maintaining it all. I had to stay alert, be willing, pray without ceasing -- never rest. I longed to be at peace with just trusting God's care for all of us. I ached to know that I could be just as serene if I were living in a cardboard box. That I could be completely oblivious to the mental trafficking of false expectations, ambition, achievement, approval, acceptance. That I could truly lean into Mary Baker Eddy's admonition to:

"Trust Truth,
and have no other trusts." 

In a matter of minutes we were beyond that section of Storrow Drive, but I was never the same. The look of deep contentment and peace I saw in that man's eyes -- as he held his partner, in a cardboard box -- has never left me. It has been something I've sought within myself ever since. For me, it is:

"the place just right..." 

I seek it throughout each day. I often return to that moment in the back of a taxi as a touchstone. I ask myself: "Do I need this project, house, person, event, acquisition, accomplishment to tell me I am content, satisfied, at peace with myself, and at one with God? Would I be just as content in a cardboard box on the side of the road? Would my trust in God be just as unwavering and unshaken?"

For me, it's what is at the heart of Mary Baker Eddy's poem, "Satisfied," which begins:

"It matters not
what be thy lot,
so Love doth guide;
For storm or shine,
pure peace is thine,
whate’er betide..." 

Each day I pray that whether I am in a cardboard box or a cottage by the sea, with a friend or a stranger, appreciated or vilified, feasting or famished, giving or receiving, blessing or being bless -- I am deeply, profoundly, unwaveringly content because God is with me and nothing else can give me peace, or take from me my right to love. This is my cardboard box prayer -- it never leaves me. And I never leave it.

always,

Kate

"You belong to Me..."

"You don't have to prove to me
that you're beautiful to strangers..."

There was a time when Carly Simon's "You Belong to Me," represented what I thought wanted. I wanted someone to belong to, and someone who belonged to me.

And not just someone to call my own, but a place of my own, a family, friends, a spiritual community, a job, a purpose. I wanted to feel that I'd found my niche in the world, and in someone else's heart.

I wanted, wanted, wanted. I didn't think I wanted things, but I definitely wanted a feeling. I wanted to feel that I belonged.

And there was a point in my life when I really began to believe that I was coming close experiencing that sense of belonging in a number of ways. That is, until I didn't have any of it -- anymore. And that was probably the best day --  the day I began to discover a real sense of belonging.  A sense of belonging that is invulnerable and eternal.

You see, I'd always thought that if I could just be "enough" for everyone around me, I would get the chance to belong. If I was attentive, kind, loving, neat, smart, funny, spiritual enough, the people in my life wouldn't need anyone else. They would want me and I would belong to them, with them, near them.

I thought that if I always saw them through the most loving eyes, gave the best gifts, provided the most attentive care, served with the greatest willingness, made the best meals, had the coziest home, tried to be the most thoughtful colleague, tenant, friend, daughter, sister, mom -- my belonging would be secure.

But this kind of thinking -- and behaving -- was exhausting. It meant that if I made one false move, dropped one carefully juggled ball, forgot to say the right thing, broke the rules -- even a little, I'd be out, rejected, dismissed. And I was.

And that rejection was probably the most vital, enduring, and life-transforming gift God could have given me.

You see, I'd never, ever -- no matter how hard I'd tried -- really felt like I belonged. I always felt like a visitor, a tolerated guest -- only "there" at the behest of my hosts. Once out in the cold, I had to go deep within to find warmth and comfort. And in that space of prayer -- the great interiority of conscious worth -- I found a reliable place to abide, not just visit.

This is the place where we are not a tenants -- vulnerable to eviction, rejection, homelessness.  And because it is a place of grace, we can't buy it or earn it.  It is God's place where no one, and nothing, can tell us we don't belong. Ever.

Robert Frost once said that:

"Home is the place where,
when you go there,
they have to take you in."

But I no longer think this is true, if we are talking about home as a geographical, personal, or institutional "place."  For me, this statement can only be true in a spiritual context. It only feels possible in the "place" where God and men do meet. In that stillness of consciousness -- that deep interior sanctuary -- where thoughts and deeds take form and flight.

Of course we delight in our loved ones, we cherish our communities of fellowship, and appreciate houses, temples of worship, and spaces that are sacred to us. But our sense of belonging can never be fully satisfied, or secure, if it is based on personal or organizational acceptance. And no matter how hard we try, we will never find that "place" on earth where we can feel eternally rooted and grounded. For me, this kind of unconditional security, acceptance and belonging can only be found in the heart of God.

When singing the words of H. F. Lyte's timeless hymn "Abide with Me," * I always imagine my Father-Mother God standing at the threshold of stillness, bidding me, "come in." There I find an ever-wakeful divine Parent always welcoming me home to the one place where I will always belong:

"I know Thy presence
every passing hour,
I know They peace,
for Thou alone art power;
O Love divine,
abiding constantly,
I need not plead,
Thou dost abide with me."  

This is the place of my belonging. This is the place where I don't need to plead for acceptance, grovel for forgiveness, hope for mercy, or fear rejection. This is the place I abide, dwell, rest -- the sweet, sacred interiority of the kingdom -- within. And in this place, I belong to Him.

offered with Love,

Kate

* The link to this hauntingly lovely Emeli Sande version of "Abide with Me" was sent to me by one of my daughters this morning after I'd already posted this piece. She had no idea that this particular hymn was in my heart this morning and was part and parcel to today's post. Although this version does not have the lyric quoted above, it carries the spirit of this post, and it allows you to "hear" the hymn in a most sacred way.

"Be here now..."

"Be here now.
No other place to be.
All the doubts that linger,
just set them free.

Let good things happen.
Just let them come --
into every moment,
like the rising sun..."

 There is something so peaceful about Mason Jenning's "Be Here Now." It reminds us that there is really no other place we can be, but here...now.

But how many hours have I wasted thinking "if only." If only I could be "there," then I would be happy. If only I could be back in a time "when," then I could make changes that would have brought healing. If only I could fast forward and know what was coming, then I could relax and be at peace with things as they are today.

But I clearly remember the day I realized that every one of those hours spent anywhere but here, and now, was time spent focused on something besides God.

God's name -- the only name He give Himself (excuse the gender assigment) is "I AM." So for me to let my thoughts dwell anywhere but in the "I AM" of being -- I am here, I am now -- is to feel separate from God. To feel separate from love, beauty, peace, goodness, grace.

I've spent way too many hours wondering "if only." Wanting to go back and make different choices, live in a different place where I'd have different choices, chase a future where the choices are boundless. But it's all fruitless. I am here. I exist now. This is the truth.

Mary Baker Eddy says, in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures:

"The spiritual sense of truth must be gained,
before Truth can be understood."

 For me, this says, that until I understand the presence and power of God -- operating as the only Cause and Creator of my life - as it is right here, and right now -- I will never find God, Truth, anywhere else...ever.

Sobering, and beautiful.   At least for me.

Shared with love,

Kate

"If I was in..."

"All the leaves are brown,
and the sky is grey.
Ive been for a walk,
on a winters day
I'd be safe and warm
if I was in.... "

If...

If I was in L.A....Taos, Boulder, Maine, South Africa, Denmark, Ireland....anywhere, but where I was. If only...

Hearing the Mamas and the Papas singing, California Dreamin', this afternoon, got me thinking. Thinking about all the geographical dreaming I've done, for as long as I can remember...or at least, until much too recently.

But, as I sat there...looking out through the gray branches of a midwestern winter's stalwart sycamores peppered with brave squirrels, cardinals, and chickadees...I was happy. I was content. I was exactly where I was supposed to be at that moment...and I knew it.

14th century Persian poet, Hafiz, once wrote:

“This place where you are right now,
God circled on a map for you."

I knew this to be as true a truth, as ever there was.

So, what changed between the years of longing, and these ongoing moments of pure contentment? More than I can cover in this post. More than I think I can even begin to fully grasp. But there are a few things that I am celebrating a simple clarity about tonight. Such as,

We are constantly being sold a bill of goods that says we need certain "conditions" to be happy. When I have the right job, live in the right neighborhood, have the right partner, pray the right prayer, think the right thought...then I will be happy, satisfied, ready to progress, better positioned to succeed, in the right state of mind for health, wholeness, perfection. But only then.

As my daughters would say, "not."

This thinking just reduces our understanding of God to someone sitting back waiting for us to "get with the program." It makes God rather impotent. It is as if this all-powerful, ever-present, omniscient divine Parent that I worship, needs me to get it right...get into the right place, find the right position, be with the right people, read the right article, think the right thought...so that he can care for me, love me, govern me sovereignly.

Again, "not." Or at least, not for me.

Another line of reasoning says that where I am..right now...is a mistake. And if this is true, then my all-powerful, all-knowing, always loving God fell asleep at some point, and I ended up in the wrong place. And now I am stuck until I, you get it, think the right thought, pray the right prayer, and listen carefully enough so that I can take the right step in the right direction...but until then.... And that means, that obviously, I am not there now.

But, none of these options acknowledges, and honors my beloved Father-Mother God's all-powerful care for me...and mine. And I can't live with that premise. It leaves me feeling frantic to find the right place, be with the right person, think the right thought before I can be at peace, satisfied...happy. So, what do I think?

Well, Mary Baker Eddy, the most God-trusting woman I know, once wrote, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures:

"All that is, is the work of God, and all is good.
We leave this brief glorious history of spiritual creation...
in the keeping of God, not of man,
in the hands of Spirit, not matter,
joyfully acknowledging, now and forever,
God's supremacy, omnipotence, and omnipresence."

and this, from her poem, "Satisfied,"

"It matters not what be thy lot,
so Love doth guide..."

These two statements have been my compass, my geographical starting point, for a while now. In the first statement, she makes it clear that God has created, and is governing, every moment of my life. I need to trust His wisdom. I am here. My job is to joyfully acknowledge his supremacy, omnipotence, and omnipresence...not question it.

And in the second statement, well, I smile when I see her use of the word, "lot." I have looked at lots in Colorado, Maine, New Mexico...you get the picture. But, she is saying (to me) that to the spiritual thinker, it just doesn't matter. What matters is that love guides me...moment, by moment...every day.

Today I am here. So this must be the perfect place for me...the perfect lot, plot, house, home, acreage, location. The perfect place for me to love, to serve my Father's children, to joyfully acknowledge His presence, power, and supremacy. If I am supposed to be somewhere else, I will be there. I will have no choice. So why think about it. It's a waste of my heart, my thinking, and my prayers.

There is a whole world to bless....right here.

Jesus was once asked when the kingdom of God would come. It reminds me of all those nagging little distractions to inner contentment, those gnawing little thoughts that have poked at me for so long: When will you get to "go home?" When will you go, where you are going, next? When will you ever live near the ocean, the mountains, in the perfect place? His reply to their question, echoes through my days:

"The kingdom of God cometh not with observation:
Neither shall they say,
Lo here! or, lo there!
for, behold,
the kingdom of God is within you..”

This is my perfect "place." This is my heavenly center. This is the only place I will ever really be at home...the kingdom within...the consciousness of Love, and my right to actually be the expression of that love, right here, right now.

When I make this my geographical focus, I am completely satisfied, at all times. Whether I am in the midwest under a gray January sky, along the Maine coast for a day, or in the Colorado mountains each the summer, I can be perfectly at peace.

When I don't feel the need to stake my claim on a place, I can enjoy where I am, while I am there. What deep, abiding contentment this brings.

So now, if I am going to do any "dreamin'," it's going to be about peace on earth, good will towards men, universal health, unconditional kindness, wide-spread compassion, global respect, and undivided cooperation...not beautiful places far away, but beautiful places within.

I am loving this place...since its the one God circled on the map for me...today. Putting my heart in His hands, I am always safe and warm.

with Love,


Kate

"How can I be sure..."

"How can I be sure,
in a world that's constantly changing?
How can I be sure,
where I stand with You..."

Okay, I know that this song "connection" is a big stretch...okay - a really big stretch, but to be honest, when I thought about the question of surety, this really is the lyric that came to me without hesitation.

Perhaps it is because, as a preteen, I really liked the broodingly cute lead singer (and talented songwriter), Felix Caviliere, of the Young Rascals.  Maybe it was because I spent a lot of time looking for answers to questions that had no answers. But either way, the question, "How can I be sure...?" is one that I have lived in...a lot...over the ensuing years.  

How can I be sure that this is the right school for me?
How can I be sure that the boy I like, will like me?
How can I be sure that this math answer is right?
How can I be sure that there is a God?
How can I be sure this is the right decision?
How can I be sure I am making the right choice?

Questions, questions, questions.  And it didn't matter if they were big or small, I wanted certainty, assurances, guarantees.

Recently, an inspired post on my friend Heather's blog, reminded me of a letter written by Mary Baker Eddy, to her student Adam Dickey* that begins:

"The place you seek is seeking you, the place you need is needing you.  Divine Principle brings need and supply together for mutual good.  God wisely, intelligently, and lovingly controls, guides, protects, prospers, and blesses this union of His idea (man) and this joyous activity, work.

"All that you need to do is to see that your consciousness is fully prepared, enlarged, uplifted, joyous, expectant of infinite good, so that no sense of limitation may hinder the full manifestation of God's will for His idea.  You know that God's will for His idea is perfection, nothing less. All we need ever to change is our sense of discord to the consciousness of harmony, divine government.

"Who says, "I have finished my work and must find another place"?  God alone directs and outlines.  You do not know whether it is right to stay here or to go there except as the steps are put before you day by day.  Even if your desires are in line with progress, you must surrender all human will.

Later it goes on to say:

"You do not have to plan or think how, when, or where.  That is God's business. Your business is to carefully reflect, listen and obey when the call comes.  The Divine will is always clearly calling to US and telling us of the will of the Father.  But we are so bent on having our own way and "doing things" instead of knowing they are already done, that half the time we do not know what God is saying.  God's will will be intelligently expressed and will intelligently meet your need by destroying your sense of fear.  You really have no needs for you are complete in God...

"It does not take time for you to build up your place of your work, for it is impossible for an idea to be without its place, and that place is fully developed as is the idea that fills it.  The place must meet all the needs of the idea if it is to be provided by Divine Principle...

"Make a place for God in your thinking and acting, and your place in human experience will be manifested."

I have loved praying with this last paragraph from her letter:

'Today, Divine Mind adjusts me to my work and adjusts my work to me.  Under this law of adjustment - God's law - my work must be successful.  Through steadfast declaration, work and worker, buyer and seller, are brought together.  Thus, supply meets demand and God's perfect law is brought into manifestation."

I am learning that the only thing I can be sure of is God's gracious omnipotent hand in my life. 

On Sunday, if I'd thought about where I would have been on Thursday afternoon, I would have told you that I'd be driving home from office visits at the college, along the River Road watching eagles soar over a lone barge as it inched past buckling ice-flow, cutting through the frigid waters of the Mississippi River.  But God had another landscape in Mind for me.

But when Thursday afternoon actually arrived, I was sitting at a table outside a marvelous bagel shop in Southern California...with succulent oranges dripping from the branches of small citrus trees nearby, and me soaking up the high desert sun in a town I'd never even heard of three days before...letting this poem write itself on a few rough brown recycled paper napkins:

I am here
in this desert place
between the seas
because You
have sent me here.

I can be no other place.
I can occupy no other niche,
find myself in no other moment,
than the one You have appointed
me to.

You have prepared that space
to fit me.
And me,
to fit that space...

A synchronicity of design
so intricately carved,
so precisely timed,
that like
key-in-lock
a door opens
and
I am
that
I am...
divinity in humanity...
hand in glove.

Gloves
not of lavender kid,
but
saddle ready.

A workman's
gloves
for Love-calloused hands
willing to be made
useful
in service
to You. 

Hmmm...maybe these lyrics aren't such a big stretch after all...especially when the you, is Him.  The question then remains:

"How do I know
maybe you're trying to use me..."

I think the only answer that makes sense to me today is from Isaiah: 

"Here am I, send me."

willingly,
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

*Adam Dickey is the author of "God's Law of Adjustment" and it has been purported that he worked with this letter from Mary Baker Eddy for seven years before writing that remarkable piece.

"I've been painting pictures of Egypt..."

"...The past is so tangible
I know it by heart
Familiar things are never easy
To discard
I was dying for some freedom
But now I hesitate to go
I am caught between the Promise
And the things I know

I've been painting pictures of Egypt,
Leaving out what it lacks
The future feels so hard,
And I wanna go back!
But the places that used to fit me,
Cannot hold the things I've learned
Those roads were closed off to me
While my back was turned..."
- Sara Groves

Okay, so I have become a bit obsessed with Sara Groves' lyrics and music.  But, as my husband says, "she is so good at knowing you."  When I discovered her "Painting Pictures of Egypt," it was like walking past a mirror, smiling at a stranger, and then suddenly realizing you are smiling at yourself.

I listened with rapt wonder.  She was able to put words to the feeling of knowing when you had to leave one place -- the place where you'd lived in hunched sadness -- for a horizon that seemed to hold no oasis or refuge.  It is a journey in which you cross the desert of pain -- traversing the lonely unchartered territories of your own heart, learning to eat locust and drink dew from the crevices in stones -- only to find that you are still just standing at the edge of something even more vastly new and incomprehensible. So uncertain that you begin to dream of returning to the soft comforts of the outgrown, but familiar.

I think this is what the children of Israel may have faced at the edge of the Red Sea.  Having left behind a tortured existence of brutality and slavery, they find themselves in a place where they are free -- but free to do what, when all that stands in front of them is a roiling ocean of resistance and self-doubt.  Pharoah is pursuing them from behind and they wonder why they ever left Egypt in the first place. At least in Egypt they had the fleshpots. 

I have known this kind of questioning.  I have known the terror of "not knowing" what comes next, and the pull of what once was. "At least there were those fleshpots," it hisses. "Hey, you know how to navigate the familiar, endless rhythm of pyramid building. You know how to anticipate and brace yourself for the touch -- however hurtful -- of the slavemaster's whip."

That's when I would begin "painting pictures of Egypt" in the soft golden glow of memory.  The straw and mud pits of backbreaking labor in the fields took on a soft light -- a "Little House on the Prairie" romanticism. Why I could almost hear the swell of a James Newton Howard soundtrack if I listened hard enough.

But in those moments when my Children of Israel-self complains to my Moses-self at the edge of the Red Sea, "why did you bring us here, at least in Egypt I had fleshpots!" I remember Moses' reply, "Stand ye still and see the salvation of our God," which God rebukes with, "Why are you telling them that, tell them to move forward!"

And what those in exile could never have even imagined - a sea splitting in two so that they could cross on dryland - happens right before their eyes.

They had outgrown the lessons of Egypt, and each step forward through the sand brought them to the place where a miracle was waiting.

Like the children of Israel at the edge of the Red Sea, I too have spent far too many days sitting in the hot shifting sands of self-doubt painting romantic pictures of Egypt in the soft glow of memory. When right there, right before me -- within just a few steps of its shores -- a Red Sea was waiting to part and lead me to the promised land. 

Today I have my heart focused on the sea.  I am painting seascapes full of milk and honey, bees and blueberries, lemons and lavender. I am leaving the outgrown in Egypt where it belongs -- in the past.  I am moving forward, one step at a time -- looking for miracles in the sand and the sea.

"...I don't want to leave here
I don't want to stay
It feels like pinching to me
Either way
And the places I long for the most
Are the places where I've been
They are calling out to me
Like a long lost friend

It's not about losing faith
It's not about trust
It's all about comfortable
When you move so much
And the place I was wasn't perfect
But I had found a way to live
And it wasn't milk or honey
But then neither is this

I've been painting pictures of Egypt,
Leaving out what it lacks
The future feels so hard,
And I wanna go back!
But the places that used to fit me,
Cannot hold the things I've learned
Those roads were closed off to me
While my back was turned..."

If it comes too quick
I may not appreciate it
Is that the reason behind all this time and sand?
And if it comes too quick
I may not recognize it
Is that the reason behind all this time and sand?"

with Love,


Kate

"Home to stay..."

"…When every town looks just the same
When every choice gets hard to make
When every map is put away
Then I'll be bringing you back
Home to stay…"
-     Josh Groban

Coming across South Park…on my way to camp three weeks ago…I was reminded of a similar day in 1997 when I brought our daughter "home" to camp.  We had moved the year before, traveling by Jeep and Ryder moving truck 2,000 miles East.  This was not an easy move…is there such a thing?  And the promise of flying back to Colorado for camp was what gave our hearts hope.

We landed at Denver International Airport late that June morning and within an hour we were in our rental car…just the two of us…heading southwest down Hwy 285 towards the Arkansas Valley.  It was a perfect Colorado day.  Bright blue skies overhead…dark black clouds to the west promising crisp evenings and cool nights for sleeping.

Camp has always been my heart's home.  I think of it as the place where even though I "work" 24/7 while I am there, it is also the geographical location that best articulates where, as Hymn 297 from the Christian Science Hymnal says, 

"…the dove may close her faltering wings…"

and not just my wings, but for every heart that seems to beat its wings madly searching for a place to rest…it is a place to call home….to just be.

And we were on our way there.  As we drove through the glade-like forest just west of Shawnee and past the toe-dipping waters of the rushing north fork of the South Platte River, I realized that I was already there…and had been all year long.

Camp was a place that existed in my heart.  I could recall every nook and cranny of Valerie Lodge, mentally run my fingers across the rough bark of the large evergreen just off my porch, sense the shifting sky as a storm approaches from the South…from right from behind the wheel of our rental car.

It was a remarkable realization.  To know that although I was in the process of driving to camp, there was a big part of my camp experience that I was taking to camp with me, packed in my heart…like the luggage in the trunk…to share with those I would be serving while I was there. 

My daughter and I each had gifts that we would be bringing with us, like care packages, to share with our friends…old and new.

We had memories of challenges overcome, healings experienced, friendships formed, resumed, and resurrected, of laughter shared and tears shed.  We were bringing our appreciation of this place to it, not waiting to be there to feel our appreciation for it.

I had this overwhelming sense that even if we were to turn the car around right there and then, never again crossing the cattle-guard onto camp property, nothing could take camp away from us as our hearts' home.  Camp lived in us.  Camp was never further away from us than our own hopes, our own desires, our own dreams.  

And these "memories" weren't just about a long-gone past…these were abiding, living, breathing present thoughts.  And more importantly, these very alive thoughts were constantly making a difference in my life.  They were, moment-by-moment, demanding new approaches to problem solving, requiring new ways of thinking about myself and others, providing new views of my relationship to the environment, my work, our world.  Camp and my thoughts, "memories", and experiences centered around camp and those glorious weeks in the mountains each summer are alive with purpose and potential every day throughout the year.

I have been thinking alot about that drive and my realization about the living presence of camp in my life…whether I am here in the Rockies or in my office near the Mississippi River…especially now that my daughter, and her friends,  have graduated from the days when camp was a "given" in their summer planning.   It gives me great comfort to know that if camp lives in her heart as a present place of joy…that I am there too.  We share this space within each of us called "camp"….it is a place we can return to whenever we want to mentally sit on the porch, look out over the lower 280, breathe in the vastness of God's beauty, hear the song of angels and hummingbirds…and open our hearts to the touch of His hand in our lives. Whether we are actually "on property" or somewhere else this summer by choice, circumstance, or "just because", camp lives in us. There is no "camp" without our love and appreciation for what it means to us, what it has done in our lives (and the lives of our children, friends and loved ones), and how it lives in our hearts.

From camp,
Kate