Written in Our Flesh

 It is that time of year again; the air turns colder, the leaves begin to litter the land with their magical hues, leaving bare branches behind like empty rooms of the arbor high rises along the road to our house.

It is really quite a sight, especially on Thanksgiving Day where we’ll be smoking a turkey, saucing some cranberries and basically making merry all the live long day.

If you’re around and need a place to hang out, eat too much, have some great conversation, share your favorite Thanksgiving handiwork (food-related, if you please) and maybe even see a return of the traditional Carlson Thanksgiving Fireworks then let us know!

We’d love to have you.  Email me at angelacarlson@mindspring.com and I’ll sign you up.

If you’ve never been here before you’ll need to know that it’s a little hard to find.  Just email me and I’ll send you stellar directions, promise.

Also, for those football types; yes, we have a large television, comfy seating and basic network reception…we aim to please.

-Dave and Ang

I suppose I’m a person who wants to look more deeply for the most part. This is why I want real authentic community, why I treasure a process called “carpet work” or “soul work” and it may, in fact, explain my fascination with all things metaphorical and perhaps even prophetic.

My visit to Gethsemane has it’s moments of metaphor and prophecy, I still think the bells had some deeper meaning to speak to me. The most interesting process however was a walk I took to a clearing where life size statues of Jesus and the disciples at the Garden of Gethsemane resided.

It was a fairly easy walk to the clearing. The ceiling was a bit low hung in places, there was a little foot bridge along the strictly forest path. It was cool in the forest but uncertain footing in places and the length of the walk found me a little winded by the time I stumbled upon the statues. I encounted the sleeping disciples first and I thought about whether or not I would have remained awake while Jesus prayed for hours in that garden. I was impatient though and did not linger long there, I wanted to see Jesus in the Garden. I moved further into the clearing and found Him there, head buried in His hands, kneeling on the cold hard ground. I sat on a small stump nearby and watched and waited. I sweated profusely. I had not realized how long the walk had been because I was occupied with “getting there.”

I really tried to stay and rest there. I tried to pray, to listen, to wait but I was uncomfortable. All I could think of was getting back to my room and taking a shower. I tried to connect this with the thought that Christ would not have been thinking about getting more comfortable while praying in agony this way but it was no good, I was shut down already. It was time to go.

I knew, when I began the walk that day that I would not go back the way I came. I can’t explain it exactly, but this was about the only thing I was sure of when I began. So, rather than doubling back the way I came I pressed on, forward, into the path still visible among the trees. As I walked the forest crowded in on me, the path disappeared, the gnats swarmed and as much as I WANTED to press on toward the goal I lost the road, I lost it and I could not go on.

I turned back and retraced my steps. I found myself again in the clearing. This time I encountered Jesus first and I sat down on the stump and sobbed. I WANTED to go on. I wanted to persevere but I could not. I lost the road and I did not want to make a new one. I felt defeated and I apologized to God for my failure.

After a length of time I stood up and walked back the way I had come originally. I saw the disciples again, still sleeping. I had a moment of connection there, knowing that we all fail not because we are weak but because we are human. “I’m sorry, ” I said aloud to the statues, “I forgot…I forgot that part.”

I moved back toward the road I followed in and came upon another path. I did not remember seeing it when I came in but there it was…and I chose it, not sure where it might lead. As this road continued it widened and opened up. Above me was sky, blue and crisp, white clouds strewn across it like pulled taffy. A few times I stopped just to watch the clouds move. The breeze was even and clear. To the left lay the forest which housed the path I took on the way in, to the right lay a wide meadow of tall grass. The grass yielded to the wind with grace and beauty, moving in soft and silent symphony. Calm overtook me as I noticed everything about me, each footstep, each branch, each breath. It was the wide road and it fit me and as I saw the Abbey rising in the distance I realized how it blessed me.

Last year we did a very cool Harvest thing as The Wellspring. We gathered people on evening around a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving here at our place. We led them down a path lighted with candles into the edge of the woods. They were instructed to choose something to carry with them on the hike, something weighty, or sweet or sour…we carried these things to the altar and placed them there. As we did so we talked about what we brought, what it meant and what we thought about it. We left them all there.

When everyone had returned from the altar we sang together, we prayed and we lifted it all up. We drank cider and had s’mores. We stood around the bonfire and talked about how cool that was, how we wished church was like that more often in the real world and what we thought the upcoming New Year would hold for us.

Today as I reflect upon it I think of this verse, “The Harvest is plenty but the workers are few” and I feel sad.

I’d like to do another Harvest gathering. With the house on the market and Dave working like a crazy man it’s hard to imagine how it would happen. It would be nice to gather, to sing, to pray and to lift it all up again. The workers would have to move forward toward US though, because we are too weak now to carry the weight we feel on our shoulders.

I’m waiting for a sign, actually, I’m waiting for an email…I don’t actually care who it comes from per se but I’ll put this out there; The place is here still and the path is here still, the altar is here still. Who would like to gather? Is there anyone who will come if we build it? Is there anyone who will help to build it?

It’s interesting, putting our house up for sale, not knowing where we will be going next. We feel we have our marching orders on this particular piece of property at this point. We came here with the idea of doing something different and real. It has most certainly been real different, at least for us. We moved from the middle of the city of Chicago to the middle of nowhere. Well, that’s been different to say the least.

I am asked quite often what “brought” us to the Franklin area. I usually shrug and say, “I don’t know yet.” If it’s a freaky Christian type I tell them that God visited me in a dream and told me to move here which is actually true for the most part but that’s a story for another day.

The other sure sign that this was the place to buy in was Barney Fife’s car. Dave and I have been talking for years about the loss of Mayberry. This stems, mostly certainly from our shared love of anything pertaining to the Andy Griffith Show. We were on the phone to one another, Dave touring Leipers Fork, TN and I cooking dinner in Chicago at the time when he paused mid sentance (Andy Griffith related) and said, “Oh, my gosh….I HAVE to take a picture of this car!” If you know Dave, you know that this is an odd statement. Dave is not a “car” dude. But this one he had to photograph and email from his camera to me. So I waited patiently for the email to arrive and when it did the heavens opened up and a choir of angels sang, well not a choir of angels but at least an angel or two whistling here and there as they strode down to the fishin hole.

As we begin to discern WHERE to go next I am amazed at the number of people who have a strong opinion about the places I have put out there. I’m not talking about people who know us, but rather people who don’t. I mentioned casually today that we were considering East Nashville and I was greeted with, “You don’t want to live there!” This is probably the third or fourth time I’ve heard this response in two weeks. For some odd reason this is not offputting to the area at all, but rather to the person offering the suggestion. I lamely tried to explain that actually, yes, I do want to live there to which they listed all the really awful bad things about that part of town…the crime, the guns, the gangs, the small lots….I’m like, “Dude, we’re from CHICAGO…” but apparently anyone who values their lives and that of their children would never consider moving there to hear it told from the lips of some.

I wonder about this thinking that it’s not possible to raise children “well” in urban environments. It’s all about space and privacy and subdivision pools and amenities. It’s about ’security’ that frankly NO ONE can promise (see Never Swim Alone). If we are to be in the world but not OF it, if we are to engage the culture but not be formed BY it, if we are to place ourselves in the arms of our Creator and trust in Jesus with each breath then why would we run toward the false light of safety offered by the “upscale” and “family friendly” areas in an effort to feel “comfortable?”

Don’t get me wrong, we have been mucho comfortable this last 2 years. It’s been like a vacation to be honest (except for the snakes and the ticks, maybe.) But now, it seems we are being drawn out again and to a new thing, a new place…or just a continuation of the normal plan (that we never got a copy of…thank you very much.)

For now we trust, we dream, we live, we breathe, we pray, we clean, we muse aloud and wait for whatever comes next.