Water rocks in the wilderness...

My new favorite book, recipient of two awards from teachers and the SPCA, is “The Goat Lady” written by Jane Bregoli. Beautiful watercolors are on every page with a story that does not preach at or talk down to children. It is a true story, a real story, a story like the stories Jesus told, that reaches deep into our souls and captures our best selves. It sits on my coffee table in the living room waiting for a visit from our grandchildren.
In the meantime, I have been watching people coming through my house pick it up, read it and look up with a sweet smile on their faces. At our church picnic Sunday, Pastor Pat read it as well as several others who couldn’t resist the title and the cover art. Like the “Velveteen Rabbit”, this book reminds us of truths that transcend culture and time.
The neighbors in this story, much like the folks in Jesus’ hometown, were willing to throw verbal stones, use legal means to oust the Goat Lady from her home. They did not know her and in their ignorance, chose to see her as a nuisance, an eyesore, a nothing. I’ve had to do some soul searching after reading this book, looking at my assumptions about those whom I do not know. Pastor Pat challenged us in her sermon Sunday to let go of what was holding us back… our preconceived notions about other people or ourselves… our unwillingness to move from the known into the unknown… our fears and our past. She called us to move out into the wilderness, strike a rock like Moses and wait on the water to flow. Easy to say. Hard to do.
Truth be told, I feel like the Goat Lady most days. The world seems to be moving so fast, change around every corner, strangers invading my space clamoring for their point of view, climate change that has altered the pattern of life in these ancient mountains, a farm lady who lives in the boondocks and loves it when most people live in cities with lights and noise and convenient shopping.
Some days I am overwhelmed with all the ways we keep in touch… Facebook, Twitter, E-mail, cell phones 24-7… and yet we seem to have lost touch in some very important ways. Speed of communication does not guarantee quality communication. Writing in the morning is one way I talk to God, to myself and to you. A visit from neighbors… Gary drives by in his Kubota with grandson Grayson in his car seat, Dianne comes by to check my beehive, Leisa drops by leave a plant start, Julie has some melon rinds for the chickens… brings slow talk, a hug or two, soft laughter, a new life beginning and my world turns right side up again.
Perhaps all God wants from us is some slow time talk, connection that does not depend upon the latest technological marvel, slowed down soul time that is face to face and heart to heart. Maybe all God wants us to do is to do the same for those we pass by in our days of busyness. Listen to the old man full of conversation at the checkout counter, really seeing the young Hispanic woman waiting on you at MacDonald’s, hearing your mother’s voice and seeing her as the vibrant young woman she once was, listening more and speaking less.
We sang one of Pastor Pat’s favorite hymns Sunday morning, “I Love the Lord Who Heard my Cry”. We sang it a capella and the richness of the individual voices lifted up in ragged song took my breath away. I heard Mamie and Mary and Jackie and Michael and Pat and Mark and Dave, all God’s children gathered for worship and communion singing. None of us the same and yet all of us alike. Our voices were water flowing from our rocky souls, running through the wilderness to the ears of God. This hymn has its roots in a Psalm and it will be my prayer for this day. “I love the Lord, because he has heard my voice and my supplications. Because he inclined his ear to me, therefore I will call on him as long as I live.” Slow soul talk…