Our time is running out in this lovely place. I am writing from the dining room table here, and through the open balcony doors I can gaze on the bright blue horizon before me, an expanse of sea and sky that seems to stretch out forever. But it will be good to return home to our quiet little valley, gazing instead on the comforting contours of mountains all around us, gathering together once again with family and friends and neighbors. It has been a good Sabbatical; we have read more books than I expected, I have gotten some good writing done, and we have both made some good decisions about the direction of our lives in the upcoming year.
We bid farewell to our Methodist Church this morning, celebrating communion and hearing another powerful sermon from Pastor Powell. It is a church that we have come to love, warm and friendly and compassionate, bursting at the seams with families and children, and we look forward to worshiping here again in the future. This was the first Sunday in Lent, and here they do something I have never seen before: a circle of Lenten candles, purple with a white one in the middle similar to this image I found on the internet, is lit by an acolyte at the beginning of the service. Then one of them is extinguished, and I am thinking another one will be extinguished every week until Easter, like Advent candles in reverse. This is a season for becoming more disciplined and reflective, for learning what it means to say "I shall not want." And it is a fitting end to our Sabbatical.
That freighter is still out on the horizon, ready to begin its own long journey home, and then onward to other oceans and other shores. So this will be my last post in this blog for a few days.
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"Aboard, aboard, for shame!
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail. . .
Farewell." - Hamlet
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