Dear Friends,
I never get
tired of The Farm. The Farm, which
has been in Marianne’s family for over a half century, is 260 acres of sandy
fields, fragrant pines, and a chaotic mix of sweetgums, cedars, oaks, and dense,
toothy briars. The old house where Marianne’s great-grandparents lived is still
standing – more out of habit than structural integrity. The tin-topped gable
and the crumbling brick chimney have parted ways. The heart-pine clapboards are
warped and sagging. They line up like a mouthful of neglected teeth. The house
is uninhabitable by anything other than spiders, mice, wasps, and snakes. A few
memories cling to the rotting front porch like dusty cobwebs.
A local farmer
rents the open land to raise cattle. There are also a fair number of acres of
long leaf pines neatly planted in brilliant green rows. But the majority of The
Farm is surrendering to the slow creep of scrub oaks, fruitless vines, and the
invasive and utterly useless privet hedge. If I were to drive you down Captola Road
and point out The Farm, you would be underwhelmed. But like I said, I can’t get
enough of the place. Every time I drive down the rutted farm road, thirty-five
years of memories welcome me and ground me in familiarity, while the woods and
their wildness keep the place lively and new.
Each new year
is kind of like returning to The Farm. There is much that will be the same as
last year. But in the midst of the humdrum of it all, every minute, hour, day,
week, and month hold the potential to surprise us with something delightful or disturbing.
Like 2017, 2018 will do the same. This year, some aspect of our aging selves
will wane a little more. Regardless of age, all of us will grow, become, and
deepen in some way. Even the painful moments will invite us to recognize
something holy about ourselves and about life itself. And inevitably, the creep
of death, the ultimate wilderness, will touch each of our families with its
terrible, life-altering beauty.
In his book Now and Then, writer and Presbyterian minister Frederick Buechner writes:
“If I were called upon to state in a few words the essence of everything I was
trying to say both as a novelist and as a preacher, it would be something like
this: Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery that it is. In the
boredom and pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch,
taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it because in the last
analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace.”
May God be with all of you in this
splendid New Year.
Grace
and Peace,
Allen
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