A good, solid night’s sleep after 25 hours of travel.
Three weeks in Cape Town and all of the lead up to actually getting there, now a flash of memory.
Several restorative, sticky, thick, true memories. But still, now only a flash.
I woke up in my own bed, in my own room, in my own house: the faded curtains, the dog hair, the noise the floor boards in the attic make when they pull and push against their sixty year old nails.
I woke up back in the everyday.
And now, toward the challenge of the ordinary. The space between my toes and the scuffed old wooden floor is just as filled with possibility as the space between my sandals and the rocks of Table Mountain. The opportunity for evenings with friends telling and hearing the truth, and leaning our lives together into the kingdom are waiting to be had here just as they have been had evening after evening in the summer twilight of the Western Cape.
But the ordinary this morning threatens to push my eyelids closed, numb my senses, clog my ears making it harder to feel the possibility between my toes and this old wooden floor.
But it is pregnant with possibility. It must be.
So I’ll muster the courage stirred up in me with trusted friends and sacred spaces in Cape Town, and dare to look again for the transcendence with those trusted friends and sacred spaces here at home. I won’t struggle to make them the same; there’s no point. There’s a deep and stirring love for family in Cape Town, and it is the perfectly surprising and refreshing gift that it is.
But for right now, home is home.
And it, too, must be holy indeed. So I’ll hold out courage for the challenge.
Pine Tree Dr.
the threat of ennui.