Holy Ground

Senseless and madness

We have whistles - they have guns*

Can love find a way

The calendar has turned a page, the temperature has risen to a balmy 20 degrees, and the snowfall that began in the early hours continues to cover all that was unclean. I have tried to sit down to write for several days, but couldn’t muster up the clarity of mind to do it. I had what I thought was something lovely the morning of January 24th, and then the news of Alex Pretti’s murder became known and anything that I had to share felt trite and hollow in the depth of the depravity visited upon us.

The beauty of this state cannot be underestimated. I had the immense privilege of leading a haiku workshop with a large group of curious and enchanting second and third graders at the Wabasha Public Library. When I asked how many of them liked winter, every hand shot up like a rocket. It was brutally cold and windy that day, but the swirling snow in the sparkling sun was a kin to seeing the world through a kaleidoscope. Wabasha is home to The National Eagle Center. Because of their efforts, we can now see bald eagles flying over the Mississippi River on a regular basis. The Wabasha children know this as we talked about how amazing it is that they can look up out of their own back yards to see our national bird flying over our heads. Pretty cool stuff. The time in their presence reminded me of just how much I love being with children, that ability to focus on the present peppered with a healthy dose of imagination. For some reason, the theme of several of their haiku happened to be bears and popcorn, but what’s not to like about bears and popcorn?

On the drive home, all I could reflect upon was what are we doing to our kids? Why are we allowing our kids to grow up in an environment that tells them we cannot afford to educate them, but we can afford to incarcerate them. To what end? God in heaven, to what end?

And then I read this quote by Mirabai Starr, “Dare to believe that when firestorms ravage the landscape of your life, you are standing on holy ground.”

In the midst of caring for my mother in her final days, Pastor Ingrid, who was recently arrested and released, told me that I was doing “holy work.” I couldn’t quite understand what she was saying at the time, but I see it now. I miss my mother dearly, yet I am so grateful for the time I had to spend with her and every mundane chore that had to be done to keep her and my father safe, hard holy work.

In the midst of the completely fabricated turmoil that has been visited upon the state of Minnesota, it’s hard to see it as anything holy. It’s terrifying, disorienting, and we look for solid ground to stand on. To illustrate this, I turn to another recent experience to help me understand what is happening. On a snowy and mostly calm day, I was walking Chacha and thinking how abnormally quiet it was. A snowy afternoon in Minneapolis should be noisy. There should be kids playing hockey on the ice rink, kids playing in the snow with their barking dogs, kids squealing as they slide down little hills they’ve built up in their yards. There was no noise, just other adults somberly walking their dogs. Suddenly, from seemingly nowhere, the snow began to increasingly fall while the wind came from all directions creating a disorienting swirl of white. It was dizzying. I stopped in my tracks as the wind and snow whipped around me, suddenly understanding what it feels like to be trapped in a snow globe. Chacha lifted her snout trying to determine the best way forward, then looked back to check on me. She is such a good dog. We stood there for the moments that the snow squall lasted, then continued on our walk. The formerly other reserved dog walkers were also surprised by this sudden little weather burst and we excitedly chatted about it, our dogs happily greeting one another.

So, this is where we seem to be right now. Stuck in a snow globe with so much swirling stuff around us that blinds and disorients us. But it appears to me that the way through is one little blind step at a time, loving our neighbors, on this holy ground.

*This line is attributed to Becca Good. I altered the tense as haiku is always written in the present tense, and in reality, it’s where we continue to be.