The concept of time this past year or so has been so funky. It's hard for me to describe how I'm perceiving it: is it moving quickly, or slowly? I've been a JV for 21 months, and something about that cracks me up, because I have no idea how this time fits me.
One question I've been asking myself for awhile is, "What am I still doing here?"
So much of this year has been gritty and hard, and not in the ways I had necessarily hoped. I don't think I can pinpoint what's been challenging me on such a deeply spiritual level while in Philadelphia, but something I continue to return to is the earth.
The first time I realized how much I missed nature was at the AY retreat in Texas, and it was there that I proclaimed, "that's it! I'm moving back to Minneapolis!" And this has continued to be a struggle this year. Philadelphia is a lot of lovely things: historical, community oriented, and filled with social justice advocacy groups. This winter was also overwhelmingly gray and dark for me.
At silent retreat two weeks ago I spent some time walking through the woods the day we left, and as I meditatively walked beneath trees I felt like I was saying goodbye to the surface of the earth. I know, dramatic.
But it's soil. I need soil to feel connected to the earth and to reflect, and pray. Some of my fondest memories last year of community involved the four of us outside in our yard not talking and doing separate things: weeding, reading, chopping wood. Soil is surprisingly challenging to find in Philadelphia, but we do have it, and I need to make better use of it.
Soil sustains life, and also sustains me. The world we live in is broken, and that brokenness can be exasperating and overwhelming. The life that nature provides me with is this: the world is still a beautiful place, and although parts of it may seem shattered there are still undeniably beautiful patches of it waiting to be witnessed.
