The Eye of the Needle

July 2004

Tonight I packed box after box of heirloom china: a teapot from 1750, handpainted plates and salt dishes from my great grandparents, a doily that my grandmother crocheted in Greece as a teen for her hope chest. These are going to storage in my sister's house until such time as we settle down again. I caressed their shiny curves as I packed them. It's hard to say goodbye to these treasures.

Giving up all of my established context in order to dive into The Flow of Grace is a mixed blessing. E-mailing with my favorite blogger Real Live Preacher (see link ) tonight brought some of the issues to the surface. He commented that this kind of life sounds like a dream.
Yeah, it does sound like a dream. One that can be lived, though, if a person has a few qualifications: 1) no young kids at home, 2) the willingness to let go of material and emotional attachments, 3) a lot of courage to face the unknown, and 4) faith that this call to change will be supported by the ability to find a new path. (i.e. that darn Grace had better flow, or we're sunk!) We qualify, so we're going for it.

Whew, is it hard to let go, though! I'm not a bible reader, but one line keeps going through my head as we address the changes coming up: "It's easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven." Suddenly that quote lights up in my mind and makes perfect sense! I'm tempted to abandon the dream of living freely in the Flow, just so I can still have my comfy house and rose garden and all the "stuff" given to me by loved ones. It's hard to part with the hundreds of things I've made or gathered that sit as silent evidence of my existence.

That last line may be the crux of it all. If I get rid of everything, then where is the proof of my accomplishments? Where is my history? What bolsters my ego and public image? What defines me and reminds me of that definition?

Nuthin'.

Life becomes a simple matter of breathing and BEing living proof of all that I've learned. I become the tree from which the fruit falls in evidence of what I am.

with love to all who read this,
~ Wandering Willow ~