Dearly Beloved, Grace and Peace to you. Within a few brief days we'll move from here and I'll not walk these woods again. The path will close in silently behind me, no trace remaining there, and neither they nor I desire it otherwise.
We pack in preparation for the move, going through our earthly belongings, what we will take with us, what we will leave behind, letting go, letting go.
I've said goodbye to people I will never see again. When they say, “See you later,” I say, “No, you won't. But I'll remember you.”
My eulogy's been said, my house in order; all that's left to do is spread my ashes in this place and the next.
Oh, stop pretending. The movers will back up to the house in their big hearse and I will go forever. I know this. I just don't know when.
The only antidote for fear of dying is to be alive. Walk these woods this morning, now. Live this moment, give it all you have. Take it in, and give all you have away.
In such a short time since the snow the wild asparagus are taller than I, holding their frilly fingers up to the rain, the robed, processing clouds, and now—look!—the rising sun.
Deep Blessings, Pastor Steve
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