Marking time

Halfway Down

Halfway down the stairs
Is a stair
Where I sit.
There isn't any
Other stair
Quite like
It.
I'm not at the bottom,
I'm not at the top;
So this is the stair
Where
I always
Stop.

Halfway up the stairs
Isn't up,
And isn't down.
It isn't in the nursery,
It isn't in the town.
And all sorts of funny thoughts
Run round my head:
"It isn't really
Anywhere!
It's somewhere else
Instead!"

A. A. Milne, When We Were Very Young

Today begins the last third of my sabbatical time. I recalled this poem a couple of weeks ago when I reached the halfway mark. It was our last day in Hawai'i and my first trip on a zipline. At the same time frightening and exhilarating, it might be a good metaphor for living into any kind of experience, including life itself. As I looked out over the valley, some 250 feet deep, and heard the instruction at the edge of the cliff, "just run and keep on running until your feet leave the edge," fear gripped my heart. But the first step into thin air was accompanied by a freedom impossible to describe. Now I don't have any astounding insights or even sermon ideas from this or any other of my experiences yet. I have simply been absorbing them (or jumping into them).

In this break of time between vacation and study in England, the L'Arche Regional Conference took place in nearby Scranton. It was a three-day experience for all core members, assistants and other workers, friends and family, built around fellowship, recreation, worship and fun. They came from Massachusetts, Ohio, New York, Virgina, Washington DC, Pennsylvania, and the newest pre-project in southern New Jersey. I re-connected with the people I had met in Haverhill and Erie, and made new friends in New Jersey and Central Virginia. We swam in the pool, ate lunch together, and were treated to presentations of each L'Arche community. Saturday evening concluded with a foot-washing service as a reminder of how we serve and bless each other.





I continue to be blessed by the people of L'Arche. They are joyful, dedicated to each other, people of prayer. They are not perfect, and that does not stop them from blessing each other and the world.

They remind me so much of the people of St. James', whom I miss immensely in the midst of this jewel of sabbatical time.

Shalom,

Cathy