On Tuesday morning, car all packed, Luci at Camp Jannie, I was just about to push the go-button to start my three-day trip to Port Aransas to meet two of my oldest Texas friends. We'd planned it for the four of us, but the fourth had a scary fall in another state this weekend and is far from travel ready, so our group of four former Baptists who'd met at church in our twenties was down to three.
We've been having retreats for decades--talking about books, art, music, our lives; writing together. We've swum in rivers and the Texas Gulf coast, hiked in mountains, and visited each other's families.
As it happened, however, a repair man who was in my house for a couple of hours on Monday, called me just as I was about to leave, to tell me he had COVID. I didn't want to risk exposing my friends, so I had to cancel.
Yesterday they called to help me feel part of the retreat from a distance. One of them shared a poem we all love by the 13th century poet, Rumi--a timely poem for any age. Now that we are all septuagenarians, we've known each other through countless visitors of these sorts.
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.
Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
No comments:
Post a Comment