On the 4th

Yet another Fourth of July, and I'm sitting in Crossnore, NC.

Earlier there was a parade. Usually, I get here in time to see it. This year, we had a young houseguest who wasn't quite moving with my rhythm; I had to shuffle a bit. I lost my footing. It's something to see though. It's truly a community effort. Community groups and emergency vehicles make up the bulk of the small parade. There are a couple of vintage trucks. There's something about bearing witness to the trucks from a volunteer fire department. I would guess I'm not the only one humbled to think of the lives that use their freedom choose to show up, serve, and protect. I'm not the only one to give thanks.

Evening is coming. People are scattered though out the streets, grass, and building that make up the town's center. Families look out for their own, sometimes, someone gently holds an elder's elbow. Often, more from love than necessity. Friends catch up. New friends are tentatively welcomed. Chatter fills the air. Smoke from the grill fills the air. Somewhere, there is popcorn. Children run across the grass and wade in the stream. This is the sound of Sacrifice. Of Love. Of History. Of Communion. I am standing on sacred ground.

I didn't grow up in a place like this. I grew up in a city. One that ranks at the top of the places you wouldn't want to live list. This place? I came by accident. By way of another. A gift for which I'll always be grateful.

I've moved a fair amount in my life. I moved during childhood because we didn't have enough money. As an adult, I've moved because I had no money, wanted more money, and finally, just for the adventure. In fact, many blog posts are devoted to hashing out a move. As a result, I don't always know how to answer when people ask where I'm from. I'm from nowhere and everywhere. My first impulse is to sit or stand on the outskirts of any community and watch. I love to belong, but I don't like to intrude. Perhaps that's so for most of us. But this place and the surrounding community? This has called to me from the first. It is my heart home. The neighborhood in which we live when we are here looks suspiciously like the town where I was born, but not raised. And so, in some way, I feel as though I do belong. Because I see and know the preciousness that's before me, I'm willing to safeguard and teach my children to tread lightly upon the beauty and the ways. We will be gracious guests. Tonight, as I listen to the laughter and the music, as I watch the stories unfold, I think this is as close to heaven on earth as we get. I am on Holy Ground, and for a brief bit, I take off my shoes to feel the grass. I crave communion.

People from big places sometimes dismiss people from little places. Too slow. Too Stupid. Gullible. Backwards. Small minds holding back progress. Perpetuating injustice.

But right now, from where I sit, I see two boys roaming in the creek. I see three boys sitting on the grass with their grandpa and a puppy. His Veteran hat hides his eyes but not his smile.
I see a young mother nurturing a child when it seems the mother is still a child; she's doing it beautifully. She is acting the world into wellbeing and creating safe space for this active preschooler. Her community surrounds her. Teens of assorted shading and hairstyles infiltrate the crowds, carrying coffee cups from a nearby shop. The coffee shop is run by a nearby children's home. This village, this town is acting the world into well being.

Every once in awhile, the PA interrupts my thoughts. Now, a gentleman tells the crowd tonight his mother, Miss Lucille, celebrates her 88th birthday. The core group sings; I cannot help myself. I sing  too.

There is nothing like catching a glimpse of Holiness. Nothing. I've seen and heard the whisper of Heaven in the strangest of places: grocery stores, parking lots, playgrounds, big cities, small towns, and sometimes even church. And here now: in Crossnore. Sacred ground. Communion. Sanctuary. Eye leakage becomes a single sob; I am surprised.

These people, people of my heart, are teaching me what community can be. I am eating crumbs from their table once again, and I'm grateful. Tonight, I can only think that like Moses, I have been to the mountain and seen something precious and awe inspiring. I am transformed, and though I will return to my every day, ordinary walking around life tomorrow, tonight I have seen the hands, feet, and heart of G-d.