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Great Retreat, Crappy Homecoming
by Rev.Ken
Several years ago, I was one of the organizers for a yearly retreat for the Center for Spiritual Living in Atlanta. The retreat was a big event which required months of planning.
Coming home from the successful event, I felt on top of the world. I had met new friends, bonded with old ones and had been inspired by the wisdom of our teachers.
Driving through the torrential rains that Sunday afternoon; I happily hummed the songs I had enjoyed from the guest musicians.
Once home, I didn't even allow the discovery that our two doggies had caught fleas while staying with our pet sitter to disturb my new spiritual equilibrium. Wrestling our 4.5 pound pick-a-poo, who can morph into a Tasmanian devil at the smell of flea soap, I told myself that I was joy riding the universal flow of energy.
The next morning as I went to turn on my lap top and found that it had once again been attacked by a virus, my smile and hum were becoming a little more strained. Driving over to my computer repair shop, my smile became more of a forced grimace when I realized my car AC had suddenly died. And finally, all my new found enlightenment completely disappeared when I noticed that my car was running hot. Letting loose a blue streak of cussing, I pulled over on the 900 block of Ponce de Leon Place to call a tow truck.
Sitting on the hood of my car, mad with the world, I remembered that at one time, 30 years ago, I had actually lived on Ponce De Leon Place. Looking around I discovered, in fact, my car had died almost directly in front of the house I rented shortly after graduating from college.
At that time our nation was experiencing a terrible recession and jobs, particularly for recent college grads, were difficult to come by. I had gone to work for a company that provided data transfer for banks. I couldn't have picked a situation that was more poorly suited to my interest. I was convinced that I was stuck in a boring and dead-end position.
During this period, I also learned that my best friend from high school, Claire Moxley, had suddenly died. Claire was funny, smart and tried her best to be a Christian in the most loving sense of the word. She stood over six feet tall and was a dead ringer for Eleanor Roosevelt. She died of heart failure three months into her first job.
When I learned of Claire's death I was devastated. Up until that time I was a self-confessed atheist and my intellectual honesty could not allow me to believe that my wonderful friend was anything more than dust.
Lying in bed, in my sad little apartment tossing and turning in pain a thought popped into my head, "Bring a joyful noise unto the Lord." It wasn't a voice and it didn't come with a beam of light, but it was so alien to my consciousness that I knew it had to come from other than myself. At the time I attributed it to Claire. Now it didn't turn me into a Christian, but it did start me on a journey. A journey that would allow me to cast off much of the nonsense I had been taught about an angry and judgmental God, and lead me to a belief that we are alive to experience God as love and joy.
Sitting in front of my old apartment, I thought that Claire would be proud of the journey I had taken. And I hope that she would be willing to take some credit in it. And miracles of miracles, that idea made me grateful for a computer full of viruses and a car bellowing steam.
Heaven (Must Be There) Eurogliders
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