Way of the Wind

'He felt an uncertainty in the air, a feeling of change and of loss and of gain of new and unfamiliar things.'
Well said Steinbeck. I feel the same. That air of uncertainty, that curiosity about things unfamiliar. And really I'm thrilled about it; thrilled and rather frightened. But some of life's best things are like that -- paddling a canoe across the middle of a lake when a storm stirs the waves to a threatening height and rain pelts your face -- standing in front of a person, a group of people, or a crowd with words to speak regarding the good (and unbelievable) news about God's love toward humanity and all of creation -- simply (complexly) falling in love -- then one day making those vows in front of relatives and friends and God (as some of my dearest friends have and will this summer) to the one you're supposed to love and cherish for the rest of your life. Thrilling and frightening.

I heard a story about a man who would feel for the direction of the wind on his cheek and travel in that direction until the wind shifted his course, all the while trusing that God was with him, somehow guiding his steps. I like that story.

I carry a small piece of paper in my wallet with a few words scribbled on it. I can't remember where they came from - but here's what they are:
'My eyes are blinking with secrets of God half blind, but I can see where the wind goes and follow the way of the wind.'

That's not to say that I plan on being one of those rooster shaped metal things on the top of barns. But I do have a pretty steady belief in the Wind of God, the Breath of God, the Spirit of God (greek: pneuma/hebrew: ruah). And in that sense I am very intent upon following the Way of the Wind - I'm not always good at it, but I'm an aspiring wind-traveller.

And so, being thrilled and frightened about the uncertainty within me and the unfamiliar before me I endeavor to wander a bit during this next season of life. (Noting our friend, Tolkien's, reminder that: 'Not all those who wander are lost.')

I read a line once about how theology is crafted out of stories that are lived and shared. So I guess we could say I am proposing to be a wandering-theologian -- for I certainly intend to live stories, listen to stories, and leave stories. I intend to be a sort of backwards pirate, or perhaps a pirate as pirates were meant to be -- wind guided men who journeyed place to place, person to person dispensing treasure and setting captives free.

And here, on the canvas of the internet, I intend to log some of those wanderings, those encounters, and maybe even manage to articulate some of the thoughts I'm thinking along the way.
And I welcome you as a journey-companion.