And Paul went to see Aquila and Priscilla, and because he was of the same trade he stayed with them and worked, for they were tentmakers by trade. Acts 18:2
Companionlyness.
Of course animals enjoy this too. One only has to wander past any old dogpark to smile at the tail-wagging happiness leaping around in those small enclosures. Or the rows of hunched up pigeons lining phone wires in the early morning hours.
But there is a made-in-the-image-of-God depth to the human need for relationship that stems from the three-in-oneness of the Creator. And there are hints of it in the Chicago streets after a Blackhawks’ game. And the gracious cordiality in 5:15 a.m. crew in the second slowest lane in Hilldebrand pool. And the appreciative cooing over Everette as we watched a women’s soccer C team race back and forth in the cooling summer evening.
There is an even sweeter tie that bonds in the brotherhood. How good and pleasant it is, a shared Spirit which kindles the creativity and joy in the bustling Desert Christian summer office, which weaves comfortably throughout the monthly gathering of oldsters who had volunteered at The Press, or even that strings tightly across the miles and years, sight unseen, but still sturdy.
Seth and Karen Barnes graduated from Wheaton College with us, the same year,, and although at first there seemed to be very little shared commonality beyond a few jokes about flying pigs and Perry Mastodon, the years have worn away the differences. We all did small business loans in the DR where both of our first children were born, we have all adventured with people in short-term missions, and now we are walking through this stage of life together, celebrating life with the births of grandchildren (Everette beat theirs by a day) and sitting by the bedsides saying goodbye to parents crossing over. We also share the same bucketlist, and this summer Seth made the El Camino de Santiago pilgrimage.
The time on the Camino was life-giving. I fell in love again with simplicity, community and grace.
After seeing the movie The Way, I sensed that a walk on the Camino might be in my future at some point in my life. There's something about it that has pulled pilgrims like a giant magnet down its 500 mile length. At first the 5:30 wakeups and dawn departures were a struggle. But the magic of the place soon took over - we were in the Spanish countryside as the sun rose over poppy-speckled fields of grain, medieval castles in the background.
I returned from the Camino to people I love, but a lifestyle in America that has grown too rushed and complicated.
Sometimes the Camino is not a choice. The Coverdale family is making its Way down that path right now, as we sit piled high on the kingsized bed next to the rollaway hospital bed and watch my daddy breathe. It is a not too rushed and complicated path, pretty much controlled by Mr. Clock who dictates when it is time to readjust his pillow position or administer a few more drops of morphine. We sort through the boxes and boxes of letters; my dad date-stamped them all and printed both our letter and his response. Or there are carbon copies of old Underwood typewriter missives. There are a lot of tales in those pages, mostly about a large rambling family trying to live each day to His honor and glory. At least that was the struggle that made it into the letters to the patriarch. There was an envelope with a scrawled warning: Life is not as bad as this letter sounds. It’s kind of fun to hear the stories before they grew and stretched over the years. Although often, the immediate includes even more dramatic details that were lost in the telling. Occasionally we flip through a few hands of Spades, watch a free library movie or go for a walk. Tom and Brandon are chopping down dead oleanders in the 116 degree weather. It’s a pretty quiet companionlyness.
Simplicity, community and grace. We are walking it.
But there is another Way, another Camino, that I can choose every day. I can turn off the clutter. Yes, that means you, NPR radio. I can choose meaningful conversation. Yes, that means a prayer walk around Desert with Sue. And of course, twaddling Miss Everette Tess on one’s knee makes the hours melt.
Of course it doesn’t hurt that it is summer vacation. No nervously racing down Speedway trying to hit the traffic signal sweet spots. But I certainly used to tuck one last assignment into each student’s folder at the end of the school year which required establishing a new habit following the twenty-one day rule. Perhaps this time of imposed companionlyness will settle down deeply in my soul. As we sift through the reminders of a life well-lived, deliberately and very much counting the cost, may I never forget as I choose my Way through each day.
So be it.
