Photo by David Edelstein on Unsplash
“What is a place you know, in reality/memory/imagination, in which, when you walk in, your shoulders drop, you feel at ease, comfortable/comforted, and belonging?”
This prompt was sent to me by someone who attended a workshop I facilitated. They had just read my blog post Finding Home, and were curious about how I’d respond to this question. As I let the prompt roll through me, two places emerged.
The first is Eagle Creek Park in Indianapolis. It has always been a safe haven for me. The moment I step onto a trail or find myself at the water’s edge, I’m transported to another dimension and filled with ease. This dimension contains one spot, in particular, that serves as a hideaway.
It’s off the beaten path, and features a small log at the waters’ edge which supports me as I observe the waves lapping the shore. My spirit is cleansed as the water advances then retreats. I remain still; surrendering to the now. In those moments, I’m being ministered to.
My elders are the giant elm, maple and oak trees that bear witness to the park as it was, is and will be. My ushers are the deer that greet me at dawn and dusk. Ever watching and listening; attentive to the sounds of nature’s congregation. My worship is the chorus of bird calls that fill every acre of the park. The melody of life that plays on repeat regardless of what I’m obsessing over in the moment. This is my sanctuary.
When I’m at Eagle Creek, I’m standing on holy ground.
As a child though, my grandparents house was also a respite. The moment my parent’s car pulled onto their street, I felt the chronic stress disintegrate. As I opened the car door and my foot met the driveway, my body filled with a cocktail of excitement and ease. Once I was in their house, nothing could stop me. I was joy embodied.
I invented games with the neighbors Matthew and Peter. I discovered the miracles that tree sap could work on action figures and watched in awe as finches, robins and cardinals flitted about from branch to branch. My grandparents’ home was the fullest expression of freedom I knew. I was sustained on a communion of bite-sized chocolate chip cookies and homemade bread covered in cinnamon-sugar.
I never had to doubt whether I belonged there. Their love communicated all I needed to hear. “You are enough.”
As I’ve taken the time to write these words and return to these sanctuaries, I’ve been blessed anew. Just the act of remembering my grandparents’ home or reflecting on my last visit to Eagle Creek has shifted my energy and helped me relax. That’s why I love a good question. It acts as a portal that can take you to unexpected places. This particular portal has reminded me of the many moments of respite I’ve experienced. Whether I’m thinking of the people who love me dearly or the places that continue to bless me, I say amen and ashe.
Before I sign off though, I have to ask…where are your sanctuaries?
Walking among the tall proud Jeffrey Pines in the national forest I now live close to are a sanctuary. The sound of rushing water brings me peace. But most of all now, and this is quite new, it is my own soul.
Thank you for this.
🙏🏽✨️