I have come to the conclusion with all of the transitions and traveling that my fellow seminarians and I go through, from summers of CPE to internships away from the community, we are all wandering nomads and gypsies. And yet, when a place, a sanctuary makes its presence known, it envelops our soul cradling it in the comfort and remains steadfast, with open arms when we are weary.
Faced with hitting the proverbial wall after finishing papers and with a Pentateuch mid-term looming on the horizon, my own gypsy spirit reached out for that place where the grasses swayed softly to ethereal music in muslin green gowns; sparks of blue and white soared overhead, and regal queens, although shy roamed free, unfettered in golden brown dresses.
The unspoiled prairies and the stillness of camp called to me, where I had served over two summers and now took my place on their Board. It called out to my heart, offering me revitalization and peace and my camp family, whom I have grown to adore immensely, showered me with the love and care this worn mid-term seminary student needed.
Returning home to my treehouse, after a weekend of reunions and studying I was comforted that no matter where I roam, I will always have a piece of home with me.