Traveling Our Way Home

There are a few things I dwell upon as we begin the Season of Advent. Much is still coming into focus, but on the trip back home this evening from visiting my family, I could sense the twilight of the past and the promise of future to come. It has made me very expectant for this December, and the reminders of the past—long trips to Texas to visit my extended family—a great joy from childhood. It was all triggered, oddly enough, from a faint familiar smell of driving through the Texas countryside... it was almost an earthy smell that within the instant connected me back to those childhood trips in the dead of night, traveling the way "home"... and family is always "home."

I have felt as though the explanation and the gift of remaining in Texas has come into distinct focus. There can be a false sense of nostalgia, distinct as one ages, but this shouldn't be confused with the cherishing of the past. No, the recollection of the past is for the benefit of the future, and even if everything cannot be recalled—nor should it in serious cases—the joy of the present is a future infused in the past, in tradition, and above all in a living with the past for the benefit of the future generations, such that, come what may, we may be able to pass on the joy of the Faith, of the truth, and ultimately the joy of life, replete with the everyday blessings we receive when traveling along the road of life with a song in our heart on our way to the town of Bethlehem and the infant child that awaits us.

By the River's Edge

Voices carry
And travel down
The darkness found
By the river's edge.

The waters dance
With glowing oranges,
And ripples bounce
By the river's edge.

The flowing water,
Heard not seen,
Enters the mind
By the river's edge.

Crickets, frogs lend voice
To a symphony for two,
One star-lit view,
By the river's edge.

The stars overhead
Peak in and out,
Blanketing us with joy;
There is no moonlight tonight
Down by the river's edge.

A cypress stands before us
Framed by passing clouds,
Darkest black on orange,
Down by the river's edge.

Perched on stones
In the river's course
We open ourselves to the other;
By the water's edge we discourse.

We look to the stars
And to the still water,
To the tree before us
And a distant light afar.

What distant light is this,
This one around the bend?
Is it a man or creature
At the water's edge?

How can I forget this,
This night of distant light?
What inward search, what sight
Did those words bring out?

I wish this light would stay,
Never, never to depart.
What probing, what faint light
By the river's edge.

Come back to me,
To that very night.
Let's return again anew
To that search, for all that was said
By the river's edge.