Where Nature and Revelation Unite

Last week I returned to the Napa Valley in northern California. We had meetings there for the administrators of our system of 14 colleges and universities in north America.

I had dreaded returning, to be truthful. I'd not been back in about seven years, and I knew it would be a poignant, nostalgic time. It was indeed a nostalgic visit, one of many memories. Everywhere I went, odd memories that popped into mind: the time I saw a car burning by the side of Silverado Trail (a road that goes upvalley from Napa) at 1 a.m. as I came home from an out-of-state trip. The time I drove down the hill and saw that someone had tacked a posterboard on an oak tree reading "MIKE, CALL ME." The memories of standing by the fountains in front of the music building and greeting people in my wedding reception line just before I moved away. The memory of taking screenwriting from Harrison Ford's brother--I kid you not, and he was not a bad teacher, I thought. The many memories of holding my breath as I drove through the corridor of trees north of St. Helena; the tradition is if you can hold your breath as you drive all the way through the long corridor, the wish you make at the beginning will come true. I did it again this time.

There were also memories of doing musical theater with the student club I sponsored, and the memory of being told off by the choral professor in the aisle of the local market because she said we were "ruining the students' voices" because of all the rehearsals for the musicals. There were memories of graduation ceremonies up in the grove on the top of the hill. There were memories of waking up in my little house among the pines on McReynolds Drive and worrying that the wailing wind was going to knock a tree down through my roof. I drove within view of my little house, but I couldn't bear to go right up to it and knock on the door to say hello to Michelle, the current owner. Some memories are best left unadjusted.
One of the mornings we had a worship service in the college church--the church where I was a member, where I played the organ, where I baptized Cary, a junior high student who wanted me to do the honors, and the pastor let me do it ... the church in which I got married. As I walked into the passageway to the right of the church lobby I was suddenly struck with the thought: the last time I stood in this passageway I was wearing my wedding dress and getting ready to walk down the aisle!

As I listened to the chorale sing several songs, tears ran down my cheeks. How I miss it! I miss that massive organ that dominates the front of the church. I miss the people who sat in the pews near my usual spot. I miss those lovely green banners that still hang at the front of the church with the college's motto on them: "Where nature and revelation unite in education."

This church has strange memories, too. I remember hearing that there was an unusual prayer group that met in the community (this community does manage to collect some odd folk), and they felt impressed that God was going to strike the church with lightning because of the sinfulness that had crept in. They even had named a particular Tuesday afternoon date for the demolition of the church by the hand of God. Well, I was supposed to practice that afternoon in advance of playing the organ for a wedding. The question was: do I go practice, or not? I went. I'm still here.
I stopped by the library to hook into their internet, revise some documents and send them back to my university. I settled into one of the brown couches in the entry area. I doubt anyone there realizes it, but I decided this was my wedding gift. When Husband and I got married, there was a capital campaign on to raise money for a new library. Since I had all the household things I needed, I asked in our wedding announcement that people donate to the library fund in our honor. Husband had a building project for a new elementary school where he is principal, and he made a similar request.

The library capital campaign sank like a stone. There just wasn't enough lifting power. Husband, on the other hand, is currently in his fifth year of being principal in the lovely new school facility. Back at this college in California, they took the money raised and remodeled a part of the existing library "to look like Starbucks." Despite my disappointment that the project failed, I like what they did. Make no mistake: that brown couch is mine!
The valley and surrounding hills were beautiful. I love the stately oaks of the area (like this one next to the deck around the college president's home), as well as the mustard that had just begun blooming yellow in the vineyards. The flowering cherry trees around the college had busted out in pink, well ahead of our trees in the Northwest. The landscape was a living green, the kind that feeds your eyes and makes your heart ache from the beauty of it all.

Instead of driving back from lunch at the president's house I walked back through the woods, past the dorms on the hill and down the steep little trail to the main campus. I thought of my stepdaughter, who went to school here and watched for mountain lions on her way down from that dorm on the hill. And I breathed deeply of that delicious woodsy spring air.
By the steps leading up to the Education department, that building where I worked and taught happily for seven years, the pink and white camelia bushes were blooming. The cement steps look more chipped up than ever, and the building could use some spiffing up inside. But I got the same warm, delighted welcome from old colleagues that I'd gotten everywhere I went. This is a place where I'm loved. This is a place where--surprisingly--there are still students eight years later who have heard of Ginger who taught here and was creative in this place. It was astonishing and healing for me to "feel the love" after years of administration in a place where the faculty seem to run on the fuel of suspicion (with good historical reason, so I understand, but that's a story for another day). It seemed like every corner I turned revealed yet another old friend who greeted me with delight.

I didn't return home with any revelations, just a blessed reminder that there exists a place where I am loved a great deal, and where I love them back, heart and soul. I think people usually call such a place, "Home."