A second reflection about Houses

Almost two years ago I shared some thoughts on what it was like to come into the beauty and fullness of a place when your own such place was lacking (you can read that post here). Now I have returned again, this time to Koinonia Farm in Americus, GA. And as I knew at the time, it is a lot easier to be here now that my own house, if not built, at least is not totally a dream. As with my return to Brunnenburg in Italy, I can see that I came here for the sake of who I would someday be. My current self in March 2010 should actually have probably taken the spring break trip to the desert in Arizona to volunteer on the border. I even knew at the time that the trip to the desert would be a funner and more rewarding use of my last break in college, but in spite of that I submitted myself to some other logic. I did not live as my present self because I was so devoted to becoming the person who I would someday be, in many ways the person who I am now. All I wanted was my house, my someday, my shelter and place in the world, and I did anything that might get me closer to that point.

So what happens once the house is built?

I have a Jewish community now, one where at least some folks know my name and who I am, and where I can go with my questions and my confusion and my need to learn. I have land: fifteen acres in Pepin County, Wisconsin, plus the use of forty-six more which are still owned by my in-laws. I am married now, and the relationship I felt I had to fight for over the last nine years is now blessedly peaceful and stable. So many of the things I struggled with as I tried to walk my path as a Jew in Plain Dress have now fallen into their place. I have succeeded, by and large, with becoming the person I wanted to be at the time I started this blog. I am still a Jew. I still wear almost the exact same form of plain dress as I did then. I just don't have to explain myself as much any more. I know who I am, and I am who I want to be.

And so, as I return to the beautiful house of my friend, I look at it differently. I am no longer moved to tears from yearning. At the same time, the draw to enter into this beautiful house is less strong than it was those years ago. Because I have a house of my own, even if it is not a complete and lovely house, I am in less need of shelter than I was before. And so this home, this community, is less overwhelmingly beautiful to me because the need it speaks to is less acute. I still find it lovely, but I finally have a bit of context to see it through.

I think I am less of a bridge builder than I was before. I think I have moved too far inland.

An introduction, briefly.

I wish to simply make a little space here.

I am Jewish, yes, and I live in a Quaker community at Guilford College. My life is marked by paradox and by not fitting in, where ever I go. Right now, I am at Koinonia Farm, outside of Americus, GA. It is a beautiful, intentional Christian community, and I marvel at the easy grace and fellowship of the members. What a blessing, to be at home among others of your faith, living in such a way that you are supported and encouraged in your faith. That is truly a gift.

Yes, I practice a form of plain dress (an expression of the testament of simplicity for Quakers and other "plain" denominations, such as Mennonites). So no, I don't fit in with other Jews.

I was born in the wilderness, which is full of Jews really, but not as full as the east coast. East coast Jews make me feel incredibly shy. They can take so much for granted! I grew up in a community that was very aware of its place in the community as religious minorities. So I grew up aware that I was different. From Christians and other folks who I grew up with, but also from other Jews.

That's a bit of background. The rest will fill in later.