“Welcome” is one of the best words we can say to each other. If a person is feeling lost — as so many are — what could be better than to hear someone or something say, “Welcome home!”
I spent much of last fall and the first part of this winter feeling a bit lost — lost in the whirlwind of my work, lost on the terrain called aging, lost in the sadness and madness of the world.
I came nowhere near the pits of despair, but I know that feeling lost tamps me down. When I can’t find my way, I can’t say “Welcome home!” to others.
So I spent last week in solitude and silence, hoping to be found. In the midst of Wisconsin’s winter woods, I rented a cabin with a wood-burning stove that was my best friend all week. Most days the temps were zero or below, and the windchill was flat-out scary!
I wrote this poem a few years ago after a similar week-long retreat. Last week, the experience it describes came to me again, and I’m grateful. I know I’ll get lost again, but I’m glad to know at least one way home.
by Parker J. Palmer
Alone in the alien, snow-blown woods,
moving hard to stay warm in zero weather,
I stop on a rise to catch my breath as the
setting sun—streaming through bare-boned
trees—falls upon my face, fierce and full of life.
Breathing easier now, in and out with the earth,
I suddenly feel accepted—feel myself stand
easy, strong, deep-rooted as the trees,
while time and all these troubles disappear.
And when (who knows how long?) I trudge
on down the trail and find my ancient burdens
returning, I stop once more to say No to them—
not here, not now, not ever again—reclaiming
the welcome home the woods have given me.