Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Going to Hutchmoot is a bit like stepping into an alternate universe. You are filled to the brim. You try your darndest to drink as much of the life giving water from the firehose that you can; but alas, it is impossible to take it all in. There are bits of brilliance that enter your mind and enlighten you. There are beautiful songs that envelope you in their melodies and carry you away with their refrains for a few sacred moments. And then there are the avalanches. The thoughts or ideas or new paradigms that make their way into your heart and crash down on everything else around them, making their presence known and changing you forever.
Though a few weeks have gone by since the 'moot, I do not feel as though I've recovered yet. And I mean this in the best possible sense. Some things are so completely beautiful, so utterly grand and saturated with meaning, that it is almost too much for one heart to bear. There is a sense in which it almost brings me pain how beautiful this Hutchmoot thing was. It causes me to ache in a deep and profound way. Even now, trying to describe it with words only dilutes the true experience of it and frustrates this writer a bit.
I returned home a happier, more vibrant version of myself. I'd been gifted with a renewal unlike any I've had in years. It was as if I'd found myself again. The table was prepared for me by so many hard working kindred souls who put this thing on, and it created an environment where I was able to be served by God through them. I was fed with the richest of fare: truth, beauty, love, kinship, creation, and rest. My eyes are now open to see so much more than when I left: the golden hues of the sun on tree tops stops me in my tracks. The scent of the gardenias in my backyard makes me want to call all the neighbors over to savor this heavenly scent.
I was just so thoroughly plumb happy that it made me think for a minute that if I died while I was there, I might not have noticed if I was in this life or the next.
How could I be the recipient of such grace as to experience this delight? God knew. God knew I needed this gift. Let me tell you, friends, I was as dry and burnt as the Sahara in a heat wave when I arrived in Nashville; and when I left, I was a lush, green garden bursting with the rainbow colors of Eden. I was a different woman when I returned home. Not because of a Peterson, an Overstreet, or an Enger, but because of an extravagant God who rained down lavish grace on his dear daughter. And this daughter could not be more grateful.