Sanctuary
My Grandma Wanda’s farm was my favorite place to be when I was little.
She would always put fresh sheets on my bed, braid up my hair, and set aside time to teach me how to make something with my hands. Homemade pies and breads, and anything from the garden were usually on the menu and I credit her kitchen for my ability to have a good relationship with food growing up.
Her name was Wanda Lajune Fraka, and her skin was tan and rough from her days of hard work in the sun, but her heart was soft and warm- which was the best place for a little ruffian like myself to find shelter. Looking back, I realize her humble home, the little garden she tended, and the expanse of land my grandparents farmed were more than just a childhood respite, they were my place to thrive.
I am a living legacy of my grandma’s faith, and my heart still aches for her home and her heart when I feel overwhelmed and undernourished by this world.
What do you do with memories and longings like that?
What do you do when it feels like your place to thrive died twenty-five years ago when the one who loved you best died?
You pray about it.
And you try to remember what it was like.
So in the sweet and protected space of prayer, I allowed myself to remember how the sun felt on my skin and how the stalks of wheat would cling to me like velcro as I ran through the fields. I remembered the warm, clean sheets, the sweet smell of my granddad’s tobacco pipe, and the farm-fresh dinners I’d get to eat. I giggled at the memory of my grandma saying, “yellow,” instead of “hello,” when she answered the phone. And, how my grandad would call me AJ and let me rub his freshly shaved head with my grubby little hands.
I thanked God, and then thanked Him some more, for these special memories, and then tenderly wondered…,
“What the heck is all of this about?”
So I asked Him, “God what do you want me to know about my Grandma and all of this stuff I’m remembering?”
I felt His comfort and His smile, and a resounding truth that it was Him, all along, loving me through that farm and through my Grandma.
I sensed Him saying that He wanted to give me another place to thrive.
A sanctuary to return to as much as I need to and a haven for others to rest and feel loved in too.
A sanctuary for me and a sanctuary for others…now that’s an invitation that’s worth exploring.
Joyce Rupp tells the story of a wise and loving father, a father much like our Heavenly Father, who sat his boys down as they became teenagers to assure them that they would always be welcomed by him, regardless of what they had done. He spoke of future mistakes and actions his sons might regret and their fear of the consequences. He went on to assure them, “When that happens, come to me and say only ‘SANCTUARY,’ and I will know. You can sit there in the silence and I will keep you sheltered by a love that will never let you go, regardless of what you may have done.”
“We will get through it together.”
“I will be your sanctuary till you can carry on.”
And I wonder…
Have I ever been that fully accepting of another person, or even of myself?
Can I receive and embrace, or even enter into that Father’s kind of welcome?
It may be that offering this kind of sanctuary to ourselves is the most difficult welcome of all.
“Sanctuary is wherever I find a safe place to regain my bearings, reclaim my soul, heal my wounds, and return to the world as a wounded healer.” -Parker Palmer
It’s not merely about finding shelter from a storm, it’s about spiritual survival and the capacity to carry on. It’s an interior sanctuary that has everything we need to continue in life’s journey, even when we are feeling lost, uncertain, insecure, or hopeless.
So now when I think about the word “sanctuary,” I not only think about that little farm and my special grandma, I think about the place that God is giving me to thrive in today!
It’s a wide and expansive place in my heart, where the Holy Spirit resides, and it’s enveloped by my home, my family, and the beautiful mountains of Colorado.
It’s a place where I am welcome, and you are welcome.
And we can sit there together in silence and be sheltered by a love that will never let us go, regardless of what we may have done.