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I want to do a long post. There are so many moments and images over the past week, that I could subject you to the experiences for the rest of the year. I also want to catch up on all my LJ and blog reading, because thereapos;s a lot to read and comment on

However, yesterday my sister and I drove on back roads, through small towns, right into the Smokey Mountains. It was an almost biblical experience, as my mind kept repeating a line from a Psalm:

I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.

Mark made a comment to an earlier post of mine about Tara. And itapos;s true that like many Southerners, I draw strength from this land, most particularly these mountains. My sister showed me on the atlas the place nearby where she would like her ashes to be scattered after she dies. I understand why. Though the U.S. Has more majestic mountain ranges, these are "our" mountains, and even when none of us lives here anymore, and thereapos;s no house, this feels like home.

We are staying for a couple of days in a room that overlooks a stream. Thereapos;s even water tumbling over rocks just outside our balcony. And ducks going after Fruit Loops dropped by a child from the balcony of another inn across the creek:



Hereapos;s one of the scenes from this past Saturday. We were given a chance to, as Fr. Jeff said, help my mother rest in peace by dropping the red dirt of Alabama onto the box that held her ashes. This moment, which Iapos;m sure was captured by Lynne with Lindseyapos;s camera, evokes the full range of emotions my heart can experience.


My nephew, Josh, and his daughter, Amelia.

I have no doubt from whence my help cometh: the love of nature, family, and home--all enduring gifts from my parents.

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