I cut the lawn last night. The day had been warm and the grass had grown. My mom and dad came to watch (now, there’s a thought — a new spectator sport — watch the grass get cut). They sat on lawn chairs and relaxed.
When the clippings were gathered, we wandered out to the town dump. Therir recollections of the dump go back 50 years. Back then, the road led to a ravine. That ravine has since been filled and the waste management area is now acres instead of just “out back”.
The cemetery is across the tracks. We ventured there and found the graves of my father’s parents. Both my parents indicated that this is where they would like their final resting place.
As I headed home, I looked at my parents. They are older. They have travelled the world. And yet . . . they like this small patch of earth called Kindersley!
How do you define God’s country? After all, every piece of dirt is his!
I guess we are really trying to define where we feel is the thin place — where, for us, we are closest to God.
Kindersley is not a bad hill to stand on — the heavens look great.