This will be a decaf Daily Cup, maybe a latte skinny, because I am on vacation in Maine. I'm spending very little time on this laptop, but I want to share just one thought.
I’m a believer in “thin places,” and I’m in one now. Thought to be rooted in Celtic spiritual traditions, thin places are felt as enabling extraordinary closeness to God, where the space between heaven and earth is compressed, where boundaries fade. You don‘t always know them at first, and then you may have a moment that takes your breath away, when laughter or tears may arise out of nowhere. God is there.
I have experienced thin places at the base of a mountain in the Canadian Rockies, at a family table in West Virginia, in a car riding through Oregon, on a terrace in Assisi, and here at this so-quiet Maine lakeside. (I once told my friend Becky, the owner of this house, that it feels like a thin place to me. She said her family had probably worn it thin with so many prayers during difficult times. Many of us can relate.) Thin places may be awesomely beautiful, deeply peaceful, chockfull of love, exposed and vulnerable, or unshakably hopeful. I also know God’s immediate closeness when I have the privilege of being with someone as they die.
Thin places are a gift, and our job is to be open to seeing and feeling them. Right now, I’m going back to the porch and wait for the devoted loon couple to swim by. I do hope that this summer has introduced you to some new thin places or opened your eyes, ears and heart to some old ones.
What are your thin places, and why?