Dozens of people gathered in a Texas canyon this weekend to talk about the high calling of our work, to roam over intersections of work and faith and culture and family. How to distill a river’s worth of moments into a cup’s worth of words?
The slowing down and driving up a river to get there.
Recognizing from afar the faces of people known only online.
The strong, familial embrace at the moment of meeting.
The whole loaf of fresh-baked bread on each table at dinner.
The singer who can simultaneously croon and wrangle a baby on her hip.
The dovetailing of speakers who did not coordinate their messages beforehand.
An assembly line of women cutting up their own jeans to make shoes for children who have none.
Feasts of conversation, around the table, in the great hall, on the decks, in the library, along the paths.
A concert where the musicians told intimate stories before their songs.
A bedtime snack of cast-iron-skillet apple pie afterwards.
A grandma with a hugging ministry.
Stoneware mugs everywhere.
Perfectly crisp bacon.
A fire in the fireplace.
The lullaby of rain.
In other words, grace upon grace upon grace.