There were four bagpipes.

Four bagpipes, a brass quintet, a pipe organ, a flautist and a community that welcomed me “home”.

I was able to return to space and people I poured my heart into for five years as  pastor.  And it was sooooo good.

I served a church perched on the top of a hill overlooking Lake Superior.  It was a church I had been a member of, left for a time, and then came back to serve as pastor.  Two of my children were confirmed there, I came to my sense of call there, my father’s funeral was held there, and I came to know myself as pastoral community organizer and joy participant there.  In short, I was nuts for the church and for its people.

Coming back after five plus years, the space and the people and the blast of the bagpipes took me in and love was reaffirmed and celebrated.

Growing up is hard to do.  Leaving any place with its network of relationships and comforts and delights takes courage, faith, and maybe some flat-out lunacy.  If we are truly blessed, we can revisit those places and know again the shimmer of grace.

So it was for me.  Four bagpipes and all.