But what about the value of visiting the same place over and over again until its shape and form becomes familiar and precious? What about the beauty of anticipating what you have come to love so dearly and allowing yourself to be surprised by it over and over again? What about the goodness of evolving from tourist to inhabitant?

How can I be like the small poppy who is not anxious about what the day may hold?

As we fit the pieces back together with care and attention, we graciously hold these parts of our story. As we rebuild the pottery, we recognize that our story is still unfolding and that we are invited to actively participate in the creative process. And as we notice the beauty that emerges from the repair, we look for the beauty that is emerging from our own stories.

The soul behaves like those wild brush rabbits, knowing its vulnerability in the presence of others, hiding instinctively in its homely bramble. Patience and gentleness can begin to call it out, teaching it through experience that it can safely reveal itself.

We all hit seasons of life when we question what we were made for. How did I get here? What am I doing and why? Like Ignatius, we are forced to let go of childhood dreams and walk a new, undefined path.

It’s our dreams that most often die. The new and exciting job that we worked so hard for turns out to be hugely disappointing. The marriage we entered into with such hopeful expectation dies slowly or suddenly. The dream of having children. Finding a partner. Good health. Mobility. Financial security. Like a tree falling over, we feel the painful thud as it hits the forest floor.

Stop and go. Rest and work. Inhale and exhale. Celebrate and lament. These were the natural rhythms that led to flourishing on this pilgrimage.