In the Foothills of the Ozarks

My family and I have arrived at one of the special places in my life.

In 1984, my mother's parents moved to Bella Vista, Arkansas to a retirement community located a mile from the Missouri border in the upper northwest corner of the state.  It's cuddled right in the foothills of the Ozark Mountains.

The landscape is generally lush and vibrant.  There is a mixture of evergreen and deciduous trees.  It can be hot, and I have seen the region in extreme drought, but it's nice and green now.

For the past 28 years, my family and I have made several forays to this area, and I have seen this place change mightily.  It used to be a cradle of hillbilly heaven.  Walmart made Bentonville (a few short miles down the road) its headquarters, and you now have to drive a piece to reach hillbilliness--yet there is still something very peaceful about this area.  There is something wholesome.

It's deep in the Bible belt, and there is a spirituality about the place.  Several times I've tasted it, and I hope to drink deeply at it this week.  I hope to experience it's healing draught and have some weariness restored.

My grandfather will celebrate his 70th year of being an ordained pastor this week.  I am happy to be a part of that celebration.  I'll be picking his brain a little bit this week, and I am sure he will be happy to share words of wisdom--along with several deep seated opinions.  (If you ever wondered where I get my opinions and openness...)

It is my hope to ask him a little bit about how he handled the burnout that comes with being a clergy.  I'm pretty sure I know part of the answer, but I want to hear him speak.  I want him to pass down his understanding of that part of the faith.

I have known all along, ministry isn't something I do alone.  It's something the community does.  When we are at our best as a Church or denomination or a congregation, we are caring for one another and building one another up.  We are passing down our faith and understandings and helping one another come into contact with Christ.  Sometimes, we forget this.  In the foothills of the Ozarks, I hope to be reminded.