The Sublimity of Lostness and Receiving

We were lost. Mid-afternoon on Labor Day Lori wished for the company of water. So we loaded into the car toward where memory knew we could find it. Maffit Reservoir was built on a tributary of the Raccoon River several decades west of town, and years ago we used to enjoy picnics there. A part of the water works system of Des Moines, it is a scenic lake that prohibits boats; hence peaceful in both sight and sound. We hadn't been back to Maffit at least since we moved across town six years ago, and in the intervening years new roads and redesigned interchanges had changed the lay of the land.

We knew the general vicinity, but as we approached the roads we vaguely remembered we discovered they were no longer there. We tracked, then backtracked, and time and again got sidetracked on countless country roads -- few of them paved. We drove through rolling hills and landscapes of corn fields, past farmsteads with sturdy, canopied trees under which families were enjoying the afternoon. We used our intuition; we tried to navigate by the trees. But finally we admitted that we couldn't find it. More to the point, we finally admitted that we were lost.

And then a funny thing happened: it dawned on us almost simultaneously that we didn't care. The drive had been and continued to be beautiful. We were enjoying the outing even if our original goal eluded us. So we drove and drunk in the countryside, turning onto this dirt road and then turning off onto that one. Utterly lost while utterly content, we noticed old houses, we noticed ancient trees, we noticed farm ponds and laughed at how unexpectedly our "water longing" was being satisfied; we noticed each other. Gently nudged along by the car's compass, we headed northwest, in the general vicinity of town; not really caring, but neither really knowing how many miles south and west we had drifted.

And then another funny thing happened: up ahead the dirt road approached a stop sign at a T-intersection. We would have to make a decision. Right seemed likely to take us generally in the direction of home, but then we noticed the name of the road transecting our path: Maffit Lake Rd. Turning left, we burst out laughing as a few miles later we turned into the familiar entry and welcomed the watery panorama opening up before us.

In our lostness was our finding. In our letting go did we gain the capacity to receive.

Funny how that happens.