The Way Station

       In ancient times, travelers welcomed the presence of the way stations. They were places where the dust of travel could be replaced with refreshing, cool water, and the shade or shelter from the desert heat or mountain cold. They were havens where the lonely trade route trails could be replaced with human companionship and safety. Food was generally available for trade or purchase and many times a hot meal, a bath and a roof made the journey bearable and even pleasant. In the history of these way stations it is interesting to see that they happened to sprout up exactly at the place where they were needed, where they were most useful and so greatly appreciated. The Mission Trail in California is a wonderful example of this design. All of the missions were placed about a days journey apart, each supplying not only food and shelter, but spiritual comfort as well. And think how thankful travelers were they came upon the cool waters of an oasis in the desert regions of the world. In this world, there are many kinds of way stations, and my own house has become one. I did not decree it to be so. I did not have that purpose in mind when I bought the house. And yet, I would have it no other way.

     In truth, it is my wife who is the reason we have these frequent guests. I, if left to my own devices, generally choose quiet solitude. I prefer, or seem to require, time to myself, time to make sense of the world. But there is a higher truth at work in my wife. I have no other explanation. It is something I have observed since our marriage. My wife has been given some kind of gift, a gift of healing and caring. It is between her and God. It is something I cannot interfere with.

     A speckled black bird was the first to alert me to this special gift she has. This bird had a broken wing and had taken refuge from a snow storm under a big, Blue Spruce tree in our front yard. I noticed it there that day while shoveling the driveway. When I called my wife’s attention to it, I watched her talent unfold. She had to bring the bird in the house. She and my little six year old daughter had to make it some kind of special meal. My wife got on the phone and called friends who directed her to some veterinarians who directed her finally to an expert who was referred to as “The Bird Lady.” The Bird Lady had written several books on birds and was considered an expert. She had us come to her house immediately, a house filled with cages and cages of birds she was studying and caring for. She knew exactly what to do for this particular type of bird. We couldn’t have passed the bird to a better person. My wife had been the conduit to the exact place that bird needed to be, and our house, merely a brief way station in that bird’s life journey.

     In the years to come, I have seen my wife take stray dogs off of snow covered streets, feed them, and find their owners as if it were of course, part of her plan for the day. She has made sure dogs have been shooed to their yards, she has seen cats safely across streets and waited patiently for nervous squirrels to raced crazily to the safety of our lawn. She has personally orchestrated our own adoption of three stray cats hiding by our patio and two unwanted dogs of unknown ancestry. She demanded the late night rescue of a trapped tree squirrel, requiring city services, and looked benignly over my daughters’ shoulders as she saved a seemingly lost caterpillar we later named “Bert.” In short, my house has become a way station for animals. If an animal is hurt, lost, hungry or loose, it seems to find its way to my wife. We seem to spend as much on feeding strays and others as we spend on our own animals. And yet, it could be no other way. If you believe, as I do, that there are no accidents in life and that all is in accordance with Gods’ plan, then it follows that there are no “stray travelers.” All who pass through our tiny way station are brought there because it is where they are sent to find the nurture and care they need from the caring angel that is my wife. Who, in truth, would argue with God? Certainly not me. After all, I too, live at this way station.