Anytime I visit my mom, brothers, sister and their families in my hometown — Racine, Wisconsin — I always, always make a pilgrimage to the Wind Point Lighthouse.
No matter the time of year, visiting the lighthouse is a necessity.
I feel grounded there.
Who I was and who I am becoming intersect there.
I feel the presence of God there.
This is sacred ground.
I think it’s the water.
The rolling of the waves and the calling of gulls washes over me. Calms my spirit. Rejuvenates my soul.
It’s also the lighthouse itself.
The Wind Point Light is a beacon on a rocky promontory on Lake Michigan where it has warned sailing vessels to steer clear of the shallows since 1880.
Light.
Beacon.
“Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.”
I’ve been laying some things down lately — roles and responsibilities in the cancer advocacy space. Roles I’ve loved but that I need to step back from for a season to make way for life events and other opportunities in the cancer space. Not disappearing, mind you, but giving myself permission to not take on any new responsibilities for a season of undetermined length.
Most especially I need to make room for time to support the lovely Sarah. While I haven’t been ignoring a situation I haven’t exactly been the most present and supportive either.
The details are hers to share so please forgive the vagueness.
Also, after my recent weekend at the Man Up to Cancer Gathering of Wolves I have felt called to a leadership role as the organization moves to become a full-fledged nonprofit.
That call has been verified and reverified as I have conversations with other members of the leadership team and meet guys who are part of the movement.
As a man of faith, I understand that answering a call requires discernment. I briefly felt called to be a Lutheran pastor at one point in my cancer journey.
Turned out it was gas — just kidding!
Actually, that discernment process led me to become a Stephen Minister instead, which means I have the privilege of supporting people on the difficult journeys of life — diagnosis of a disease, end of a relationship, death of a loved one.
As you might imagine, I’ve become a bit of a specialist in the cancer space.
Big guy with a quiet voice and two giant ears for listening, shoulders to cry on, and a condor-like wingspan for hugging the pieces back together.
My hugging skill was challenged when I was in DC earlier this month. I hugged the shit out of the guy. Challenge met.
Spending so much time in the cancer space is hard emotional work sometimes, but an incredible blessing at the same time.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
My Stephen Ministry training and my avocation for cancer advocacy having broadened my definition of sacred ground.
Camp Duffield near Buffalo, New York, is sacred ground. That’s where 100 MUTC wolves gathered earlier in September.
A ballroom in Washington, DC, is sacred ground.
A restaurant or coffee shop is sacred ground for a few hours during a Wolfpack meet up.
Zoom meetings are sacred ground.
So too are text messages, emails and Messenger chats.
Even a Facebook group where 2,300-plus men from around the world support each other through their cancer experiences.
Sacred ground.
Light in the darkness. No matter how tough the storm.
I love these words from Sam Smith’s “The Lighthouse Keeper:”
When you set sail on your journey
And happiness is far away
Love will guide you ’til the morning
Lead your heart down to the bay
Don’t resist the rain and storm
I’ll never leave you lost at sea
I will be your lighthouse keeper
Bring you safely home to me
I will be your lighthouse keeper
Bring you safely home
Much love, beloved.
And thanks be to God.
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