The Visitor

Unlike my parents, who gave up everything they owned to belong to Koinonia, I went there to be an observer. A sponge.

I dropped my stuff off at the cheerful yellow house where I'd be spending the night, and hung onto my sense of detachment as Button, my spry and cheerful host, explained that she keeps a gallon of water sitting on the bathtub drain to keep the critters out at night. "Usually just ants," she said, "and a couple of frogs, which is great. I really love the frogs. And then there were the two pit vipers. Don't you worry, though--we disposed of them without killing them." What a relief.

From there, I started my exploration.

I crawled into the archives and mined out all the relevant ore I could find. I stood in the door of Clarence's writing shack--aside from the coat of garish green paint on the outside, it seems relatively untouched since his heart stopped beating there 37 years ago. I breathed in the air off the crop fields--deep south Georgia springtime breaths--as sunset pink faded from the clouds. I stood in the center of the little Koinonia library, imagining Dad poring over the sections that would draw him in: new age stuff, alternative medicine, Hebrew and Greek. I followed a map of the farm, winding my way through the pecan groves to Picnic Hill, where the Jordans' graves are marked by a big sandy stone uncomfortably bearing a formal-looking plaque (at that point I did step out of my observer shoes momentarily, building a small cairn of rock shards on top of the big one. After all, I'm family--you don't visit a grave without leaving a little something behind).

And then, after my early morning walk on Sunday, I stepped into Button's kitchen, and everything changed.

Button was there with two friends, Emory and Nashua, having a cheerful breakfast and discussing an article in the paper about the "new" gospel of Judas. It was obvious that I had stepped into an oft-rehearsed scene. They all had their roles--Button spiritual and optimistic, Nashua dark and brooding, Emory challenging. I brought my simple bread, cheese, and tea, and sat down at the table, intending to listen and enjoy.

And then, from what seemed like out of the blue, Nashua said, "well, the Bible says we're supposed to leave all and follow Jesus." My head whipped around, there was an orange-yellow flash of light behind my eyes, and I snapped into engagement: "What is this, a KOINONIA THING???" Observer no longer.

At that, the words tumbled out of my mouth, and I told my whole story--being born at Koinonia, Dad's activism, his mental illness, my journey. What it feels like to be six years old, and on the other side of "leave all." They listened with wide eyes, and welcomed me to their breakfast table. I had come to the true Koinonia at last.




After my outburst, Nashua expressed his relief to find out who I really was. Before that, he said, I was the "Mystery Woman Who Came to Walk the Land." I liked that image. I thought that's who I was, too. But I guess not.

As I follow my serpentine path, I never seem to know what's around the next curve. But I'm always happy when it's not a pit viper.