Field of Dreams

On my drive home this last weekend from out West, I pondered how my own Ray Kinsella "if you build it they will come" story has come to be.  Ray was the guy in the movie "Field of Dreams".  The one who kept hearing voices and took off on a cross country trip where he picked up Burt Lancaster and James Earl Jones along the way.  He turns his Iowa corn farm into a baseball field where Shoeless Joe Jackson and others return from the other side to play ball and at the film's climax reunites with his long estranged, long gone, father.  It's a fantasy movie of course but it strikes a chord with anyone looking for something and compelled by an unknown force to find answers. 

My story starts with a vision I have held onto for more than two decades - it has shape shifted over the years - but in my mind, the vision is constant.  I create a retreat on an acreage in the Hills where all are welcomed to blend art, spirituality and community together.  A place where judgement is not offered or given.  Where there is no admission fee just a true sense of belonging.  Where everyone is a friend and God, as each one knows him, brings together the traveling souls to learn, to share and to create.

Almost six years ago, on a trip West for a bike ride through the Hills, I decided to start executing on my vision.  It would start small out of necessity as my resources were limited. I figured God would make the rest happen in His own time and in His own way.  On the way out, I discussed my plans with my biking companion.   It was on that trip that I came to first learn about someone I shall call, the "Uncle". 

I was waiting in line with my friend for an evening meal when a young woman and her husband struck up a conversation with us.  They asked us if we knew of her Uncle.  An unusual request from a stranger.  But not unusual given the role we would find out her Uncle had played in organizing the weekend's trail ride.  Delightful would be the only way to describe the young couple.  They were soon joined by her mother I believe, introductions were made and we parted ways as our table was called.  Later in the evening, my friend and I joked when the Uncle's name was called over the loudspeaker hoping the girl could find him.

On Sunday we returned home and several weeks later I sat in the office of my investment counselor talking through financing options to bring my stripped down vision to fruition.  Our conversation turned to more practical matters like how to chose the right location and how to build out the vision.  She mentioned a name.  Someone I should call who lived in the Hills and might be helpful in providing advice or counsel.  The name?  The Uncle.  I shook it off as an unusual coincidence and moved on, not sure how to cold call a guy and ask for help in fleshing out my plans.  It seemed presumptious.

The following year, I bought my land.  It was a small plot for which I had plans.  The seller of the property, a client, called me a year later and said I should meet this guy - yes - the Uncle - because he was extraordinarily smart and we would have an "interesting conversation".

I moved on, life interceded and instead of taking on the Hill's challenge, I landscaped my garden to reflect the world's religons.   My own backyard of harmony and conversation.  I thought no more of the Uncle or of my plans until last October when I picked up the local newspaper.  It talked about a place where all were welcomed, where spirituality was embraced and art was used as a focal point for evoking the spiritual energy in those who visited.  It was closing for the season in two weeks time. The visionary, creator and caretaker of this sanctuary?  The Uncle. 

Now, God had my attention.

Over the course of a disruptive winter and hectic spring, I forgot about the coincidences and my attention drifted away from visions and dreams.  It wasn't until I was visiting a friend last weekend in the Hills that I mentioned the story and asked her if she would be game to visit the santuary.  She already knew of the place as a friend had mentioned it to her along with the Uncle's name and a few other details.  Another odd twist to an already odd story.

We spent the day on a girlfriend journey through the Hills - shopping, eating, hiking and making our way north to my land with a quick stop at the sanctuary - my friend quite confident that the Uncle would be there to greet us.  I am not sure why we were both taken by surprise when the man who drove up on his rhino as we parked the car answered in the affirmative when my friend asked if he was the Uncle.  I'm not often at a loss for words.  I can't be given my profession.  My statement after formal greetings were exchanged was "I read about this place last year and have envisioned doing something like this for a very long time." 

The Uncle replied, "Well, I did all the work for you, so you didn't have to."  His voice kind, humor filled and humble.  For a Christian, my friend reminded me, that statement offered another meaning.   It was not the time or the place for a conversation as there were other visitors to tend to.

The vision was executed brilliantly.  There wasn't a fault to be found in it.  A host of emotions settled in on me as I walked the property, and yes jealously and confusion were among them.  It was lovely and lovingly created.  For the people who visited, their musings were documented by hand in journals spread throughout the sanctuary.  They read like love notes for the Creator and His earth bound caretaker.   I only wished that I could have found my way to creating such a place.

And I was left to ponder the meaning behind it all.  Remember when Ray struggles to figure out the "why" behind the messages?  That's an accurate way to describe how I felt, how I still feel.  I'm not sure if there will be another message or not for me as I follow this trail of breadcrumbs. I only know that my vision was realized, even if it was not by my own hand.  Perhaps that was the message in its simplicity.