A sense of place

At a gathering of folks discussing faith, the question is asked: "tell us something about yourself." It's an icebreaker. Tales of conversion. Knowing that there is a God. Fighting for redemption. Fighting disease. My addition seems lame, but as true as I can tell it. I describe a sense of place. A knowing of a bit a land, in perspective, in finding a purpose in the geography, an old history, people gone and forgotten, people coming and unknown, all here, near the Chesapeake and the Choptank. It is a faith. The native Americans knew more about it, when land was less commodity than special for simply being. I spend many minutes thinking about "me." Not enough about faith, love, hope and what is special. Today we place a geocache in a remote place near the Choptank. A bridge once stood here. A ferry was nearby, carrying people since Colonial times. Now it is marsh and hot and filled with biting flies. The Moses for her people, Harriet Tubman used this place as part of the Underground Railroad. The pain they felt. The terror they fled. It is all here, still. The Native Americans forced to flee before them. I feel there is a remnent yet. God must know about this place. He must know about a sense of being part of a geography. It's that simple.