Last night, a group of about 40 friends and new acquaintances celebrated Rosh Hoshanna together for the first time. Rosh Hoshanna is the Jewish New Year, a time when people gather to lay behind the previous year and month of introspection and forgiveness of sins and celebrate their moving closer to G-D.

For us, it was also a celebration of the community G-D is allowing to organically grow and prosper in this place. We did so by a wonderful meal of roasted lamb and other goodies, a time of sharing what we had experienced and learned through Teshuvah, and then writing our fears and sins on pieces of fire wood, and burning them together as we soaked up the beauty of our Father, the redeeming work of Yeshua, and the power of the Spirit.

For me, the most powerful thing -- or things -- that happened last night were images, seared into my memory, that will make me a changed person.

I left the fire to help one of the children. It was a walk of probably 50 yards or so back to the house. It was a chilly September evening, a misty rain had begun, and on my way back, I had offered one of the older members of the group an arm to transverse the yard. She declined, but thanked me.

As I turned to leave her, sitting snuggly under the car port, I turned back to the family around the fire. There, out in the cold and dark, were some of the people who mean the most to me in this world.

WhatI saw was a small group, alone in a big darkness. But then clung tightly to each other, surrounding the only light they had. Emotion and understanding washed over me in a way that hadn't happened in a long time. It wasn't just the physical sight; it was the symbolic idea of this community that I had been drawn to. The fact that I didn't "see" the darkness, or the rain, or anything but this community: this living, breathing extention of the Kingdom of G-D, desiring nothing but to grow closer in relationship to Him, to each other, and toward those who yet do not know.

I didn't even want to join the circle. I stopped and just took it all in for a few minutes. Soon, though, my husband and one of my "hebrew brothers" saw me and drew me in to them. I couldn't sing; I couldn't talk.

I just wanted everyone to experience this, this, I can't even put words to it. "Community" is almost become passe. I guess organism is the best term right now. I cannot imagine how a person could not want something like this. When I hear of people talking this experience down around our church, I am sad, because I know they have no idea. They have decided that whatever is different from what they know is wrong, and refuse to be welcomed in. The door is open for all; but the narrowness, I think, scares people who have settled for an easy faith.

To give yourself up -- really -- is so very, very difficult. I'm still learning - I have so far to go. I've talked the theory so long, somewhere in my sick mind I think I do it. But I really don't. This experiment is still in its infancy. We know that.

But I really don't want to rush it to prematurity. I want it to be what G-D wants. I want to take the time to be formed -- discipled - into the image of Yeshua. I want to truly enjoy the journey and not get overwhelmed or caught up in simply living for the destination. More than ever before, I want this to be His, totally, without human modifications or expectations.

There's so much more. But that's all for now.