Eminent Domain and Holding On

Can they really just take some of your property? Yes, yes they can.

Scrolling through my drafts and saw this from July. I never posted it. Not sure why, but as I re-read it, I recalled the themes of joy in the midst of uncertainty and wondered if, as we are days away from Gaudete Sunday, the 3rd week of Advent in which we emphasize joy during a season of waiting for the light, that perhaps this is the time to hit publish. So enjoy my friends. Onward.

It was completed before we even knew about it. And that feels dirty. I also loathe myself for being surprised. A company “needs” part of our land, and so they get it, thanks to “eminent domain”. And so we wrestle with the reality that a portion of our property is being taken for “public use” (to put up a transmitter pole that will service a data center in another part of the city) and there’s nothing we can do to stop it.

Sometimes when my kids get in fights I tell them that they have to hug each other until they start laughing. It usually takes .07 seconds before they’re bursting into giggles while hugging each other so tightly they end up falling into a heap on the floor. All annoyance, anger or whatever else they had been feeling has dissipated.

I feel like I’m being forced into a hug with the power company and even more so the investors funding the data center that requires this transmitter pole. But I hate this hug. I wasn’t even bothering them; but now I have to work with you? You’re squeezing me tighter, and we may fall on the floor wrestling, but it won’t be the joyful kind. Resistance is futile though. Because as one lawyer advised us - the deal is done.

Everything else is a formality. For them anyway. For us, this news ushers us into a bit of uncertainty as it shifts our plans for our property, puts into question whether the EMF levels will be so high that they’d be harmful for us (and those who we serve on the property) and some other questions that can’t be answered. My husband and I do not want to be dramatic. We just weren’t expecting that a property we own could so quickly become…someone elses? (I know, I know, even a shallow study of history will answer this question. More on that in a second.) Now let me be clear, they aren’t taking “all” of our property, not now anyway. Could that happen later? Maybe? No? We don’t know. But for now they aren’t. And for now, we’re hoping that we can all co-exist peacefully - though I’m still not hugging.

Philo, our home.

We purchased Philo so we could be a place of hospitality, sabbath, rest, beauty and connection for people who don’t typically receive such things. We’ve partnered with organizations serving women coming out of sex trafficking. We’ve hosted homeschool groups, churches, friends, birthday parties. There was even a wedding here (which we told the company about in hopes that would help..it didn’t). We were going to build a cabin and let people who needed to grieve have a place to come and scream. Or maybe you’re a writer who needed a quiet place to work. Or the single parent who just needs a break - send your kids, come yourself, “we have a place for you” was our refrain.

And it still can be. We don’t need acres on acres to do this. The real wrestle I’m having - if I’m honest - is the reality of control, or rather the lack of it. That’s what I’m really fighting. I had a vision. One that I thought was actually from God. Now that vision has to morph. Was that supposed to happen? Has that been the plan all along God?

The timing of all this is…interesting. I’ve spent months preparing the History curriculum for my kids’ 2025-26 school year. We’re specifically focusing on 1600 - 1800 AD for U.S. and World History, and as I dove deep into book after book, I had to mourn the reality of so much land stolen from the peoples who were already here in the United States before the Europeans arrived. And then again, as I looked at World History, repeatedly you read of one group coming to another country and simply establishing their occupation of it. The arrogance is wild. There is no word to accurately convey the injustice of it all. I don’t say that in judgment (I think) because while I want to say I’d never do such a thing, I think it’s that type of thought that leads to such arrogance. But truly, I marvel at the horrifying audacity and pray my heart never hardens so much that I can no longer see another human being as one made in the image of God and worthy of care - no matter who they are. What we’re experiencing at Philo is no where near the same tragic reality as what so many indigenous peoples (and many others) have experienced (and still do) in the United States and around the globe. That sobering reality is what gave me perspective. My frustration is fair. But I’m also a Black American woman. Not only do I know the history of Native peoples to this land, I also come from a people who know what it means to have even the very little you have taken away (Black Wall Street anyone?). In this instance, I’m at least going to be paid for the land being taken. Oh goodness what would my ancestors say about that?

So what do we do? I’m not sure. But again as I think of the people who came before me, the ones who prayed for freedom, those who fought for it, and even more so for all those who were hundreds of years away from it trapped in chattel slavery, I remember what they so often carried with them. Joy. I come from a people who held fast to joy in the midst of great sorrow. They understood long-suffering, and they still rose each torturous day. Again, I’m not comparing my situation to them, but I am saying that it is their witness that spurs on mine. Remembering them, gives me eyes to see what is around me in this moment. My metaphorical nearsightedness is healed for a moment. If they could find joy in their time of suffering that knew no end, then I must stand up, look at what is in my hand and go forth with joy in what I do have and what I can do - however big or small.

Brandon caught me while I was out on our dock. The fog is magnificent.

For me, that looks like leaning deeply into the habit of paying attention and noticing where and how the Spirit is moving. Sometimes when I sit looking out onto our pond in the morning, I’m met with a sense of deep peace as I watch the mist hover over the water. It makes me think of the passage in Genesis and the Spirit of God hovering over the surface of the water when the earth was "formless and void.” God’s magnificent presence is a gift offered moment by moment. I marvel at that gracious reality, too, but in a good way. The Lord’s presence isn’t demanding and treacherous bringing suffering and shame to a people as one takes what isn’t theirs.

God’s presence comes abundantly, is offered freely (thanks be to God). Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom not torture, there is invitation, not demand.

This is true for you. And for me.

May that be the beauty and hope I, you, we hold fast to. I think this is what some of my ancestors did. But even more so, I know this is true of so many of the Saints who have walked this earth with whom I am bound through the Blood of Jesus and the power of the Spirit. We are invited to, as Henri Nouwen has said, not merely look at our situation, but see through it. So here’s to looking beyond, and waiting with hope.

Onward in hope my friends.