Musings

It was an early Sunday morning as I sat with my coffee. The drone of the TV cut through the quiet, my pastor husband had already left for church, and I was watching to see if I might get a sense of the weather. It was a day when the sky looked as if it could break one way or another. Should I carry my umbrella, or strap on sandals? A silly question, but my foggy mind was just coming awake.

I seemed to hear that intermittent showers were in the area, but south of where we were located. It looked as though we might escape another wet morning. We were due for a break, the sun would feel like a welcome guest. I swallowed my coffee and proceeded to get ready.

An hour or so later, I stood watching as the rain come down in blinding sheets. Standing in our church welcome area, I had a clear view through the glass doorway of the wet vista in front of me. I almost sensed being on the edge of a pool. The rain was causing rivulets in the parking lot and along the curbing where sidewalk met street. The fierceness of the storm’s tyrade could not be overstated. It seemed to blow up out of nowhere, defied the weatherman’s prediction, and was coming at us with a fury and intensity that felt unbridled. I lamented the fact that worship attendance would be down, people would choose not to make their way from the shelter of their car to our building. This Sunday the rain would win and good intentions would be washed away.

And then I saw him. Trudging across the parking lot, umbrella in tow, khaki pants drenched…he had walked to church!  In the midst of the pounding rain…the kind of droplets that actually splash upwards as they hit the ground, he ventured out of his warm home to God’s house! His pant legs had a visible line six inches above his shoe marking the difference between being completely soaked and just wet. I knew if I had twisted and wrung them out, water would have accumulated in a bowl. There was no escaping the elements. It didn’t matter to him…of real importance was finding his way to church that morning.

Have you ever heard an expression that goes something like this, “Soaking wet, he’s all of about ninety pounds?” In this case, it’s gospel! That’s all this sixth grader must weigh! At that moment, the sun shone brightly, or so it seemed. A young boy, without his parents or even his older brother that particular morning, found his way to worship. He didn’t stop to analyze the weather, the chance of getting wet, what shoes to wear, or if his trip would be worth it. He just opened the umbrella and walked from his door to ours, because that’s where he belonged,  no matter the reasons not to go.

I felt a rare sense of privilege…standing and watching that scene play out. It is my responsibility to stand and greet arrivals, but they were few and far between that day. Like the weatherman, I found myself  making predictions…with that little bit of sunshine, unexpected.

Unexpected, but not unnoticed. I won’t soon forget that soggy morning. The scripture declaring, “and a little child shall lead them,”  took on new significance. His gym shoes squeaked with water as he went to grab a donut. Did I really catch myself tapping my shoe to the strains of “Singin’ in the Rain?” If not, I should have been…it was that kind of beautiful, joy-filled and holy moment.

[Image by: Madddy]

It was a beautiful spring morning…one that was relished after a few days of cold temperatures and sleeting rain. The buds were green on the trees, the daffodils shining sweetly; I couldn’t wait to get out and walk out the cobwebs of too much winter and too little sun! Spring had given us a glimpse of herself the week before, but hadn’t stayed around. Maybe, this time, spring was taking hold.

I soon found myself on the path by the river, surrounded by brush and birds. The air was  crisp and clean. I felt as though I could walk all day  and even then, it would feel too short. Signs of the season were everywhere I looked–at my feet, overhead–it was as though stray twigs were reaching out and grabbing me as if to shake me into mutual delight!

And then I saw them. Right in front of me. A pair of broken sunglasses lying in the middle of the path. Broken in half and left behind. I thought it a noble gesture to kick them to the side, keeping them from interfering with a dog on a walk, a person on a run, a biker speeding past. So I did, I kicked them out of my way and out of the way of others. I walked happily onward.

And then, something inside started gnawing at me, and I thought I shouldn’t have  kicked them aside, but picked them up and thrown them away. Why just clutter the path, why not clean it? So I turned around and walked back, picked them up, and carried them with me. Even though my feet stayed on course, my thoughts didn’t. I started wondering who these glasses belonged to, how they had become broken, if the person was young or old, had an accident, broken them in some kind of rage…or maybe, they had just worn out and snapped of their own accord. But they were left as a shrine, in the middle of the path, a testament to somebody being there before I was.

As I carried them,  I remember thinking I should say a prayer for this person, no one I will ever know and may never meet…..but God knows this person, God knows the story, and God hears my prayers. Maybe, just maybe, that particular somebody needed a bit of extra attention that day, maybe my thoughts were felt.

Isn’t that what we’re called to do? Aren’t we called to keep our eyes open and pick up the pieces as we are able? It’s so easy to want to remain unencumbered, fancy free, foot loose! I didn’t physically come to the aid of the person, but, I’d like to think my thoughts and prayers did. And in doing so, what changed wasn’t the state of the glasses, but the state of my heart. Spring was on its way.

[Image by: .imelda]

Last night  I turned out the lights of the Marketplace, put on my coat, and closed the door behind me. Once again, I was reminded of the power of gathering with people that know each other fleetingly, people who find their way to church on a night when it would be much easier to stay at home, and who choose to sit together in faith conversation. Did the earth move? No. Did a bolt of lightning deliver heavenly insight? No. Did the discussion take us out of our singular lives and remind us that God is at work? Yes. We still have to wear nametags which identify, but the impact of sharing thoughts and taking time to recognize that faith is a priority packs a big punch.

As I have said a number of times to a number of individuals, studies come and go, but the words shared in small group linger. We gain insight not only into others, but into ourselves.  Open hearts and open minds are vessels waiting to be filled. God worked in Egypt thousands of years ago, God heard the misery of his people, God continues to pay attention to our cries, our questions, our conversations. Though we are not spoken to through a burning bush as Moses was, we find ourselves spoken to by hearts that burn with passion for Christ.

As God’s people wander in the wilderness…be it in conversation, in the desert, or simply to a small room in the back of a church, we find ourselves on holy ground because God still meets us there.