April 30th, 2017
Before I wade too deeply into the business of the day (I can feel the pull at my ankles already) I want to take a moment to recognize the new day. The green of spring impatient for each rain takes on nuances of value from bright to dark almost smothering me in its lush chlorophyll bouquet.
Birds are nesting, foxes are prowling, skunks are spraying unlucky invaders and the scent carries across the mountainside as a warning from this timid beast. Bees have organized a search party and are in warm pursuit of nectar while unwittingly spreading pollen.
There is a stillness and heat that precedes thunder and it seems the earth has inhaled and is holding its breath for just one green moment. This is the first day of the week.
Humans settle in with coffee and crossword puzzles debating whether it is worth it to dress and drive to sit in a pew with others who probably share their doubt. Sitting with the pious who think admitting doubt will jinx their hope of heaven.
Yet out there in the green grass tea of morning with birds calling how can you mistrust if some great god created all of this that he would deny you even if you deny him. If he is author and creator of all – you are not separate from the all – but beloved.
And as for hell – it is here too. On Syrian streets and all countries that see war, in brothels with sex slaves, in hospital beds hooked up to wires and tubes, in grieving families tearstained bedrooms away from prying eyes, in disappointed and unfulfilled dreams.
We hope to be gathered in like chicks under wings but each is at best unsheltered only because we refuse it in our stubbornness.
So, I go – to hear the words (I am not worthy) but am, all the same, forgiven. I forgive myself if only to allow myself to love some other mess of a person as I love myself. I go to see the face of all the struggling that mirrors my own. I go to celebrate and honor those who have faith and hope it is contagious.
Some Sunday’s it is contagious. Other times, not so much.
I have come to appreciate the process in many things – the act of doing without expecting a product.
Whether habit or commitment I can’t pry them apart.
I remember as I watch the bird at the feeder “His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches over me.” And whether a promise or a threat there is little distinction. I take the hope of promise and try to plant it in the hungry earth of my heart to grow – and the threat will pass like the rain.
Pamela Haddock is a member of our church congregation. Pamela is also a Visual Artist painting in watercolor for over 25 years, fearlessly trying her hand at oil for the first time- explores the possibilities of all. You may see her work at her website Pamela Haddock Watercolor