Small silver fingers of morning light creep over the ridge across from my front porch. Morning comes on slowly in our little valley.
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It had just rained. I remember because my nose hadn’t yet adjusted to the new pungent odors around the table. We were all anxious for food, so the chatter was at a minimum.
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“Who does God love?”
“A cheerful giver!”
The congregation’s vigorous response echoes around me as I sit terrified and transfixed. I watch people walk to the front to drop money into the offering plate held by my friend Angel.
In a world of absolutes, where our beliefs, thoughts, and statements are distilled down to 280 characters it can be a daunting task to wade into the murky waters of dialogue and conversation.
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God of darkness and God of light. At the beginning of time you breathed out stars into the heavens, and with the hand of a master artist you made sure each one was in its right place.
Recently I participated in my first Baptism. Having a freshly printed Seminary Degree, and the designation of “Reverend” in the bulletin gave me, I thought, all the tools I would need to assist in this baptism.
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We will be in the middle of a deep conversation, or a story, and suddenly she is silent. No more talking, no more footsteps. I look back only to find her crouched down looking at the smallest mushroom with the most vibrant purple hue. “I should have been a mycologist," she says, looking at me with the utmost sincerity.
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