What a difference a year makes

May 2017:

I wrote a garden report about a year ago, and in the last 11 months and change:

I moved around my sewing room, for the umpteenth time.
We put in new beds on the front of the house, purely for the love of flowers.


I completed a whole year of preaching.  And Jon did too- and we got into a groove of being a preaching couple, passing like ships in the night on Sundays, between the insanity of Sunday morning and seeking blissful quiet after days full of people.
I conducted my first full funeral.  And my second.  And my third.
I picked the first zucchini I grew from seeds, and the first butternut.  Both were delicious.

There have been ups and downs, purchases and purges, mountain snowfalls and waves rolling in on the beach.  Thunderstorms have lulled me to sleep... and lately, little nudges from inside have woken me up.

Wonder doesn't begin to describe it- making the choice to be parents... anxiously waiting for a positive test, and finding out something has taken root in me, no bigger than a poppyseed- and that in that tiny thing we could find hope enough for a lifetime.

Hearing an impossibly fast heartbeat, seeing a blob on a screen, watching my body and the blob both change and grow...  Seeing a sweet profile, and seeing my own profile swell and round as winter turned to spring and the promise of new life in the world meant something entirely different- as the hope of ressurection and the breadth of possibilities offered to us by our creator took on new wonder.

This time last year, our lives looked very different- and this time next year, they will be different still- Jon will be serving a new church.  We have three weeks left in this house, with this garden.  And three months left as a family of 2-plus-dog.

I want to write more- to stretch these muscles- and I have said it before, and I'll probably say it again. Time will get away from me again, but maybe not another year.

Growing

It's the end of springtime- Easter's arrival meant it was really feeling like it- you can't deny the world its celebration and its vibrant colors when we also celebrate a risen Lord, and as the weeks have gone on Spring's vibrant blossoms and buds have begun to give way to the bright sun and bustling gardens that have really taken off.

My grandmother planted things every Good Friday, and I added to my garden in that spirit.  A tomato and a bell pepper joined the ranks alongside the greens on Good Friday.
When I missed her on Mother's day weekend I added sage, thyme, parsley, and another tomato.  I found a strawberry pot like the one we got her for Mother's Day a while back, and I might just pick up the plants to fill it this week, even though it'll be another pot to move and be careful of on our journey South.
 I've started dreaming of next year, when everything won't have to live in containers that have to move, and when I will have a raised bed tucked alongside our little house.  Next year- when there's a yard and a little space for me to start seedlings, when peas and squash and cucumbers join the ranks, and sunflowers and bulbs are in the yard.

Next year.

But... there's joy in my tiny garden, and in my house.  There is something about watching the dog play outside the kitchen window and having the grill right outside the door- something about all of the oddities that made our strange little first house a home.  It's now.  And it won't be next year. It's bittersweet to think about the packing boxes stacking up in the next room, waiting to be filled.

Jon's career means we move in 4 weeks, and God holds something for us in the anticipation of planning and "probably" and "hopefully".  And my vocation becomes more deeply rooted in meeting people where they are, and in the glory God shows us every day in nature- in the great green growing times we have in our sights.

Journey to Ordination

This is a letter that has(or will soon) go to my church.  There will be a few like it as I complete the journey toward ordination, and I'd really like to share them with you now... As a way of tracing my journey for myself, and for my loved ones who don't get my church newsletter.

My dear church,

It’s crazy to think a month has passed since I got to preach for you about my call.

Now I want to tell you where it started.

If you’ve heard me preach, you know I hold a special place in my heart for Camp Christian.  I grew up counting down the days to Camp Christian every Summer, and to Youth Assembly at Epworth every winter.  These youth assemblies made God accessible to me and also put me in touch with people who’d influence my faith for the rest of my life. 

Camp is holy ground, where God comes close to earth, and we come so close to God, that we can hear one another.  I felt the truth in the love of God for me (Yes! Me!) the first time I went to camp.  There were people there who helped me sort out all of the things an 11-year old girl needs to sort out, and where it didn’t matter if I was part of the “in crowd”… I was a child of God and that was enough.  Over the years, the fact that I am a child of God took on deeper meaning and was felt more deeply at camp:  It’s the place where I first worked with youth as a Chi Rho counselor, and where I’ve watched those first youth grow up.  It’s where I did a lot of my growing too.

If you ever had any doubt about camp, set it aside.  It’ll change your life, whether you go as a camper or a counselor.  I truly believe that, with all my heart, because I experience it every time I go.  And even though I’m a counselor now, I might have to count down the days till I’m there again…

See you soon,

Sarah