Grounded

 I came across the poem below in my Facebook memories. It is definitely worth reading again, especially in a week when I have not felt particularly well, even to the point of losing my voice. Losing my voice happens once or twice a year, and by now I can simply take it as a sign to rest. There was a time when I would panic. "What if my voice never comes back?"  Well, yes, that could happen. However, one of the things I appreciate about preaching in my 70's is that I am aware that my preaching time is finite, even if I never lose my voice again.  

This week the San Lorenzo church joined the Eden UCC Church for Ash Wednesday in Eden's Pioneer Chapel that we rent from them for our Sunday services. For me, it was a rich time of connection to those who approached me for private prayers, as well as to the anthem that the San Lorenzo church sang. I also found myself giving thanks for my singing friend who suggested that when tears threaten to interfere with my singing to simply smile. I used that strategy through most of the anthem, and I made it through without a complete collapse.  

It is a blessing to sing in that small chapel. It has beautiful acoustics, and gives me the sense that our choir is larger than we appear. I attribute that to not only thoughtful architecture (it was built in 1867), but to angels and others who happen to pass by.  I try to leave the door open when we are there on Sunday mornings. I would not want to miss anyone. Yes, it does get a little noisy sometimes, but the tree across the street tells me to know deep in my being that we are all connected. In that message is the encouragement to stand firm and let my roots grow.      

 

"It Is Enough"

To know that the atoms

of my body

will remain

to think of them rising

through the roots of a great oak

to live in

leaves, branches, twigs

perhaps to feed the

crimson peony

the blue iris

the broccoli

or rest on water

freeze and thaw

with the seasons

some atoms might become a

bit of fluff on the wing

of a chickadee

to feel the breeze

know the support of air

and some might drift

up and up into space

star dust returning from

whence it came

it is enough to know that

as long as there is a universe

I am a part of it.

~ Anne Alexander Bingham

First Sip    

  

image:  This is not the tree across the street from the chapel. I believe this photograph was taken a few years ago during a hike in the Morgan Territory outside of Livermore.