And There Will Be Chocolate

Yesterday has come and gone and it was a good day – a very good day.  Church in the morning with chocolate communion – yummm!  Ice Cream Social and Kid’s Carnival in the afternoon and I’m dunked by the first one up – a young girl who just happens to be a standout on her softball team and has an arm Mickey Mantle would be proud of (thanks, Gretchen).

Kids roamed and played and laughed in the sunlight – or did their laughter bring the sunlight?  It’s hard to say.  Old folk sat and watched and oohed and aahed the silly prize treasures won and ate ice cream to their hearts’ content.

The day ended with the annual county revival.  Testimonies were given, all special, but Tracy’s comeback from a death-threatening illness was the highlight.  Just seeing her before us was testimony enough.  The music was charmed and inspired.  And then Mark (the local Baptist preacher), leading off the four nights of shared communion, speaks to us of the Baptist way.  Mark is a good man and a wonderful pastor and friend.  He is thoughtful and clear.

As I listened intently to his description of the communion experience from the Baptist perspective, my eyes wandered – first to the cross behind and above him on the wall and then above the cross to the furthest darkened small corner where odd angles meet at the top of the sanctuary – there, just there, as Mark connected the communion table to the ultimate meeting with our Lord, was the dove-hovering Holy Spirit, whispering so only I could hear . . . and there will be chocolate . . .

And I smile.

Yes, it was a very good day indeed.

__________________
Read more here about Chocolate Communion

Communion is like . . . Sundays at Grandmas

As an exercise thinking about communion, we were invited to think about the best dinner party we’ve ever attended and how that experience might be like God’s presence in our lives.

I love to cook and used to entertain a lot – not so much anymore – but of all the fine meals shared with good friends over the years, my own favorite meal experience has to be Sundays at Grandma’s house on a summer day when I was a little girl.

The food was a buffet of everything on hand, so along with ham, there might be pork chops. . . mashed potatoes and home-made noodles in chicken broth might be side by side . . . there was always enough and more besides.

The kids went first, getting through the line so the adults could actually sit down to the table.  Grace was always said first, but I have to admit that I viewed that more as the starting bell for the race than as a spiritual encounter with my Lord.  As soon as the Amen was sounded – only after what always seemed like an interminably long prayer – like horses out of the gate, we kids grabbed our plates and made our way jostling around the table – even though our heads knew there was plenty for all, somehow our bellies never believed it.

Cousin Mike & me begging my Dad for something -
probably ice cream

After we wolfed down our food sitting outside on the porch, we’d start pleading with the adults who had barely had time to get food on their plates to make homemade ice cream.  (Read about my adventures in ice cream at I Know Ice Cream ).

Being shooed away, we’d hurry back outside to play only to come back in and start the begging all over again, a cycle that repeated itself countless times until finally, it was time to make the ice cream.

Already stuffed from dinner, we’d challenge each other to see who could eat the most.  And this after the watermelon had been brought out and joyfully eaten (I prefer mine with salt - this was always the subject of much discussion among the cousins) and seeds spit the farthest and rinds tossed into the hay field – mine never went very far, but the arc they made was always satisfying, as if we had mastered some great mystery of engineering by tossing our dross aside.

After the adults had had a little time to rest and catch up, the younger ones would trudge onto the latest field of battle . . . badminton was a perpetual favorite.  Imaginary lines were drawn in the grass establishing boundaries; rackets were tested and when found wanting, traded to the unsuspecting younger ones (in my family, contests take no prisoners); and somehow, the decision as to who played first and who waited their turn was sorted out.

Chastity, Ben, Chad and Darin
gathering for supper

I don’t remember exactly when I was old enough to take a seat at the grown-up table or when I became one of those first on the field of play rather than last – but I do remember looking back at my younger cousins and feeling delight at leaving them behind.

As the sun started to lower in the evening sky, everyone would be gathered on the porch and sitting in the grass – adults talking about sickness and worries and teasing about when they were young and kids bopping up and down randomly as one then another would have another burst of energy.

Then one or two would announce, “I’m hungry,” and amble off to the kitchen for a supper of leftovers still waiting on the kitchen table.

Supper found us less organized, more mixed – adults and kids – as we determined our own level of hunger and sought help from the nearest relative as parents continued rocking on the porch in contentment that their own were off their hands for a moment or two.

I suspect I’m not alone in feeling different from other people – and that goes for my family as well.  But different as each of us are from the other, we are nevertheless known, connected, cared for, and at that table we gathered around, over and under, welcomed not as guest, but as one whose presence is taken for granted and whose absence would be noticed.

I don’t think I could describe my own connection with God any better: I am known by God and my presence at God’s table is taken for granted and my absence would be noticed.  And like the little kid I was at supper, whether it’s the one I expect or not, someone will always be there to help me navigate the table when I am too small to reach.

Scotland -- Day Four

Worship!

Halleluia!

I’m in church

and I’m not in charge!

Now that’s

a Halleluia!

moment!

Singing praise

looking upward

eyes guided by the song words

on the screen

looking upward

and seeing the high windows

joining the roofline

and spying

the blue sky

beyond

lifted eyes

lift spirit

upward

ever

upward

***

Shopping for clothes

for Ruaridh

and Zara

and Liz

and me

yes - the one

who can’t shut

her suitcase

decided that she

wanted --

nay

needed

more clothes

"Do you think it’s a sin

to love to shop for clothes?"

she asks her fellow minister

and friend

more friend than minister 

in the moment,

Liz reassuringly answers

“No”

I love this woman

***

Afternoon Sunday

just like back home

once the church scurry

is over

it’s total sabbath relaxation

whether hanging the laundry

washing the car

pulling weeds

or relishing the

nothing doing

of the moment

and it is glorious