This Church is Open

Hello, everyone.

(Greens from my garden --- a bounty)

I'm writing in a time of quarantine for the coronavirus, COVID-19. I have never had an experience like this one, but other folks did, of course --- many years ago, the world was plagued by such plagues as this, and did not fare as well as we have so far. I may write about medieval plagues and the church at some point, but today I'm opening my own church door for any believers or seekers or unbelievers who want to see what it's all about. My home church is a little greenhouse attached to my house, and so far, I'm the only full human member. I have guests, though, occasionally, and they include both people and other creatures. For example, Fernando and Poncho, two toads who have made my acquaintance. Fine fellows. Also, I have many slugs who are eating their share of my greens. I haven't given them names, but this is a matter of prejudice that i need to address. Add to that the itinerant mosquito and other flying insects, a stinkbug or two, and earthworms. I imagine before too long a rabbit will find its way in there, as I've started leaving the greenhouse door open on these warmer days of March.

What I mean to say is welcome.

In this blog, I want to talk about church. That's my overarching theme. I don't promise that I won't go far and wide and deep within that theme -- so far that you may have to give me a nudge and say, "What does this have to do with church?" And that is an excellent question because I've been asking myself that when it comes to all the division that exists within and without churches today. This is part of the reason I don't go to actual churches much anymore, though I grew up "in church." I call myself a recovering Southern Baptist, and that's only a little tongue-in-cheek.

So... I'm opening the door. Come in any time, and sit on one of my red pillows. There are no other pews. This is a tiny church. See you soon.

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The Snow Crocus

Friends, I haven't been going out to the greenhouse much for the past few months. It's been rainy and cold, and while last year I had a working heater in there, it's a no go this year -- electrical issues. Almost everything in there was dead or dying, just like the rest of the plants in the yard, and boo hoo, it just wasn't the same. But this morning I went out there, and what did I find? Pot after pot with bulbs popping up (yes!), and yep, still a huge mess to clean up. I needed a pair of scissors to start chopping away and clearing out the dead plants, and I started heading out the door when I spotted something orange blooming. I stepped closer, looked down, and the orange snow crocus introduced itself. Crouching down, I felt the most wonderful promise of spring coming, and blessed those delicate blooms from my deepest heart. I've never had a snow crocus before, but I've got more that should bloom soon in the kitchen, along with my beautiful red and pink tuli...

Rise of the Elephant Ears

Friends, you wouldn't believe how tall the elephant ears are. They've risen to the height of the gazebo and are not showing any signs of slowing down. The three amigos in their bed have had several seed pods, to our delight, and now we've got baby elephant ears going nicely in the greenhouse. I admired them on my walk around the yard this morning in my ruby red belted robe, harvesting beans and green tomatoes, a cucumber, and stashing them in my pocket. Now I'm on the swing listening to "The Sound of Sunshine" as performed by the band at Jubilee Circle. Elephant ears love the sunshine --- we just have to keep the water coming to the roots, stand by and let them spread outward and upward. This photo is from earlier in the summer, and you can see the seed pods. Having never had any before, I didn't know how the process worked --- the pod becomes a pale yellow bloom, and only when the bloom dies do the berry-like seeds emerge, looking like corn on the cob, o...

Cicada Song

(borrowed from Obviously Chloe They're back, and they are mighty --- out in full force, showing off. Cousin to the leafhopper and froghopper, I hear. And while I listen, I am also tuning in to Jubilee Circle , the community church I attend (virtually, at the moment). The service began with a gentle piece on violin. Via Positiva Theme: remaining open. Hearts wide open. One blink away from being fully awake (thank you, Pema Chodron). We need something to wake us up. Drumbeat, sage, find the four directions, and listen to the voices of the cicada. Most of the time it lives underground, growing for years into an adult. Cicadas drink the sap from trees, and in large swarms cause destruction. This year is the once in 17-year mating cycle, according to Jason Slotkin of NPR. Cicadas mean summer. They are invested in mating. What is it, friends, that we are investing ourselves in? Does the soul stand a chance in this withering political climate? Have you heard of the ...

Church in the Greenhouse

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