Just Pictures--Sunrise and Sunset

Fuzzy Moon and Melting Sun

This has been my life lately--lots of late nights and early mornings with crazy running about sandwiched in between. We ran five concession stands in a couple of weeks, a German feast on a Saturday in between, A regional academic meet held halfway across the state, and now we'll have a major Valentine gift selling endeavor. It's much, much, much too stressful! And it doesn't make for any stunning pictures or spontaneous attempts to fill trite poetic forms with words. In short, I'm exhausted. Sorry. Hopefully I'll get over it soon. Then you'll get a few more silly limericks...like the world needs more of THOSE!

There Was a Glorious Sunrise

As I drove to work today, past this newly-built church, I began to reflect:

For twenty five years this property  sat here empty on the far northeast corner of town. For twenty five years it sported a large sign announcing the building of a  "future church home".  Finally, this year, they built it--a new building--put the finishing touches on it, and set up all the furniture for their opening dedication. That night--a week ago-- the pastor looked around and pronounced it good. He then went home and died quietly in his sleep.     Yesterday, I asked a little girl who had come to our Wednesday night children's program if she had attended Sunday School this week at her church. She said: "I can't go to my church because my pastor died." 

He was, I'm sure, the only pastor she has ever known, a dedicated man who has spent over twenty five years serving his church, loving his people, being a friend and adviser to all the other pastors in the ministerial alliance, my husband included. He would have been the first to smile at that little girl and correct her:   the pastor is not the church;  the building is not the church. The church is a group of people who gather to worship God, regardless of the circumstances, and if their shepherd were here to console his grieving flock, he would remind them that as sure as the sun sets over the town, it will rise again in the morning ...and so will he.

Sunrise, Sunset

This morning's sky was all blue, white and pale--an optimistic bursting through the clouds. By noon it was blazes and heat.

When I stepped out into the hot yellow sky this evening in order to contemplate a walk, my skin felt a couple of raindrops--and I almost kept walking. In fact, if I hadn't seen lightening nearby, I would have done it, because the idea of being soaked to the skin with warm rain is a delicious one after so many days of watching dry skies and hurting for the parched grass. If I had, however, I would have missed seeing the sudden formation of a bright rainbow over the church. It was huge--too large for the camera. I took a few random shots of right, middle arc, and left, then Turtle and I jumped into the car and headed to the edge of town so I could get far enough away to capture the entirety. Alas. By the time we got far enough west, the rainbow had faded.














The sun, however, in a radiant spurt of sparks low on the horizon cast flood lighting on an approaching storm of cloud circles. It was truly majestic.

This last month has been an emotional whirlwind for us and for our church. In the space of thirty days I've attended three weddings and three funerals. We have been through loss and disappointment, and our souls are weary of trying so hard. Yet there are still hungry hearts and lonely people who need us. They need the message of hope that Christ offers. So we carry on. . . and God sends a rainbow to cradle his church. Joy and Sorrow.

Windmills in the Sunset