Monday Manna
Every Monday Pastor Loren starts the week with a brief devotion entitled Monday Manna. You can read them here or email us to be on our mailing list!
Faithful to me
Guess whose brain is tired! Here’s one of my favorite songs, in fact a high school friend sang it at my ordination service. Enjoy.
Grandma Becky
My paternal grandmother was named Phyllis Rebecca. She was born Oct 9, 1922, and went by Becky. I always loved that our birthdays were close together and we shared an opal birthstone. She was a petite woman with dark eyes and hair, a pistol by anyone’s standards, best I can tell. When I was a little girl, she and Papa lived in the same ‘holler’ they’d grown up in and built a little two-bedroom house with a sun porch and car port. They had a big garden on the hill, and a strawberry patch in an elevated bed by the back door. She hung her clothes out on the line and made sun tea in the summer. She saved cool whip containers instead of Tupperware and dirtied every dish in the kitchen making dinner. True to her generation, she quilted beautiful pieces and had enough canned fruits and vegetables in the basement to get us through the apocalypse.
By the time I came along her summer uniform consisted of pastel colored pedal pushers with Keds. I would spend a week with them every summer, and we would go for long walks in the evenings and play in the creek in front of the house. Sometimes I would go with her to church for choir practice or Ladies’ Aid meetings and run around the maze of hallways in the church my dad grew up in, looking for the names of great aunts, uncles, and cousins on the nursery wall and classroom rosters. Or I would play around on the stage of the fellowship hall running through curtains and secret doors, just like the kids at New Providence do today. I can almost smell the place; every church has a scent of its own and Green Hill was no different. I guess the family church was just an extension of their house to me, and the whole neighborhood felt like ours because both homeplaces were still standing nearby. When you’re seven or eight years old the willow tree and the water skates seem like magic.
Sometimes I wish for that simpler time. When smells were more intense, colors more vibrant, and time seemed slower and stretched longer, filled with only the best God had to offer—fireflies, peaches, and snapbeans by the bushel.
How, I wonder, do we harness more of that today?
Waning Summer
From my rocking chair I see
A winged monarch
A humble bee
A thirsty hummingbird
Buzzing at me.
LTM 9.1.25
It is I who made the earth, and created man upon it. I stretched out the heavens with my hands and ordained all their host. Isaiah 45:12
A Sunday in September
We had a beautiful day on Sunday. A service of worship with heartfelt music and prayers to the Lord. We visited together over a delicious meal, and the fellowship hall rang with laughter and the energy of sugar-filled children. What a gift. I think so just about every day, what a gift we have in each other. It crushed my heart to have come home and seen the news that while we were safely ensconced in our beautiful corner of the world, an LDS church in Michigan was violently ravaged with gunshots and arson. Innocent people killed and wounded, including children. It creates a vise around my spirit to imagine such a traumatic scene, and to wonder if the world will ever truly be safe. If that were to happen to us, well, I just don’t know that I would ever recover. I simply cannot fathom the heartbreak. On Sunday morning we bared our souls, we filled our bellies, we hugged our church family. We are so, so fortunate. This is a reminder that we should not take these moments for granted. I hope you will join me in praying for the broken-hearted, traumatized congregation and community in Michigan. And I hope you will also join me in prayer for an end to senseless violence, and for better access to mental health care, and stronger systems to protect our citizens from harm. And maybe even find a way to move the needle in that direction for our own community. As we reflected in worship today, when the voices of the downtrodden cry out, may we be the answers to their prayers.
Miraculous?
While watching the film King of Kings with the children last week, one of the kids kept whispering, “How did he do that?” each time Jesus would perform a miracle. I’d love to tell you I had a great response in my hip pocket to whisper back, but I am also the pastor who told the same child on Sunday morning that glittery purple floam slime is unicorn poop (I stand by my claim).
The truth is, I don’t know exactly how it all worked for Jesus. I don’t know how he gave sight to the blind, or walked on water, or fed five thousand plus people on a hillside. But I do believe it had something to do with the Holy Spirit alighting on him like a dove at his baptism. Here’s the crazy thing—he said we would do even greater things than he did because he was sending us the Holy Spirit in his place when he went to sit with God the Father.
We were commissioned to continue in Jesus’ stead. We are the body of Christ now; we are the hands and feet. The Holy Spirit gives us a variety of gifts to be used to continue Jesus’ mission on earth. Can we restore sight to the blind? Well, maybe not literally but certainly figuratively as we share the good news that there is another way to walk through life beside Jesus. Can we calm storms and walk on water? I’d love to see us try…but perhaps its those hands and feet that bring the calm and the compassion to our neighbors after the horrific natural disasters we experience. Can we feed five thousand people at once? Our fellowship meals are bountiful, but I don’t know that we could fill quite that much. However, our mindfulness of human deprivation and our awareness of how we support societal structures that keep some people having plenty while others struggle is an important part of fighting hunger. If everyone, every Christian did their part in their corner of the world, I bet we could move the needle for the benefit of all people. If we used our God given grace-gifts for the benefit of all, the world would indeed be a better place.
Strangers in the land
“For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me. Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”
–Matthew 25:35-36, 40
While serving a meal at the shelter last week, a woman came through the line and broke down in tears. A church member spoke to her for several minutes there at the counter, and then also went and sat down with her at a table for a little while. The woman said she was not from this area, but she did not have the means to get back home. What a horrible situation to be in, it is hard for me to fathom what that would feel like. I have been very far from home before and I have certainly been homesick, but to feel trapped in a situation where I could not make my way back to my safe place and the people I care about is unfathomable.
In my blessing for the meal, I gave thanks to God for the mission—that it provides a place of shelter and warm meals for folks who need such care. It was said on behalf of those present, but I must recognize that my uttering thanks for the mission is very different considering I drive there once a year in my SUV, carry in some hot food, maybe pour some drinks, say a prayer, and a few hours later return to my own home where my family is warm, fed, and safe.
We are always thanked profusely for our serving of food at the mission. We pile plates with smiles and quickly welcome folks back for seconds. Someone mentioned that while they are always grateful for all the meals provided, ours tasted particularly delicious. That our food would be tasty is no surprise, but the fact the person indicated some meals are bland or without much effort given to preparation is sad to me. It is important to remember one another’s humanity—to know that every individual present has a story and a hardship which we can never fully understand. Our care to make a hearty meal that people want to eat, not just need to eat is important. The way we engage is important. The shelter will never be home—but we can make it as hospitable as possible. If we could set every table with linen napkins and flower vases, wouldn’t that be lovely? If we could fold fresh towels and crisp sheets for beds, wouldn’t that be lovely? We’d do it for our house guests… could we do so elsewhere?
Having shelter and having a home are two very different things and the woman who was in tears punctuated that point. Surely, what a blessing to have a place where she could go-- but like the words of the Old Testament, she is an alien living in a strange land, this is not her home. I will pray for her to find her way back and I hope you will too.
The truth is, maybe we are all a little bit far from home. If an eternal close relationship with God is our ultimate goal, we’ve all headed towards home, but we certainly are not there yet. In fact, I’d say many, many Christians are adrift. We’re all aliens in the “land of Egypt” if we think of the ways we are enslaved to a multitude of sins. But just as the Lord brought the Israelites out of the land of Egypt, God has a plan for our salvation too. We would do well to keep our eye on the prize, and as Paul says in Philippians 3:14, “press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Jesus Christ.”
Focus on the roots
It’s no secret that I have very fine hair. We can thank my mother for this gift. When I blow-dry my hair, I often spritz it with volumizer. The instructions on the back of the bottle say to “focus on the roots for lift.” Well now, isn’t that just a great phrase?
On Sunday morning after worship some folks were discussing how they wished they’d had their parents and grandparents record meaningful family stories, lineage, traditions, etc…because now they are the generation that has to pass those important things down to the up and coming. Hmm… focus on the roots for lift.
We do this a lot at New Providence—focus on the roots-- I think, probably because I like history and I love the deep roots so many of our folks have in this community and this church. When I asked our session to contemplate how long they’d been members of New Providence half of them asked, “can we just say lifetime?”
Amazing as that is, and as much as I love it, the goal isn’t just to keep everything and everyone the same for a lifetime. We focus on the roots…for lift! We focus on the roots to make everything rise up, fresher and fuller than before! Eventually, we want to grow stronger as a congregation because there are more members here who are fully devoted Christians who were not born here than the life timers—then we’ll know we’ve focused on the roots, not for nostalgia, but for lift!
It will take attention to the roots to guide us though. What are the foundations and principles that brought us here, keep us here, and strengthen us in faith? Those principles of generosity, hospitality, and service are evident—just to name a few. We are committed to the Word of God, studying it and living it. In today’s world that is no small thing. But don’t hide it under a bushel friends, don’t think small. Focus on the roots, not because they are familiar or comfortable—but focus on the roots for lift!
A Beachball in Brownsburg
It was a rare sight as the dark clouds parted, and the sinking sun made glitter on the wet grass. Neighbors and friends had gathered under the shelter of the Wade’s Mill Pavillion for an annual picnic. Our very talented brothers from Asbury, Doug and J.R. began to sing a lovely gospel song to kick off our evening. As the meaningful music permeated the barn in a moment of praise… a giant beach ball was loose in Brownsburg! I couldn’t help but giggle as a contingent of children pushed the enormous, rainbow-colored ball up the hill behind the singers, and then ran away as the ball chased them back down the hill again.
There is something so beautiful about this unscripted moment—that these two experiences can coexist in one memory. It is intergenerational joy colliding. And I cannot help but think this is far closer to the type of existence God imagined for us than how we typically walk around in this world.
As intentional as we can be in trying to coordinate an event, create a space of hospitality, plan and plan and plan…the rain can still threaten to wash it all away. Something can always go awry. In the end, we’re basically pushing a gigantic ball to the top of the hill and then getting out of the way so that the real magic can be made in the unscripted. Maybe we should let go and let God more often. Maybe we should strive to get out of our own way. Maybe we should stop and smell the roses and eat dessert first.
As one of those same children was judging the dessert contest, she looked up at me and said, “The ice cream cake is my favorite.” And I replied, “Well I can see that darling, it is written all over your face.”
I long for us to be able to say, “This corner of the world is my favorite. This God, this Jesus, this Holy Spirit at work is my favorite.” And for everyone around us to reply, “Yes, it is written all over your face.”
And the beachball rolls by in the distance.
Don’t Forget to Pray
On Sunday we blessed the backpacks of our students during worship. This year, I assigned a child to each elder of the session who will pray for that child specifically throughout the school year. We shared these pairings in worship and each elder raised their hand so the kids could see who would be praying for them. I told them they could ask these elders if they had specific prayer concerns and that their elders would check in on them during the school year. Before leaving to go home for the day one of our children found their elder and said in an authoritative voice, “Don’t forget to pray!”
That’s a message for all of us, isn’t it? Don’t forget to pray! When you’re having a bad day or things don’t go your way, don’t forget to pray. When you’ve had a great success or you’re feeling really blessed, don’t forget to pray.
If God is everywhere, all the time, and knows all things—why does prayer matter? God already knows our needs before we speak them…God counts every hair on our head so why should we bother God or waste precious time and energy on prayer? Prayer isn’t just about telling God something God does not already know. It also isn’t about treating him like a candy dispenser that will give you exactly what you want. It is more that honest prayer creates a stronger relationship with God because you are giving God your attention, your trust, and your love. Remember, prayer is not a one way conversation, it isn’t just about speaking to God, but about listening for a word from God.
Global icon Taylor Swift said in an interview this week, “You should think of your energy like it’s a luxury item. Not everyone can afford it.” God can. God’s son has already paid the ultimate sacrifice so that you are able to come before God with an open heart. So be sure to spend your precious energy growing with God. Don’t forget to pray!
Feeling stuck
A few days ago, our family attended a middle school open house in preparation for the new year (tomorrow)! Ideally, having the incoming sixth graders there before the two older grades for an hour would be sufficient time for kids to gather information, hear from teachers, and test out those troublesome locker combinations. A long line of families shuffled from the gym to the sixth-grade hallway and emptied into the homeroom classes. After a few minutes the bell would ring, and everyone would head to the next core class on the schedule. Sounds simple enough, right? What ensued looked more like a squeeze chute for cattle. People spilled out into the hallway, and there they stopped. Some were headed up the hall, some were headed down the hall… but no one was moving. By the time most folks got to their destination, it was time to head to the next room and back into the fray. For a woman with a socially anxious kid and a claustrophobic spouse…this was less than conducive. Alas, we survived.
There’s a lesson in this, I just know there is…. You know, our faith is meant to be both individual and communal. We are encouraged to have a personal relationship with the Triune God and individually invest in spiritual practices such as scripture reading, prayer, and hospitality to nurture our faith. We are also supposed to come together and worship, study, and pray as a body collectively, so that we might find deeper meaning through these connections. This doesn’t mean that all our preferences for worship should be exactly the same, or that we must interpret the scriptures in the same way. Occasionally, our opinions might rub up against each other, friction may occur in the community—but through mutual respect and love we should be able to keep moving along toward the same mission. I suppose sometimes it might feel like we’re in a spiritual standstill—where in conflict no one wants to give way to someone else. Or perhaps we choose not to enter the fray at all, and stand back with our arms crossed, shaking our heads at a situation that has gone wrong. But, the person outside the traffic jam might be able to better see a solution to get things moving again.
What if just one family on Thursday night in that sixth-grade hallway had said, you know what, let’s walk down past the door we are intent on entering, turn around at the end of the hall and double back to keep things moving. No one was intentionally being rude or difficult, it’s just that everyone was so focused on their own needs they were not considering anyone else. Alas, a little bit of communal consideration goes a long way. A little bit of problem solving, a little bit of hospitality, and a whole lot of prayer can get us stirring again.
Shenandoah
Hope this brings a bit of peace and joy to your day.
“Shenandoah” performed by The Haygoods
Dare I ask
“Do I dare ask what happened to my chair?” I queried as I walked by my husband. “I sat in it and the leg just broke,” he replied. “And when I picked it up to move it, I knocked Kemper’s lego set over, so we had to clean that up. I think we can fix it.” Somehow, I missed all of that during my Sunday afternoon nap. Bleary-eyed as I was, it honestly took my mind a moment to recognize what I was seeing in the living room, the chair turned on the side, three legs in the air and one sadly discarded nearby.
This feels like a metaphor for the state of the world right now. We took a nap, and when we woke up everything was topsy-turvy. We pulled the blanket over our heads and havoc ensued. It is honestly hard to accept the vision of things before us. I cannot be the only one saying, “what in the world is going on?!” A million things flash on the news ticker at the speed of light. More hate crimes, more outbreaks of preventable diseases, more starvation, more tensions between world leaders, more natural disasters of every kind, more bombs, more banned books, more laws to limit liberty and justice for all. It’s overwhelming.
The question is, have we overslept, or can we fix it?
I’m reminded of a few other people who couldn’t keep their eyes open. Remember, when Jesus asked the disciples in the garden to stay awake and pray with him? Three times he asked those closest to him to remain awake while he went a little deeper into the garden to pray. The first, “my soul is deeply grieved, remain here and stay awake with me.” He returned a bit later and found them all sleeping. A second time he asked, “could you not stay awake with me one hour? Keep awake and pray you do not come into the time of trial, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.” Again, Jesus went alone to pray and when he came back, after asking God to take the cup away from him, he found them all asleep. A third time, he went away to again pray to God. When he returned, he roused them, “Are you still taking your rest? The hour is here. Get up, look, my betrayer is at hand.”
Jesus is forever standing before God, forever interceding and praying on our behalf while we remain asleep, unable to see clearly, unable to witness to the true state of things, not seeing the forest for the trees so to speak. We look up and suddenly the betrayer is at hand and we’ve let him waltz right in and start swinging! Jesus also told the story about the master of the house leaving and putting the servants in charge. “Keep awake, stay alert for you do not know the hour when the master will return and he may find you asleep if he returns suddenly.”
The truth is it will take all of us, or at the very least a large majority of us to commit to getting out of bed and facing all which troubles our God’s creation. Like the servants of the master’s house, we all have been given hands, feet, voices, and specific skills to aid us in keeping the house running smoothly and repairing the breach. It is overwhelming if we try to face it all at once, but if I join one team to address an issue, and perhaps you join another team to face a different issue, in time movement toward recovery can be made. The mess wasn’t made overnight, even though it often feels that way, so it won’t be cleaned up overnight either. One waking hour at a time. With faithfulness to God, attentiveness to the message of Jesus, and trust in the work of the Holy Spirit, we can fix it. Keep awake! Amen.
Pearlie
I remember the long summer days at Grandma Pearlie’s house when I was a little girl. My dad would wake me up at some ungodly hour, help me get dressed and climb into his Ford truck. If he was working with his friend Bill that day, I would have to ride in the middle, my scrawny legs making room for the gear shift, skin already sticking to the shiny red seat. Luckily, it was about a two-minute ride down the road.
Once at Pearlie’s, I would hoist myself into her four-poster bed and go back to sleep for a few hours. Her sheets and pillow smelled like baby powder and the deodorant she used. When I woke up, I’d find her on her screened-in porch in a rocking chair. When I was really small, I’d climb in her lap and perhaps doze a little more—grandma’s make great pillows. Then she’d make me a little snack, my favorite was ritz crackers and deli cheese in a little pink bowl (My mom still has this bowl and Kemper used to eat goldfish out of it). She’d tell me stories about my mom growing up or teach me little nursery rhymes before sending me out to play or off to read the library books we had picked up that week.
Sometimes, we’d go out onto the front porch of her little gray craftsman and watch the cars go by. I’d take my building bricks or coloring books out there to entertain myself. She knew every car that drove by--and if by chance she didn’t recognize them, I’d hear about it. Every year there would be a bird’s nest in the bushes that lined the porch, and we’d listen for the babies chirping. We always looked for Cardinals in the yard because she loved them. And if it was a clear day, she would inevitably muse, “God must have loved green and blue because he made so much of it.”
I have never made a connection before, but perhaps that is why I love sitting out on the porch so much. There is something about the warm concrete underneath my bare feet and the soft breeze that drifts by that relaxes me. Listening to the birds singing, waiting for the hummingbirds to buzz to the feeder, and observing our little corner of the world transports me to a simpler time. She would have loved it out here. Indeed, there is a lot of green and blue to be seen all around us. And maybe it isn’t just that God loves those colors, but that he loves us so much he decided to share them with us too.
The Old Guard
My parents have lived in Bedford, VA for almost 30 years. We moved there just as I was entering middle school and my maternal grandmother moved in with us. My dad did a lot of renovation work to the house to accommodate her needs as well as the rest of our family. Bedford was an ideal location because my mom worked in Lynchburg and my dad worked in Salem. The street they live on is in a quiet neighborhood where I spent many afternoons riding my bike from one street to another.
It didn't take long for my family to get to know every neighbor on the street. For years folks held summer picnics or fall stews in their yards. A lot of our neighbors in those days were retired with grown children.
Of the 8 to 10 houses on the street though, I now know only two other families that remain from my youth. The rest have passed away or moved elsewhere. Some homes have changed hands multiple times. It's funny to me to pull into the driveway and think, "wow that place looks different, why did they cut all those trees?" Or wave to a stranger who now lives next door. It's a bit of an odd feeling to think of my parents as "the old guard". I miss Winnie, who used to hem my pants and her husband Earl who helped me move to college. I miss Tom sitting out by his garage after mowing the neighbors' lawns and his wife Dolores, who always had a crazy story to tell.
I think most of us have those types of memories from the places we grew up. And it is really special that for some of you, that place is still your home. I love hearing the stories of your childhood among these mountains and fields. I can imagine it might be hard to see things change over time.
I'm told that Saturday's Hot Dog Days in Brownsburg was the most well attended to date! It was a gorgeous day and having everything set up in the shaded lawn behind the post office was lovely. I saw folks who have lived in Brownsburg their whole lives sitting next to people who literally moved in the day before. I also heard numerous people look around with a wistful voice, "I hardly know any of these people."
Well now, how do we reconcile that? I believe that it is a testament to those who have lived in this area for a long time, those with generations being raised here, that new people ARE moving here! If not for the ways in which you, your parents, and your grandparents created community and a successful life, all of these beautiful old homes and business would become empty and dilapidated because the next generation would not recognize its value.
So, I am going to encourage all of us to keep finding ways to meet our new neighbors and welcome them. Don't wait for them to come to you. I can tell you with all confidence that some of those "new folks" you don't know are already committed to maintaining the integrity of this area's long history and excited to serve alongside you. They need to know you, hear your stories, and feel like they can put down roots here in this special place. It's up to you to greet them, welcome them, invite them. After all, what if no one came back to New Providence because they didn't know the new preacher a few years ago? Something to think about.
Seeds & Weeds
It is simply astonishing what two weeks of neglect can do to a flower garden. Not that my flowers are award winning in any fashion, but I just cannot believe that after a week of VBS and especially in the week away how overgrown things have become. Those nasty giant Dandelions (not to be confused with the precious ‘Lion Flowers’ in the grass as my baby used to call them) are as tall as my Zinnias and crab grass is choking out my Snapdragons. There is also something unidentifiable in the pot which my leggy Pansies used to dwell. In the back yard a vine I planted seeds for last summer has finally creeped up the lattice around the propane tank….and a plant that I thought was Lambs ear that I found in the woods looks like it got angry and turned into The Hulk. It’s called Mullen and while it has medicinal uses it’s really just a weed. Cool.
Why can’t the flora we plant with purpose, that we tend with such loving care, grow as lavishly as the weeds!? I don’t have an answer to the question…but as is typical of my trade, I do have some theological allegory to impart. Our faith is much like the garden. It takes focused attention, tending, and work—most things of value are like that. Perhaps this is why for many folks, the roots of their faith don’t go very deep…its just too much effort. In order for our understanding to deepen of God, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit at work in our daily walking-around lives, we have to continue seeking, learning, and worshiping.
For example, we send our children to school at a young age and we teach them the alphabet. What if we just stopped there, if we didn’t explain how letters make sounds and sounds pushed together make words and words strung together make sentences…. The way our children are taught about Noah’s Ark is very different than the way we might learn about it as adults—the meaning of the narrative deepens as we learn about the historical and literary context from which the story comes. To glean such knowledge takes considerable effort. But the harvest is rich with color and texture.
Similarly, we know that the dastardly weeds of the world are determined to choke out our beautiful witness! If we aren’t vigilant those weeds of such destruction will consume us. The roots of every “-ism” from racism to elitism threaten to strip the soil of all good nutrients. Grasses of greed, pride, covetousness, and hatred grow tall, block the sun, and steal the nourishing rains. Remember, just because it’s green doesn’t mean it’s good. How many “Christians” talk a good talk but do not walk Christ’s walk? Be attentive to your garden! What are you planting? What are you cultivating? And what do you need to rip out?
Here Comes The Calvary
As my son and I walked down the hill toward the church bright and early this morning I said, “Here comes the calvary!” as 4 or 5 vehicles rolled into the lot. He said, “Wait, that sounds like the revolutionary war, what does that mean again?” I replied, “Well, it means help is arriving just in time.” It made my heart swell with satisfaction as we loaded trucks with tables and chairs, transferring them to the front lawn for our picnic after church. It’s something you can always count on at New Providence, the calvary always comes through. In fact, some of this morning’s calvary couldn’t come to church today or stay after worship for the picnic, but they showed up anyway to lend a hand.
Feeling good about the efficiency for which we set things up, we went inside to prepare for communion. I opened the freezer and to my surprise, there were no communion wafers! I could have sworn we had some cut up in there along with the two pieces for breaking. Either I forgot we were out, or the church mouse got them…. There were plenty of freezer-pops, a few boxes of ice cream sandwiches, and a carrot cake, but no communion bread. I ran to the calvary, bugle blaring, “We have a problem, we have no communion bread!” We debated what to do for a minute or two, and ultimately an elder drove home and took some sourdough out of her freezer, sliced it and brought it back to the church. Crisis averted!
After worship some folks took care of cleaning up communion and closing the sanctuary while most folks went down to the fellowship hall and helped carry out the various potluck dishes, ice, and beverages. With these things you don’t always know if you’ll get a variety of food or three pans of mac and cheese (fine by me) but at New Providence, we always seem to have a perfect balance of loaves and fishes…or meats and dessert dishes! One of our youngest helped me bless the food (I should have let her do it on her own). “God is great, God is good….” We sat in the breeze and gave thanks for the sunshine. The kids ran around playing catch and cornhole. You couldn’t really ask for a better way to start the summer season here. And as things began to wind down, the calvary once again led the charge; chairs began to slowly disappear, and tables were loaded back on a truck to be driven around to the door. Dishes were cleared in the kitchen, the lawn toys put away, lights off, doors locked. One by one, the calvary drove away. But they’ll be back next week.
Humblebees
Last spring, by the front porch steps, I planted snapdragons. Would you believe I kept them alive, and they came back? Well, I haven’t seen the yellow ones yet, but the magenta ones are reaching for the sky, even though a few are battered from last week’s storms. The bumble bees love them. I steer clear of most bees, but these little fuzzballs warm my heart. When one comes to collect among the snapdragons, he alights on the outside of the blossom, then wedges himself in between the folds of the bloom and climbs inside until he disappears from sight! A few seconds later, he backs out of the petals, rubs his pollen prize all over himself with his legs, and buzzes over to the next bloom to repeat the process.
Did you know that they were once called humblebees? Apparently, they were called this as early as the 1400s. William Shakespear referenced them in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” as humblebees in the year 1600. Now, this fact is really cool—they were also once called dumbledors—dumble imitating the sound they make, and dor meaning beetle. There must be some connection to this name and J.K. Rowlings famous headmaster of Hogwarts, Dumbledore. A quick google search revealed that Rowling has said she chose the name because she imagined Dumbledore humming to himself, much like buzzing bumblebee.
Did you know the name Deborah means “bee”? I didn’t either! Deborah was a prophetess in the book of Judges. After a significant battle Deborah sang, “When locks are long in Israel, when the people offer themselves willingly[a]— bless the Lord! (Judges 5:2)”
Bumble bees do not have ears, so it is unknown whether they can hear somehow, but they do respond to vibrations made by sound traveling through various things, like wood. It is said that when they return to their nest, they spend several minutes crawling all around to let others know they’ve had a successful expedition before they head out to forage again.
A study conducted in 2017 revealed that these busy workers can engage in social learning. In one particular case, the bees were taught the unusual skill of moving large objects in order to be rewarded. The bees who witnessed another bee complete this task were more likely to attempt to emulate the task.
What if our spiritual strivings were like the bumble bee—the humblebee—the dumbledor. What if we were to just crawl inside the sweet blossom of God’s presence that is offered to us, to just completely immerse ourselves within the petals of grace. What if when we emerged from the flower, we made sure that the sweetness of love covered us thoroughly, stuck to us like pollen, so that we could remain nourished. And what if, after our seemingly slow circuit around the garden, we returned to our nests--our homes, our workplaces, our committees, and our clubs—just so excited to share our bounty that it is as if we are running laps with boundless enthusiasm.
What if we were humble, willing to learn from one another? What if we offered ourselves willingly as servants to the Lord? The deeper you go in the flower of faith, the greater blessing you have to spread to others.
Petals
May blossoms unfurl
Stretch, stretch toward the cobalt sky
Petals open wide
LTM 5/4/25
For as the earth brings forth its shoots
and as a garden causes what is sown in it to spring up,
so the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise
to spring up before all the nations.
-Isaiah 61:11