fitting in

It is Sabbath morning—six o’clock.  I am up because of an aching leg, hungry stomach, and a complaining head.  It is not what you think, too much to drink.  The cause is old age plain and simple.  But it did give me an excuse to watch my new sprinkler system in action for the first time.  Quite impressive—all the ground was well watered as were the Adirondack chairs. 

Most Sabbath mornings have been spent catching a few more winks before showering and going to church.  At first going was because the parents were going, then because mom was going, then because the college took roll, then because my job required it.  Finally after an off and on again relationship, it was back to being pretty regular but this time because I wanted to be there. 

For most of my adult life Sabbath school has been more interesting that church, though there have been one or two very good speakers.   The one series I remember and liked was based on John.  But the pastor did finish the book as the congregation complained.  Guess it was too much like study; however, I love the book of John.   Sometimes the music was more inspirational than the sermon; sometimes the congregational singing was the blessing for the day.  Late in life I was introduce to a liturgical service and found it to be a great fit.  I suppose that many in my church may shy away from it because it is not Protestant enough for them.  I like the congregational involvement and the parallel thoughts from different parts of the scripture.  The homilies are usually short and well thought out.  And best of all, the church has a grand pipe organ.  

Now I am in a small community where I drive ten miles of county roads to church.  It is a very small but involved congregation consisting of people from small communities and ranches.  Blue jeans are not banned as they were in my previous church.  Sometimes we get a little silly about our perceived right and wrong.    No organ, sigh, no liturgical service.  Sermons vary from a read though by a parishioner, a played DVD prepared by the conference, a real pastor’s homily (quality greatly varied), or church at another church—as it was today.   

My sis is consistent in telling me that folks in this area are honest, hard working people.  From what I can tell, they are not any different than the rest of the country.  There are affairs, divorces, illegitimate children, traffic violations, misuse of funds, political intrigue, and late return of library books.   The noticeable difference for me is educational level here as compared with my former residence.  Ten percent of the population has a bachelor’s degree or higher whereas I came from a community where 67 percent of the population had a bachelor’s degree or higher.  Do not misunderstand; they still affairs, divorces, illegitimate children, traffic violations, and the misuse of funds, political intrigue, and the late return of library books.  But, the difference was not that one community was honest and hard working and the other was not.

Why am I here?  Because my sister is here and we cannot really afford to live separately on just our social security.  She is here because her family seems to be more permanently in one area than my family.  I choose to be here.  The cost of living is definitely less expensive than many parts of the country and I love the scenery and the clarity of the air. 

There are some islands of social brightness that feed my mind and body and there is always travel, books, and the internet.  I am able to read thought provoking commentaries of the Sabbath School lessons along with other matters of spiritual interest by using the internet.  I can keep up on the news and in touch with my friends and former students.  There is an mp3 player for music (although not the same as live) and shopping—well, the internet is getting more and more use, but I still like to actually touch, see, and try on items.  That necessitates driving some distance.

We didn’t go to church this morning because our church was closed and the area meeting was too far for us.  Today only it was to far, because we wanted to go to the library in the afternoon and hear an author from a neighbor state talk about his latest book.  He is not just a local phenomenon, but is a best seller in the US and in France, and has literary awards from both countries.

So here I stand, jammy clad, on the back deck, watching the sprinklers do their magic.  It is quiet, the air bright, and the coffee hot.  I am at peace.