Returning Home

I came home from Israel Friday night. My journals and a long letter to my husband contain my thoughts while "on the ground" there, and I hope to edit them into a blog entry soon. My camera's pictures are about half unloaded and edited. My heart is full. It was a journey that was beyond my expectations. I'd heard about the industrial-strength tourism that governs many of the holy sites in the Holy Land. I'd heard correctly. Yet the pilgrims themselves, over the centuries, from every continent in our own day, hallow these places. I'm reminded of lines from T.S. Eliot's poem, "Little Gidding:" "You have come to the place where prayer has been valid."

Yesterday was my first day back at the office. I drove in on the first sunny day after 4 days of nearly constant rain or drizzle. Trees sparkled. The late versions of daffodils bent over in the rain and you could almost see them slowly straightening up. Buds on the maple trees are about to burst into teeny crinkled leaves.
Four of us gathered for the daily office of Morning Prayer.
Afterwards I visited with two ladies who are creative with paint brushes were at church to bring some calm whimsy to the ladies' bathroom. They admitted that the robins'-egg color they'd rolled on last week was greener than they'd expected, but it didn't stop them from painting trees about the size of the dogwoods that are all over the understory of our woods, and birds of many colors in their branches.
Meanwhile a college professor who had been at morning prayer stopped before he left for work to set up 7 tables and 56 chairs for this evening's Lenten supper and lecture series.
I stopped on the way to the office to visit with our most active volunteer gardener and groundskeeper, who was consulting with our landscape architect (husband of a parishioner) about where to plant some juniper trees around the amphitheater in front of our outdoor stone altar. This is where we celebrate Easter at a sunrise service.
Right next to the worship area is the Memorial Garden. There is a new grave where the ashes of my beloved parishioner Jim are laid to rest. He did, indeed, make it to (the new) Jerusalem before I left for Israel. The day after my previous entry, he died suddenly. His last words, in the exhausting struggle of simply putting on fresh pajamas, were: "I just need a little rest." Spring is in the air. May Jim rest in peace and rise in glory. May his faithfulness inspire us who remain behind to follow Jesus faithfully.
I finally got to my office. There my secretary had a lovely card and a big new mug waiting for me to welcome me home. I gave her one of the mother-of-pearl crosses that the Palestinian Christians from the West Bank carve in Bethlehem, and that I bought in Jerusalem. We updated the parish calendar and caught up on all sorts of details.
I wrote personal letters to all the children of the parish between the ages of 3 and 8, inviting them to the Communion class a week from Saturday. I signed "welcome letters" for the newcomers who visited while I was gone.
I ran out for a late lunch and to return the rented carpet cleaner that had been necessary to clean up a BIG mess at home. The dogs had been very quiet Monday, it turns out, because they had managed to sneak into our youngest son's bedroom and coat the entire place with mud. I bet our son will remember to really check that the door to the back yard is latched. He worked several hours to bring things back to some kind of order.
Later in the day I met with a relatively new parishioner who has all sorts of gifts and talents in the areas of education and organization. She will be spearheading the gathering of a group to develop an after school arts program for children in the community.
I had an hour conference call with the executive team of our Community Service Board on which I serve.
It was 6:30--a full and good day with lots of creative energy, good fellowship, and plenty of moments to smell and see and hear spring unfolding.