Color, Shape, Texture

I went on a photoshoot this weekend...












Our decorative mantelpiece





















A fun journal from Ball and Cross Books





















Star Anise, from our lovely Co-op

Adventures on Sunday Morning

I had my eye on this kid. His pen had found its way into our aisle twice already. A toy had fallen through the crack in the chair sometime between the second hymn and the Creed. It was during the final prayer that I felt the whistle of a projectile, then the smack of a toy train car hitting my collarbone. Fortunately the prayer was short.
I sometimes believe the kids outnumber the adults at my church. If this isn't already the case, it will be soon. The second section of seats is known as the kids area, and most families with small kids elect to sit near other friendly parents, who are used to the challenges of listening to a sermon while keeping a semblance of order in their family's row. For various reasons, Andrew and I end up in this area also, and have found an absorbing drama enacted every Sunday. There was the Sunday when, during the procession of the pastor and elders toward the back of the church, a small toddler managed to toss her toy at the feet of one elder and nearly caused a pile-up. Or take the Sunday a month ago when the four foot tall potted plant fell on me. (I believe one too many kids had run into it and destroyed its internal balance). Or, my favorite, the three year old who said the Amen late and with the accent of a hip cowgirl, if such a thing exists. Andrew and I have learned from experience that the less we look towards one another at times like this, the sooner we can stop laughing.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not arguing for an adults-only service. While I believe order and liturgy are a high calling to strive for, I also firmly believe that kids of all ages should be included in the service. And this requires some working out. After all, Christ welcomed the little kids. And I'm sure they said some wacky things to him, or asked some theological conundrums. Perhaps he'd watched some of them mess up their lines during the Passover, or use that opportunity to demand more bread instead of grasping the significance of the questions they were surely taught to ask each year.
The fact is that the presence of kids will change a worship service. And from my own experience in watching the families who sit by us, I believe this is a change for the better. I've watched kids throw their hands up in the air, singing joyfully off tune, thrilled to be a part of the service. I've heard kids loudly say 'Amen', savoring each letter because this word is still new and glorious to them. As long as I have this reminder, I cannot grow mechanical in my recitation of the Creed. Surrounded (literally) by kids, I have a living, breathing example of how to sing, how to listen, how to lift my hands in worship. They are learning to sing in tune. I am learning to keep my heart and head attuned to God as I worship.

Farmer's Market

The air was crisp and chilled this morning as I walked down to the Farmer's Market, the kind of chill that causes a tingle as one takes the first breath. The leaves have started their annual changing of the colors, and Third Street is a study in yellows and burnt reds. The market is slowly waking up as I arrive at opening time to unlock the NSA doors and put out the open signs. Crates and cartons being unloaded from the backs of farm trucks, the Red Finn coffee stall selling its first cups of Idaho Eye-Opener blend to still-sleepy stallholders. I sip my morning americano, cradling its warmth in my hands and breathing its fragrant steam. I wander among the stalls, following the scent of bread and spices to the Wheatberries stall, which displays large artisan breads, bagels, and pastries. This stall is surrounded by a constant crowd of shoppers, eager to select Sabbath breads for guests the next day, or to pick a morning pastry to go with their coffee. Bagel in bag, I head off for the produce stall. Vine-ripened tomatoes will become quick sandwiches for my husband this week. A few apples, a pear, and then the gift of a honeydew melon. It's rough, lined texture is intriguing, and I look forward to tasting the juicy-sweet fruit inside. Shopping finished, I head home to the aroma of soup and baking bread. A stack of new books awaits me, and I curl up on the couch with a bowl of soup and a slice of fresh-baked bread.