Today’s poem by Susan Griffin was chosen for two reasons.  Firstly, it speaks of frustrated cooks and inpatient children and budgeted meals, which makes me think of the myriad of challenges upon us these days.  Our finances and nerves (to name a few) can be stretched as we live through pandemic circumstances.  Our frustrations are real, as are our efforts to maintain equilibrium (some might say grace) amidst the challenge.  I especially like the line… a child cries feed me now and her mother not quite hysterical says over and over, wait just a bit, just a bit.

The second reason for the choice of today’s poem is because of the theme of growing up…a theme central to our Coming of Age celebration this Sunday as we honor Lucy Hickerson, Nate Candee, and Jaymeson Dolen.  In preparation for it, I have a request of you.  Actually, it’s a double request.   Please consider emailing me a short note written to one or all of the COA youth.  Give them a word of encouragement or advice, give them some good-natured ribbing, or any little message that helps send them on their way into the world beyond childhood.  These email messages will be shared during the service.

Similarly, the second request is to reach out to Nate, Jaymeson, and Lucy by sending them a personalized note through the postal mail (I have their home address if you need it).  After hearing their credo messages and seeing their images please consider sending them a short note to share an “I remember when…” moment involving them.  Or perhaps there’s a part of their credo on which you’d like to provide commentary.

Our youth are an important part of our church family, and this is our chance to let them know how much we appreciate them!

Looking forward to seeing you on Sunday, dear ones!
Lori

Love should grow up like a wild iris in the fields,
unexpected, after a terrible storm, opening a purple
mouth to the rain, with not a thought to the future,
ignorant of the grass and the graveyard of leaves
around, forgetting its own beginning.
Love should grow like a wild iris
but does not.

Love more often is to be found in kitchens at the dinner hour,
tired out and hungry, lingers over tables in houses where
the walls record movements, while the cook is probably angry,
and the ingredients of the meal are budgeted, while
a child cries feed me now and her mother not quite
hysterical says over and over, wait just a bit, just a bit,
love should grow up in the fields like a wild iris
but never does
really startle anyone, was to be expected, was to be
predicted, is almost absurd, goes on from day to day, not quite
blindly, gets taken to the cleaners every fall, sings old
songs over and over, and falls on the same piece of rug that
never gets tacked down, gives up, wants to hide, is not
brave, knows too much, is not like an
iris growing wild but more like
staring into space
in the street
not quite sure
which door it was, annoyed about the sidewalk being
slippery, trying all the doors, thinking
if love wished the world to be well, it would be well.

Love should
grow up like a wild iris, but doesn’t, it comes from
the midst of everything else, sees like the iris
of an eye, when the light is right,
feels in blindness and when there is nothing else is
tender, blinks, and opens
face up to the skies.

~Susan Griffin~