Tuesday, January 17, 2017

Sermon from a Flower-Pot

I haven't gotten to church for many Sunday mornings now. If it were just the chronic fatigue and pain, I could push through it more often. But Elsa and I are seeing a pattern over these three years of illness. The longer into the fall and winter that we are shut indoors - away from sunshine, fresh air, and open windows - the worse our many debilitating allergy symptoms get. 

Unfortunately, as allergies and chemical sensitivities get worse, we are less and less able to be in public where scented laundry detergents and fragrance-filled personal care products (not to mention perfumes) are overwhelming in closed-up buildings. Thankfully my piano students have learned to be as fragrance-free as possible. I sure appreciate their help in keeping me able to teach them!

But, unless we drive 4 hours to a church that has a "fragrance-free service," I know of no way to avoid major set-backs from joining our church family on a Sunday morning. Elsa bravely tried attending again this week... and is paying dearly for it.

On yet another Sunday at home recently, I happened to flip back in my journals to the summer of 2015, where I had a needed reminder that God is at work... even in these years of worshiping alone at home.


On August 9th I wrote in my journal:
My pew was a slouchy chair on the deck this Sunday morning. I sank in, exhausted just from the routine of getting up, breakfasted, dressed... And a glance at the clock showed that the church service my family was attending was nearly finished already. All but my sister, who, more weak and ill than I, was resting on the couch just inside the French doors.
We were sad, to say the least. Here was yet another week in yet another month where our bodies kept us away from the teaching, worship, fellowship... the fuel of meeting together with our family - the Body of Christ. I was even unable to be around my own family this morning without earplugs to keep my brain from blowing a fuse.
All this settled into the chair with me as I leaned back and took a breath. 
Suddenly, I had to chuckle! A minature explosion nearby caught my eye as a tiny "pop!" reached my ear.
 
Have you ever seen a flower pot filled with impatiens, and looking beyond the delicate beauty of the flowers and mounds of small leaves, spotted the shiny seed pods? If you get past how they resemble a juicy worm, they are so much fun to play with! Can you get it off the plant before it splits and curls with a sudden twist in your fingers?!


It was this unexpected burst of a nearby pod spitting its seeds onto the deck that acted as the prelude to my personal Sunday morning service. Then followed the little sermon speaking to my quieted mind.
"Look! Do you see where my seed fell? On the cold, hard veneer of deck planking. What a waste, don't you think?
"I mean, a deck is a useful thing, and pretty and inviting with tables and chairs, but the only real life out here is confined to little pots. When we try to send out our seeds to spread life and beauty as we were created to do, they don't have a chance! They may soon even be swept away - just to keep the "veneer" looking fresh and clean."
Thus spoke the flower-pot. Then it left me to make the application.
Hmm... how about those times in life when we have everything under control - all swept clean, everything arranged in place, decorations set to best advantage. When God sends life-giving seeds our way, do they have any liveable space to root and grow? (Matthew 13:1-23)
These years my life seems to be getting stripped of any control, any order, any decoration. We're getting down to raw soil. Dirty, messy humus. Life often feels like rather dirty dirt.
But what better place to grow real life?!
Will I treasure, shelter, and cultivate the seeds God plants? Or will I sweep them away in an attempt to regain my "orderly life?" Or will I let all the weeds that come part-and-parcel of this raw dirt just take over and choke out God's beautiful design for this place?


Thanks, flower-pot. I'm not quite so lonely or sad anymore. Your Creator met me here where I came to Be Still.

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