The Seed Fairy?

In every gardener there is a child who believes in The Seed Fairy.

~Robert Brault

 Thank you! Everything in me says “Thank you!”
Angels listen as I sing my thanks.
I kneel in worship facing your holy temple
and say it again: “Thank you!”
Thank you for your love,
thank you for your faithfulness;
Most holy is your name,
most holy is your Word.
The moment I called out, you stepped in;
you made my life large with strength.

~ Psalm 138:1-3

Saw a friend this morning at the local diner.  After I conducted the brief business I had, I turned to my friend and said, “We need to talk.”  Her response was “I’ll probably be in church on Sunday.”

The funny thing is, I had not even considered that we would wait that long.  We have many other connections, including social media and email as well as living close by.  I told her that would be fine, but all of a sudden, it occurred to me that when she sees me, that is the place with which she associates our connection.

This brought to mind the book I am reading “An Altar in the World: a Geography of Faith” by Barbara Brown Taylor.  The Reverend Taylor suggests that until Solomon, God’s address was the world.  After Solomon built a temple, God’s address became fixed at the temple.  She further posits that the world is God’s address. The world and the diner, and the Curves circuit is where ministry happens, not just at church.  The sanctuary of the backyard, is a worshipful location even as we mow the lawn, hang the prayer flags of laundry, talk to our neighbor over the fence.

I believe that the original owner of the property that makes up our neighborhood walked the land and prayed it as he walked.  This neighborhood is a special place and has a propensity of believers of all faiths.  It is amazing to watch the ministry unfold. here on this former apple orchard, it is easy to believe in the Seed Fairy…but that my friends is another story.

Today, walk your “property” and enjoy the wideness of the sanctuary.

This Morning

The distant whine of leaf blowers more like bagpipes

my mind wandered to the roots of our church.

The cicadas played their maracas in syncopation

I heard our partnership with Cuba.

The rooster joined in, trying to take the lead, though late

I thought of our patchwork choir, and its brilliant director.

The canine chorale provided the bass

and I wondered if those hard, crusty women who

sit in front of me each Sunday

will ever stop biting.


Because of Him,



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Filed under Devotional, Poetry

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