seasons of love

-A group of kids walking with their teachers in the cool morning adorned with a colorful variety of knit hats.

-Glancing out the window as I walked down the stairs and seeing a tree with lovely red leaves.

-Sitting down to write a poem about birth for pastoral care (which I honestly complained a bit about) and actually having it flow out easily. I wrote it about returning to my old church when I came back for college after moving away when I was young. Here it is:

i walk into the church
eleven years after i left it
somewhat taller
somewhat wiser
somewhat more lost

i see faces unfamiliar to me
light up as they recognize mine
“we remember when you were born”
they say
“we remember you almost didn’t make it”
i stop and listen.
“we remember you were three months early”
i listen, nodding.
“we remember you were very sick, very small”
i listen, feeling suddenly weak.
“we remember how worried we all were”
i nod, trying to remember.
“we remember the prayers. oh, how we prayed for you”
i fight back grateful tears.
“we prayed and prayed that your little body would develop,
your brain,
your lungs,
your heart…”
i think,
i breathe,
i feel.
“you spent months in the hospital, and still we prayed”
i keep listening, wanting to hear a happy ending to the story of my birth.
“and then, on Easter, here you were: tiny but healthy.
we baptized you into the family you already belonged to.
we said we would keep praying for you, and we still do.”
i am overwhelmed by their faithfulness
the power of their prayers
to create miracles
and i feel my lostness melt away
leaving only life
whole and sanctified life
that belongs not to me
but to the faithful pray-ers
who prayed me into being.