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My church ordained an army chaplain this past Sunday. Our congregation president -- a distinguished lawyer in his early 60s -- tends to choke up with emotion during such rituals, which in turn gets me going. And sure enough, at these words...


As a military chaplain, you will be called to ensure and uphold the free exercise of religion as stated in the first amendment, and to nurture the living, care for the wounded, and honor the dead.





The previous Sunday, a friend saw me pause midway down the stairs to the lower parking lot.

"What on earth are you doing?" she asked.

"Look," I said, pointing to the flowers hiding behind the steps.

Vinca underneath the steps




One of the first sopranos in the chamber choir works as a physical therapist. During coffee hour, she tutored the senior minister on using crutches.

Also during coffee hour, a toddler wearing a large pink flower on her head was playing "Do you see me?" with her mom, in the sanctuary. The girl is barely as tall as the pews, so whenever I looked up from my crocheting, what I mostly saw was the pink flower zipping along the top edge of the pews.

That alone would have been delightful, but then the girl decided to clamber up the stairs to the social hall, happily and speedily. It was clear that this was a first when the mother shrieked to her husband, "Look!" And the husband looked up from the programs he'd been sorting, and then exclaimed, "Holy crap!" :-)

Vinca

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