The parking lot light, vibrant against the white sanctuary and red canna lillies.
The fields all around turned copper and rugged and sounding like the sea.
And the toddlers fisting puzzle pieces, cap-less markers, and Goldfish. All at once.
These are reflections on life at the parsonage in Zion.
Simple moments in between where we sink into the convergence of heaven and earth.
May we dwell in this together. Amen.
When we walked up to the parsonage, I saw that big overgrown bush pressed tight against the side of the garage, and I knew that this was the grace we had been praying for.
Read MoreAnd with the turning of keys, I know that this place cannot be owned, only inhabited. You can only dwell here. Not possess. But fill.
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