Welcome home.

A quick reflection on my first indoors, in-person worship service post-sabbatical...

Throughout the day yesterday, I was thinking about what it would be like to be back in worship today, in person and in the pews.  Though UPC was back on August 1, I was still on sabbatical, so I had still not experienced indoor, in-person worship since March 2020.  Would it be emotional?  Would it be joyful?  Would it feel strange?  I set my alarm last night... okay, truth be told, I set three alarms.  It was like the night before a time change, although in that case, I don't trust my phone.  In this case, I didn't trust myself to get up when the alarm went off.  It's been a while since I've had to do that on a Sunday morning!

From the minute I stepped in the church building this morning (to the sound of "NANCY!" and some hugs from small friends waiting to greet me), I felt it.  I wasn't sure what "it" was until somebody said it to me during the passing of the peace.  "Welcome home."  This person was not the only one to say it to me, but it got me.  Lots of people said, "Welcome back," which of course I appreciated, but it was the "Welcome home" that really struck me.  From beginning to end in worship, and from the time I stepped in the door this morning until the time I left, I felt it.  It felt like home.  It was truly a gift to have time away to be refreshed and renewed, and it's even more of a gift to be back home at UPC.

I could have missed it...

I am a beach walker.  I am generally not a beach sitter.  While I do love sitting on the beach for a bit to chat with friends and/or read a book, I am not one to go out to the beach and sit in the hot sun all day long.  I do, however, love to walk up and down the beach, and do so at least three times a day when I am oceanside.  The purpose of my walk depends on the day and on the beach.  If it is a beach that is known for its shells, you better believe I am always looking.  I also want to get exercise each day, so breaking a sweat is of high value as well.

Today, as I walked along the beach at low tide, I found that the purpose of my walk had shifted.  I had intentionally looked up the tide times so I was sure to be on the sand - on a shell hunt - when the tide was out.  Yet as I was walking along, I couldn't get something out of my head.  I read something recently that really stuck with me.  (And if one of you wrote it, or if you know where I read it, please remind me so I can give credit where it is due because I can't for the life of me remember where I read it!)  The author said something about looking down.  The author, in much more beautiful words than these, wrote that when we spend our time looking down as we walk, we miss seeing our surroundings.

On my low-tide-beach-walk, of course I was looking down!  I was at water's edge, and I was sure I was about to find "the shell I'd been waiting for."  Down, down, down I looked.  I looked straight ahead from time to time, of course, to avoid running into those walking toward me and small children running in all directions.  But it wasn't until those author's words raced into my brain that I looked up... and to the left... and to the right...

I could have missed it.  

Had I not looked up, I could have missed seeing the way the waves roll in continuously, one right after the other, like clockwork.  

I could have missed seeing the way the clouds were so low they looked like they were touching the ground.

I could have missed seeing the colors of the water as the sunlight reflects off of it.

I could have missed the sea turtle nests that have been safely staked off from unwelcome visitors.

I could have missed witnessing the pure joy that is present as people throw frisbees, play cornhole, jump waves, and dig in the sand.

I was so busy looking for shells, and counting shibumi shades (at least 40 in a 1 mile stretch of beach!) that I could have missed God’s handiwork all around me…

The good news is, I didn't.