For Wilshire Baptist Church
“Fig!” That’s what I shouted across the backyard to LeAnn on a Saturday in early April, which made her turn with the same look she gets when I say, “Snake!” So, I said it again more slowly and with more information, “We have a fig,” and she came running to see for herself.
Continue reading “Parable of the Figs”For Wilshire Baptist Church
On a recent Tuesday evening I went to talk to our neighbor two houses down about the vacant house between us. The owner is renovating it and getting it ready to sell, and the fence he promised that separates our back yards is finally going up. After our chat, I was going to continue down the street and meander through our neighborhood or maybe to Central Park, which would be normal if LeAnn were with me instead of at the weekly meeting of Wilshire’s minister of music search committee. But when I got to 10th street and looked toward the right, my eye caught the corner of the labyrinth at First Presbyterian Church and that’s where I went.
Continue reading “Prayers Underfoot”For Wilshire Baptist Church
Sunday we closed worship at Wilshire by singing “Sweet, Sweet Spirit” by Doris Akers. I was not feeling well and watched at home on live stream, but I texted LeAnn: “Just stay in your seat until it ends.” As far as I know, nobody got hurt.
I say that because one of the near-folkloric tales in our family is that sometime in the 1970s at the height of that song’s popularity and before it made it into the hymn books, my grandmother had her fill of it being sung in their service every week and decided to walk out of church. She stepped out the front doors of First Baptist Sherman, took a tumble and broke her arm.
Continue reading “Sweet Spirit”