| Author | Message | ||
| M
Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4306 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Ascending and Descending WendyC The stairs groan under the weight of lifting a century of parishioners to worship. I place my foot up another concave step, breathe the comforting smell of old wood. I smile, catching a glimpse of hot pink nail polish peek out from my open toed shoes. The women before me with the solid, sensible shoes that wore the first marks in these steps; what would they have thought of me, and of my friend waiting robed in the sanctuary, her heart and words ready to move the spirit in us this week? The stairs know our burdens don’t change. One hundred years bearing people up with all the questions, heartaches and joys that remain constant regardless of the age. After all, isn’t each of us searching for the same God? As we filter back down to the front doors after service, we comment on the sun today. Almost at its zenith, it still blazed neon, and everything is cast in an amber glow giving the most common objects a unique sheen. It is unusual and attractive. It is poetic. While driving home with the radio on I learn of wildfires hundreds of miles away thrusting smoke and debris high into the atmosphere. Guilt pierces me sharp and quick. How easy it is, given enough distance, to mistake destruction for beauty. |
