A Sunday off from Preaching
Heck I used to be a river guide on the mighty Colorado
Preaching the actual sermon is fun and inspiring.
But it takes a lot of hard work to be scripturally accurate. It takes some concentration to stay on point and match the reading for the Sunday. And 50+ weeks a year while watching my 3 year old by myself as I prep maybe was too much. So I took what they call a sabbatical, for August.
I think I am sunburned from working with my roses.
I am sorry to disappoint but my time off means pulling weeds and trimming roses and watching hummingbirds and fixing some toys and a light fixture. I am just so boring. Perhaps a hike later to find my canyon homeless people and bring them some water for it is hot today. But first a nap.
I ain't worth a plug nickle
This is not humility. This is not meant to be self absorbed. This is a day off and thinking and learning. One leaf on my roses is beautiful to me. A petal is gorgeous. A lady bug is a miracle. But me--- I am just the gardener. All I do is love them all, and try to serve so that blossoms bloom and healthy growth abounds.
We become so necessary to our world we forget how unnecessary we are.
I need to get back to preaching like this. What is preaching?
I want you to preach by your walk
Marry me! I love you! Marry me! Oh don't you know you and I can marry our selves. Walk with me and know love for I will love you. It is all I got. No fancy car, not checking account but I can love you more than you love your self.
Sing it brothers and sisters and cry out loud AMEN!. It ain't about no religion or offering it is about you and me,,,, connecting and loving one another. Do not worry I will go first. I will slit my chest open and show you my heart. Just throw me a pinky and let go of all that binds.
Let me die for you so you can revive me and feel good about my love - you.
Who cares they are just roses. But they somehow love my love.
So perhaps you can take a day off and let the plants and life preach to you.
I shut the hell up and listened for the first time in too long. And the only voices I heard were angels. I sat quiet and felt you. Yes even you. You ministered to this broken man. And I am so happy to have been broken so I could hear your soothing words.
Know that you are better than any preacher man, if you listen rather than speak. Now you have listened to me and you are my saint.
The prose goes something like this:
Devil is my companion
Hate is between my ears
A weed like a dandelion
A man consumed by fears
Nothing i do is right or ever will be
But I have faith in the one and only you
you open up both my eyes to see
and you really care just what i do
I cling to your acceptance of what I am
I need you to bare your soul so that we may clothe it together
I want you to see all that you can be
I want you to know we are birds of the feather
So I ask you to hold my weak and trembling hand
And open your heart for me to view
And let me, you to understand
As I want to be the love in you.