My neighbor, Mary Ellen, belongs to a church on the North Shore. A Catholic Chapel, in a beautiful residential area surrounded with old mansions. The drive there is serene, shadows dancing on the road, day lilies blooming wild on the road side.
I have not been to a church since my children left to college. We had great time belonging to a small church with maybe 150 Lutheran families. Everybody had to have a group they were part of to run the congregation. I eagerly joined the Sunday School group but particiapted best with social outings. My bowling average was 155! Coffee hours, bake sales. We knew alot of people, but I felt we had few friends, more acquaintances. All nice people, through. The pastor left, a new one came. Everything got too free, the sermons got too trivial. The pastor’s wife had a ballet group and they danced on the Altar. Fun. But not for me. I yearned for the traditional.
My church visits are now limited to travel. Every Cathedral I can visit, I visit. I light a candle in everyone of them. I linger.
But back to Mary Ellen. She has volunteered in her church for many of things. The ground’s keeper had died, no one took care of the gardens. She worked on them for couple of years alone. They now also have divided the work among volunteers. Mary Ellen’s area is filling in with hydrangeas and perennials. “Hey, would you like to come with me to do some planting tomorrow?” she asked on Monday. I was available and willing. We love gardening, we swap plants. We admire each others every plant!
We planted, it came out lush and green and purple. We went to the chapel, I pinned a lace on my hair. The candles were burning, the peacefulness of the room, the yearning for traditional is still in me.
The entire morning was beautiful.