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A Sunday After Church

Tonight was our writers group meeting and my 88 year old friend Vi shared this piece, written a few years ago. I asked her if I could post it as it fit so well with the theme of Thanksgiving and she gladly agreed. Thank you Vi. (The cat in the story, Snowy, just had to be put to sleep at 21 years old. Vi is sadly missing him.)
I'll be back tomorrow! Belinda

By Vi Gann

I was strangely moved by the minister's sermon that Sunday and on my way home made a mental note to finish reading the message on the back of the bulletin which had also stirred feelings in me.

Lunch over--my husband and I made our way into the garden to pick the tomatoes that had turned red and the green beans that were hanging invitingly. As I picked, I marveled at the strength of that little green stalk that supported the bean. The sun shone, the wind blew gently and I knew that I would have to go back into the garden after freezing the beans.

I placed a small roast of pork in the oven and out I went into the garden with my glasses and church bulletin. I settled myself in a garden chair and looked around. Our efforts this year were rewarding--the tomatoes hung full and heavy--the green beans flanked the wall under the kitchen window--the leaves dark green.

I looked across to the left--the climbing rose was indeed climbing, but somehow had forgotten to bloom--something to investigate next year. The zucchini plants had been fruitful--some did get away and grew to enormous proportions--never mind--good for zucchini bread. Some beets still to harvest and the potato experiment still to discover.

The sound of a small plane passing overhead caused me to look up. The sky was an azure blue streaked with white paint--then seemingly blotted with cotton wool. A solitary bird watched from the rooftop as I shifted my position in the chair. Soon the bird feeders at my right were bustling with tiny sparrows. The distance between us was such that I could almost touch them--but they accepted my presence and went on feeding. A grasshopper landed on the grass beside me--a glance through the patio doors showed the cat languishing lazily on the floor, the curtain blowing across his face--no mice to catch--why not! Husband, snoozing in his favourite chair.

Suddenly the honk--honk of geese punctured the air and there they were--flying in formation. As I looked up my eyes clouded with tears--there's something about geese flying south to winter that strangely affects me and at that very moment I sensed God's presence and felt him close to me.

I turned to the back of the bulletin and read:
Let us hold up with equality the various gifts that God has endowed to each of us. Let us celebrate the fruits of our labours.
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