Gardening For The Soul

Below is a piece I wrote and delivered at a recent evening service at First Parish Unitarian Universalist Church in my home town.

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In November 1997, Kenny and Bobbi McCoy gave birth to sextuplets one month after I gave birth to one child.  I had a high level of interest in the McCoys.  In my infrequent spare time I read about them in magazines, watched news stories about them and thought about them as I was attempting to get just one screaming baby to sleep.  How on earth were they coping with seven?  Well as I learned more, I came to see that once they took the babies home, they had an extraordinary amount of help from their church community, people who took turns helping with diapering, feeding, bathing all those children.  And this got me to thinking.  Where was my community?  Who would help me look after my metaphorical seven babies, not that I had any plans for that particular challenge.

So I decided that as my family was in the UK and my husband’s parents were about to move to Florida, I wanted to find something, a community, a group of people that gave me the warm and fuzzies, people of similar mind and persuasion who would be there for me in times of trouble.  I was raised Anglican so my first port of call was the Episcopalian church.  I joined their play group for parents and children and met some wonderful women.  However, I had a lot of trouble actually going to church as there were large chunks of the service that I was questioning, such as who exactly was the  Holy Ghost?  I asked around and kept my eyes open for other churches that might appeal to me.  First Parish was on my radar screen for two main reasons:  I live close to the center of town and had always loved the church bells ringing on a Sunday – it so reminded me of home and secondly, they had a female minister.  I had no clue at all as to the UU religion but after a few years of heming and hawing, I plucked up the courage one day and after some nervous moments wondering where the entrance actually was, found myself in church.

I felt an immediate affinity to the place – after all the sanctuary was painted light pink or so it appeared from the light streaming through the beautiful windows!  The amount of love, connection and joy, the sense of a caring community that I felt in the place during my first few visits did give me the warm fuzzies – I literally felt like I had come home.  I had found a place where my spirit could be free.  Over the years I was part of the religious education group, attended reguarly on Sunday mornings, did chalice lightings and small group ministry.  But after I went back to working full time in Boston, I wanted my weekends to be emptier so to speak and I started playing tennis on Sunday mornings so although I remained a member, fulfulling my financial obligations, my attendance dwindled.

Then of course, my seven babies came home to roost and last year, I was diagnosed with very early stage breast cancer.  I wanted to reach back out to this caring community but had feelings of guilt  – why if I didn’t go in the good times should I expect support in the bad.  Well, luckily for me, I don’t get to make the rules!  Word got out and before I knew it, 3 or 4 people from my time here, including Ellen, the Minister called me to offer their love and support.  I was incredibly touched by the messages that came in.  And at that point I knew that although I might not have been here physically, spiritually First Parish still ruled my heart.

I started to come back to church on a more regular basis, attending the evening services.  And in that, the old feelings came flooding back.    And so that is why, for me, this place matters.  It is a safe haven in good times and bad.  A place where my soul can be at peace.  A place where I can explore my relationship to God without judgment, a place where I am free to question all that is in here and all that is out there.