The teeth of the digger bit into the pile of large stones,
dragging them away from the entrance to the field. A herd of cows in the next
field thundered over, curious to get a better look. The friendly operator gave
me a wave, slid open his window and started to chat.
Turns out his brother dug out our new septic tank a couple
of years ago. Yesterday, coming out of the church, I heard a cheery voice
behind me. ‘Hi Michele,’ June said, pushing a pram with a grandchild sleeping
quietly in it. A blast from the past: our kids were at school together here,
from P1 onwards. Haven’t seen her for years, but there was laughter, there was
joy in the meeting. This morning, leaving the garden centre with my neighbour,
a grey-haired lady beamed a smile of recognition at me. ‘Pauline!’ I exclaimed,
grateful to remember her name. She, too, had children the ages of mine, and she
proceeded to fill me in on the recent travels of a mutual friend, Judi.
That’s what I love about a small community. Connections.
Years ago, as a newly born-again Christian, I sometimes went
to prayer retreats where I didn’t know anyone, yet as soon as I met the others,
I felt as if I were embraced into a family.
Jesus is the ultimate connector.
No comments:
Post a Comment