Last week, I made my weekly trip to the St.Paul Farmer’s Market. I am always so inspired by the sheer beauty and bounty of the place. Row after row of colorful vegetables, beautiful flowers, multi-colored eggs, golden honey, hot, black coffee and equally lovely and interesting people to watch. It is a testament to the seasons and I never fail to leave feeling blessed. Blessed to live where I do. Blessed to be presented with such beauty and goodness. Blessed with the gifts of the seasons and the hands of those who have labored for my nutrition.

As sometimes happens to me in the morning, As I was walking I was visited by an enormous sneeze. A woman walking toward me did what most would do on hearing such a sound. “Bless you.” she said. I replied my thanks and continued walking, the morning need to free up my nasal passages cured.

But her ‘bless you’ stayed with me. I thought about the fact that a total stranger had just called a blessing down upon me in a public place. It felt so wonderful. The next thought that came to my mind was that if felt so good to receive, it might also feel really wonderful to give.

And so I began silently sending blessings to different people I passed. The child in the stroller who had bed hair and a chocolate sprinkle donut. The many farmers, who had been there much earlier than I had, setting up their wares for the city dwellers to purchase. The older Russian couple I have seen with regularity on Saturday mornings whose voices I love hearing as they speak their native tongue. My personal favorite vendors….the one who looks like the quintessential Norweigan bachelor farmer, the young man selling scented soaps. Blessing for all around.

To participate in the act of blessing, we agree to be a part of a relationship. We agree, I believe, that we are all connected through our creation. The Creator who breathed us all into being is the common denominator that flows through us all. By blessing I essentially say ‘I see God in you and that makes us kin.’

It all started with a simple sneeze. But it morphed into a reminder of so much more. That being alive is a gift not to be taken lightly. That I travel the road with those whose names and lives I known nothing about. That the One I claim as the Source of it all is in the mix creating connection, beauty, goodness and gratitude.

And that, in and of itself, is a blessing.

Have a wonderful, long weekend……..

“I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?’ Isaiah 43:19

I awoke this morning to the sound of rain. Outside the window I could hear the slow,rhythmic patter of this gift of water from heaven. As I lay there, I marveled at the beauty of this sound, the cleansing nature of it simply made me breathe more deeply, feel calmer someplace deep within. Why is that? I also realized what an experience of sense memory it evoked.

Immediately I remembered a particularly sweet time as a teenager. A group of friends and I, fellow singers, had gathered at a friend’s cabin to prepare music for an upcoming concert. After singing and eating and much laughter we had fallen asleep scattered all over this small space. At some point of the night, I was awakened to the sound of rain on the tin roof of the cabin.I lay there listening to its gentle affirmation of friendship, creativity, youth. Just writing these words allows for a kind of time travel, reminding me of just how lovely life can be.

Once while camping as a family near Lake Superior, the rain began just after our campfire-cooked dinner. It could have been a disastrous experience given the ages of our children. But my husband stretched a tarp across the picnic table that extended toward the tent. By the light of the lanterns and a dying fire, we played Uno with our young sons. It was such a simple moment but one that becomes a precious memory when the sound of rain falls outside the morning window. The rain did not spoil, instead, enhanced our experience of getting close to nature, of being a family.

So many times as a child I would wake up to the sound of summer rain cascading down the drain spout outside my bedroom window. This would often mean a respite from the hot,humid days of summer in southern Ohio. Most often I would reach out for the book that had been abandoned on the floor the night before when I had fallen asleep in the sweaty, heavy air that was now being given it’s marching orders by the morning’s rain. I would snuggle back under the covers, open the cover of the damp feeling page, and read until it felt like time to get up.

If you notice, often in movies rain arrives in a scene to show that a person or situation is being transformed, cleansed, changed in some way. A man whose life has been falling apart will, in his distress, walk down a street. As he struggles with the issues his life has produced, a gentle rain will begin to fall. Sometimes his tears will begin to mingle with the raindrops and he, and those of us watching, will see that something is changing before our very eyes. What was painful or filled with sadness is being washed, cleaned, made new.

Rain is real and important and necessary. It is also a wonderful metaphor. With the sound of this morning’s rain, a new day is dawning. Fresh. Clean. Ripe with life. Baptized in the gifts of the Spirit. Can you hear it? Can you feel it?

In this morning’s Star Tribune, I was glad to see a continuation of a story that began in early summer. The paper had followed two gardeners, one a novice and the other seasoned, through the process of planting, tending and harvesting. It was a fascinating study of two people’s desires to know where their food comes from and to be in connection with that process. The first article was filled with the hope and promise of the seeds, the excitement of planting and, for the novice, the learning curve that was being embraced. As the summer has played out, it has become clear that the wisdom of being a gardener is never ending. While the knowledgeable gardener knew where to begin, what to buy, how to plant, etc., today’s article proved once again that, with gardening, you can never truly predict what will happen. Kind of like life, isn’t it?

Gardener Catrina Mujwid-Cole, the long-time gardener remarked that, while the season has been hot and often quite rainy, her yields have been good. She was happy. But when asked what her biggest surprise was she spoke of a ‘volunteer’ pumpkin plant that could have been the collective result of last year’s discarded pumpkin and the frantic activity of a backyard squirrel. Volunteer? I puzzled over this new, at least for me, naming. I have often called the sudden appearance of something I have not planted a mistake or a miracle, depending on my mood when I found the misplaced plant. But I loved the idea of this phenomenon being called a ‘volunteer’!

I can imagine a pumpkin seed jumping up and down: “Take me! Take me! I’ll volunteer to show up in that garden.” Or, as usually is the case in our garden, the volunteer is a sunflower.: “Yes, of course, I’ll volunteer to plant myself in the middle of those dahlias. That will make the humans sit up and take notice.” And then this year, there was the stray little patch of dill that manifested itself in a rocky, bed near the side of our house. Perhaps it volunteered to be present so I could tuck it into the dill pickles that now line our pantry shelves. Which is just what I did.

There is a certain element of sacrifice in volunteering. We see it in the volunteers that offer themselves at our schools and churches, in our communities, our nation and the world. They give of their time, their talents, their gifts, their service to make the world a better place. They lighten the load of others and often stand in the shadows when praise is handed out. Sometimes their volunteer work is planned and thought out. They know exactly where they are going. Other times volunteers, like the pumpkin seed, yield more than anyone can imagine. This was true of the tiny one that showed up to fill Catrina’s garden with a “vine that is taking over my garden, and it’s got a huge pumpkin on it, the size of a basketball.”

Volunteers. The world could not survive without them. And it is certainly a more lush and beautiful place for all the work they contribute. And, sometimes, it is even better when it is all a surprise!