Spring Snow

Happy Easter! 

And yes, what a memorable and unusual Easter!  

The April snow reminded Marion, what we are learning these challenging days  - that we don’t get to control everything and can’t immediately fix or solve everything too. But it is our charge to, “listen to and take on the earth-saving, people-saving responsibilities laid at our our clumsy terrestrial feet.” I love that. Thank you Marion.

Thank you for sharing your reflections on living in this time, your encouraging words and stories. We’ll include them in upcoming emails and in the newsletter.

May today amidst all it brings, be gift and grace as well.

Spring Snow

It started coming down very fast and was blowing sideways. It was an hour before sunset yesterday when the world outside the window in front of my desk slowly began to lose its first soft spring colors of pea shoot green baby grass and the stretching yellow yawns of the tiny waking forsythia blooms.

I moved to the front door and watched, my breath making small cloudy puffs on the glass of the storm door. The flakes were huge, maybe the largest of the entire season as if the sky was announcing, “And now, the finale!” For a few moments, the flakes left their frantic westward run and came straight down and then, responding to the unseen conductor’s baton, moved back into their westerly wind blown journey. At one point their entire direction changed, not in a linear way, but rather as if they had heard a sudden “olly olly oxen free” shout making them all frantically look for and dash to the home base on which they were supposed to land.

It snows a lot here in my new hometown in Maine, but the old timers here tell me that it doesn’t as much as it used to. And just in the three years I have been here, my snowplow bills have gone from 18  plows to 14 to this year’s five, and the snowbanks left behind have diminished from above my head to knee high that melted in just a few days. I was also warned by the Harbor-born folks that I should never get smug and assume winter had decided she was done with us. “Muarian, ya need to be prepared. There will always be one more wicked snow.”

So when the snow began to fall around 5:00 yesterday afternoon, I smiled thinking about the fact that my “to do” list for the week had included hauling the unused wood back out to the woodpile for next year and cleaning out the fireplace. Instead, about 3:00, I had had a very strong feeling that I needed to light one last fire. So now all that wood is gone, and I am wondering about bringing in enough for a “one more night house-heating assignment.”

And as an additional fist to the forehead “Duh” moment, I remembered that the day before yesterday at almost exactly the same time, I took a picture from my deck because the gold light and deep blue-green shadows cast across my back gardens from the setting sun had burnished everything, and I swore I could hear a small fragile spring voice whispering, “Yes, as I promised, I’m back.” So I got my phone and stood barefoot in the exact same spot and once again clicked. I laid the two images side to side and simply marveled. My technicolor pregnant world had suddenly returned to pristine black and white.

So as I look out this morning on a good 4 inches of whipped cream frosting my premature and now very cold first shoots, I simply stare mesmerized by the straightforward messages that nature manages to rain (or snow) down on us when we most need it. Mother Earth and Father Sky remind us that we don’t get to control everything. We cannot immediately “fix or solve” everything. The blustery, drenching wet, suffocatingly hot, or finger and toe numbing icy voice calmly reminds us, “Don’t underestimate me. Don’t ever think you have me figured out.”

No matter how much money we have or how many hand washings we do, we are still simply the children of this planet, responding to the unequivocal, nonjudgmental, nonapologetic outcomes of the work it has no choice in doing. It is our charge to listen and take on the earth-saving, people-saving responsibilities it has laid at our very clumsy terrestrial feet. And if we need a gentle reminder, it just might snow.

Thank you Marion! 

This Sunday, April 19 the Mission Committee will deliver a Mission Moment, sharing with all of you one of their missions, The Carpenter's Boat Shop. This program offers transformative apprenticeships in the art and craft of boatbuilding, preserving the timeless skill that has forever been present in our own community. To learn more, please enjoy this VIRTUAL TOUR of the campus and its projects and programs given by Sonia Turanski, Executive Director. Please consider supporting this mission by donating online or mailing in a donation.

One of our church members is making hand sewn masks for our members and friends. If you would like a mask please let Peter know via email or phone call.

Our church staff is in need of PC video conferencing cameras. We could use 2 at this time. As you all know, we are living in the world of virtual meetings and we were not prepared! If you have any kicking around your house that are not in use, please let Peter know.

Lastly, Heather Lorrain, our Church Administrator has been working hard trying to sort through the always changing information and making sure that information reaches everyone. The church website is a great way to keep connected and updated. Heather has created a Virtual Clip Board on the website. You can find it at the very top of the Home page by clicking on the clipboard icon. This is meant to be a page of resources for families and church leaders, content that feeds your soul, and other important information. If you have something you would like to share on the clip board please let Heather know. Check it out!

With Peace and Grace,

Peter Ilgenfritz, Interim Pastor | (206) 484-9814 |

Sandra Leonard, Senior Trustee

Ella Long, Head Deacon

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