When Pastor Debbie first laid out the path for our prayer labyrinth, she used small white stones that I jokingly told her reminded me of Stephen King's Pet Sematary.
But now to look at the labyrinth you would never imagine that at one time it looked spooky and forlorn, that even after we planted the Simpson Stoppers and removed the stones, the plants were so small many needed metal stakes as support.
In the beginning it was impossible to imagine how the labyrinth would one day look, impossible to imagine the plants growing high and wide enough to touch each other, impossible to imagine a path, or a tree growing in the very center, impossible to imagine the archway that serves symbolically as an opportunity to embrace faith and God and wholeness and holiness.
And yet things grow.
They grow because of rain and sun and when it doesn't rain enough, they grow because someone comes out to water them.
Things grow when they are cared for, when baby shrubs that sneak out of their metal supports fall face first into the ground are lifted back up and tucked back in around that support.
Things grow when they are given room.
Things grow when they are shown the path and given direction.
We grow in much the same way.
The labyrinth at Hope is such a beauty that even during the best of sermons, I find myself staring out the window transfixed.
But now to look at the labyrinth you would never imagine that at one time it looked spooky and forlorn, that even after we planted the Simpson Stoppers and removed the stones, the plants were so small many needed metal stakes as support.
In the beginning it was impossible to imagine how the labyrinth would one day look, impossible to imagine the plants growing high and wide enough to touch each other, impossible to imagine a path, or a tree growing in the very center, impossible to imagine the archway that serves symbolically as an opportunity to embrace faith and God and wholeness and holiness.
And yet things grow.
They grow because of rain and sun and when it doesn't rain enough, they grow because someone comes out to water them.
Things grow when they are cared for, when baby shrubs that sneak out of their metal supports fall face first into the ground are lifted back up and tucked back in around that support.
Things grow when they are given room.
Things grow when they are shown the path and given direction.
We grow in much the same way.
The labyrinth at Hope is such a beauty that even during the best of sermons, I find myself staring out the window transfixed.
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