The fruit of pandemic

Friday evenings, from Memorial Day weekend through Labor Day, is the neighborhood 'block party' at the Triangle. Many crowd the neighborhood area, camping out with folding chairs, wine and blankets. They eat, drink and socialize. It was never a 'must go' for me; I was just an occasional attendee.

As an introvert, I don't generally love noisy gatherings—this one included. For years, I resisted the crowds and traffic, the chaos of blaring radios, local band music and surging packs of kids roaming the streets. 

Now that party is all I think about. It shimmers like a dream, catches in my throat: the sparkling late afternoon sun, the guitars echoing off the home walls, the smell of grilled food and car exhaust. I want to ask the party for forgiveness, to take me back. I want to walk down the hill and join the festivities, swirling and twirling among my neighbors as much as I want my next breath. 

Grace and peace,

Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation