Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Good to know we're not alone

I look up from my sweeping and see Krystin buzzing the 86th Street door, getting no answer. She  doesn’t realize  we’re a front door open church yet. I call out to her he sees me, walks my way. The yellow goves are a nice touch, Bob, she says. They play their part, I say,looking  down at my rubber  kitchen gloves wear for steps duty. 
I invite her in. Looking good in here, she says, and I point  out the archival exhibit. She sees the picture of a young Laura Jervis. That determined look,even back then, she says. We go to Popover’s for breakfast and conversation. We’ve been colleagues in our Wednesday morning lectionary study group. She’s been the interim pastor at Broadway Presbyterian . And now that they’ve called a new pastor, her time is up. I hadn’t realized how small they’d become or how she had brought them back.
Take her all through the church. Want her to see everything that’s going on, all the activity. Take her down through the speakeasy and out to the backyard. Coffee and conversation. She is also the first of the Presbytery trustees to visit us here. Come see the oft talked about little talked with  West-Park chuch. There’s a commonly accepted to calk about curches on the westside completely ignores their differences, theologically, missionwise, etc I feel she understands more, having come here. She’s been a good colleague. And will be missed. 
Trina and her husband Phil come by for the ride up to to Stony Point.  We’re off to have more conversation about how to live off the grid, so to speak, churchwise.  Ironic how similar the situations are for each of us. Having to make it month to month. From scratch. Rick with his camp and conference center, Trina with a social ministries network, PHEWA, me at West-Park. None of us with security. All working, at different levels, to bring a new church into being. Good to know we're not alone.
When I get back, Leila is looking for places to store thier paintings durig the Woodsed run. Later, Berik comes, looks like the balcony will the best space. 
I hear noise out on the steps. Miguel is having  animated, but friendly conversation in Spanish with a friend. He’s got housing. A new bike. Things are looking up. He’s come by to find out when he can come and reclaim the things he’s left with us. I’m happy he’s made it this far. 

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