Like many Americans, my daily activities have changed drastically. We are home trying to thwart the spread of COVID-19. For me, what first appeared to be a bother is morphing into an opportunity to reflect on life’s treasures, especially the ones I rarely pause to acknowledge. 

Take plants, for example. When I was a small child, my brother and I rolled down a hill in the backyard of our home. It was covered with soft grass, the kind located in abundance in the Midwest. After tumbling head over heels, we would rise to our feet, giggling and spitting out the pieces of grass that had collected on our lips.

A few years later, when I was fraught with teen angst, I often ran a gravel-covered mile on an old country road. Tall slender guarded green stalks of corn lined the route as I traveled to a gurgling brook. The curvy creek was filled with clear water that rolled over rounded pebbles, little speckled faces that greeted me as I bent to touch the rippled surface.

When I was married the first time at twenty-one years old, I walked up the aisle to an altar flanked by blossom-covered twigs from Dogwood trees. Their white reflections bounced off brass candle sticks. It was spring. 

That first year together, my new husband and I spent hours sketching green plants, natures little gifts sprawling masterfully in forest areas surrounding our small town. I have the fondest memories of spying on countless wildflowers, Dutchman Britches laden with blooms, tiny yellow and white pants hovering upside down above leafy green foliage, and pink Phlox flowers, their heady sweet fragrance permeating the air.  

One summer, twelve years later, with tears streaming down my face, I stood twenty feet away from a huge Oak in my yard. Considering no other action to dissipate the anger I felt over the demise of my marriage, I threw rocks at it. 
Rarely did a stone touch the trunk of that ancient tree; My aim was terrible. And yet, when one did, I dropped to my knees apologizing to the broad-trunked grandfather who did not flinch at my outbursts and never once withdrew his limbs from me.

More than forty years after those youthful experiences, I reflect on the many winter months spent in northern climates when plants seek refuge in the crusted soil for warmth and protection. During the gray days of December, green is a rare sight, except for the wispy needles of Blue Spruce and White Pine. 

Steadfast and resilient, the conifers persist no matter what frozen party nature throws at them. Is it any wonder the Pine tree is revered and given a special place in everyone’s home during the darkest days of the year? Annually, we are provided with a symbol for life’s resilience.

Now that I live in the south, I continue to be in awe of the grace of green. For example, a storm can arrive in a fit of fury one moment. Then, six months later, the Sable Palms right themselves, the Sea Grapes return to painting rainbows on their leaves and the Mangroves lining the riverbanks strengthen their hold so they may once again protect newborn swimmers at play in their root-strewn nurseries.

Throughout our entire lives, you and I are surrounded by the some of the earth’s most precious contributions. We are fed, nurtured and sheltered by countless green things. To acknowledge that we are part of the “interconnected web of life” is to recognize that we have been rewarded repeatedly, regardless of whether we have deserved it or not. 

A most honorable response is required. At the very least, may we demonstrate gratitude for what we have received. At the most, might we promise to take drastic measures to do all we can to protect what the earth has bestowed on us.  

In the days ahead, when most of us are hunkered down in our homes, I hope you’ll take some time to consider how plants have been an important part of your life, how you have been nurtured, loved and yes, maybe even forgiven by the grace of all things green.

***
Have you ever stopped to consider the persistent presence of plants throughout your life? How have plants been with you as you grew from childhood to adulthood?  I’d like to hear from you. Email me at minister.ffp@gmail.com

Tell me now, how many of you have felt like a foreigner in congregational settings outside of Friendship Fellowship?

​How many of you know that, as part of the community that meets here at our Unitarian Universalist gathering place on the hill, you are loved and accepted not JUST for whomever you love or whatever you believe but because, basically speaking, you know in your bones that relationships matter here? Time and space are made available to form lasting, meaningful friendships and to “seek truth in love” with others who journey with you.

I wonder, how much do you love the music provided for Sunday services at Friendship Fellowship? Although our pianist says she’d “play for free” and our choir director appreciates kind words of appreciation, they both accept small stipends because they really do know we are saying we believe the experience of live music is deeply meaningful.
​
Members and Friends of Friendship Fellowship, there are many gatherings held at the Coffeehouse at the bottom of the hill and in Fellowship Hall several steps away. Yes, we host weekly Sunday gatherings at both places but there is so much more that occurs.

Coordinating the various activities requires attention. It is my hope that you know the value of paying people to organize and facilitate those meaningful gatherings. When it comes to supporting our Unitarian Universalist sanctuary on the hill, I don’t think you fully understand the extent of influence you have with your financial gifts. For example, through your pledges and contributions, you all make it possible for the Sierra Club, the group that lobbies to protect the environment, and for Moms Demand Action, the group that organizes and fights for stronger gun laws, to meet in safe, comfortable surroundings. Those two groups, and others who rent the space, pay a minor rental fee but the amount does not come close to covering the cost of the utilities it requires to keep the doors open.

This past year, several friends and members from Fellowship participated in the Pride Parade in Melbourne, a Climate Strike in Cocoa Beach, an Anti-Fracking rally on Highway 1, a picnic down the road with other area UU congregations, and a community-wide public event held in Brevard County called United in Thanksgiving. There were meetings held at Friendship Fellowship that provided opportunities to organize such events. Currently, through contributions from this organization, we support national and international efforts to promote our values and the principles that we Unitarian Universalists work so hard to follow. Some of our funding supports the Unitarian Universalist Service Committee and other organizations and faith partners that are working to incorporate human rights-based approaches to amplify the voices, advocacy, and solutions of frontline communities facing challenges associated with climate change. Locally, nationally and internationally, Unitarian Universalists have always advocated for human rights. In the past, we also fought for marriage equality, for women’s rights, for equal access to health care, for voting rights for those who were incarcerated and for LGBTQ concerns. Today, we are gearing up for a very difficult fight to make sure honest and fair practices in democracy are restored. Now, here is where I am going with this rant about the importance of financial contributions. Throughout my time in UU ministry, I have heard people complain when we bring up the topic of pledging in our congregations. I am aware of people who comment loudly, “My word! You talked about giving money here. This place is just like all the other churches. I’ll have nothing to do with it.” Rather than saying something is wrong with “asking for money” in our beloved fellowship, I wonder why individuals aren’t asking themselves, “My word! Why am I so appalled at a request for money to support a place with a mission, a vision, and principles that are so important to me? Why would I NOT want to support the fellowship?” By the way, no one is telling anyone what to give. Each person must discern what feels right. A billion dollars or a mason jar filled with coins. It’s up to you. And your contribution is private knowledge except for the treasurer or the finance person who is doing the asking. When I was attending seminary to become a minister, I remember saying to myself, “My word! I love this professor and this class so much. I haven’t paid nearly enough for what I am receiving.”

Now, mind you, twelve years later and encumbered with student loans that I still pay for on the first day of every month, (Side note: I was not a reckless borrower. I worked full-time when I was in training.) and an income that is honorable but not nearly what I could be making in other fields, I don’t begrudge the money I have to repay. Because, what I am receiving from this Unitarian Universalist journey is invaluable. I know that my efforts are making a difference in the lives of others. I’ve witnessed it first-hand and through stories shared by complete strangers.

Your love, my love, our love, and our efforts mean something. Our expenditures to keep Unitarian Universalism alive is not in vain. (Just ask one of the Lesbian, Gay, or Transgender young people who came here to watch a movie a month ago last Saturday, if it meant something to them to be in a room where they can hold hands with loved ones without fear of being bullied. Don’t know who they are? I would be happy to ask one of them to tell you. Finally, the next time you go into a grocery store to buy something, say you want to buy a piece of chocolate because you know a little sweetness in your life lifts your spirits just a wee bit, I dare you to say to the cashier when she tells you what it costs: “My Word! All you people do is ask for money.”

With much appreciation for your generosity,

Reverend Amy Kindred, Minister

I recall an art student in college, when I attended
many years ago, who made her own shoes. (For the
entire semester, she painted portraits of John Denver.
I think I counted six paintings. Each one was the
same.) It was rumored the young woman grew her
own food and lived without electricity. She made
her own clothes including her boots. When she wore
her boots to class, I tried not to stare at them. I was
so intrigued with how she got a needle through the
thick leather animal skin that covered her feet and
protected her from the harsh winter weather of the
mid-west.
Today, I don’t think much about cold, snowy seasons
and I don’t see many boots in this area either. In
Florida, where I live, shoes are optional. Flip flops
are the norm. (I once told someone I liked her
thongs. She twisted to look at her behind, gave me a
dirty look and walked on. To my embarrassment, I
realized you don’t call shoes “thongs” anymore. The
older I get, the more I am challenged to keep up
with the rules that society is changing on me.)
My favorite shoes have always been platforms. They
are the ones with a thick sole in the front and in the
back. I can gain as much as three inches in height
when I put on a pair which is helpful when I go to
the bank where the counters are tall, and I am not.
A couple of months ago, I bought a pair of
Birkenstocks. These are the classic cork-enhanced
sandals made in Germany. Recently, I was wearing
them. My day was not going the way I had hoped. In
order to feel better, I reminded myself to go back to
gratitude.
I stepped forward with my left foot and whispered,
“thank,” took a step with the right foot and ended
with “you.” I got to walking faster and faster while
muttering “thank you, thank you, thank you” all the
way down the sidewalk. I have dubbed the sandals,
“my thank you shoes.”
All shoes should be “thank you” shoes. Don’t you
think?
May you feel protected on your journey.
May you experience acceptance for who you are and
how you are.
May you proceed with gratitude and grow to trust
the future.

“The stars are dancing tonight, while the moon sits in her golden hammock,
Swaying back and forth to the rhythm of celestial voices…
Do not sit alone in the dark while creation sings three-part harmony.
Dance, my friends. Dance wildly, sing joyfully, fill your heart with the beauty of the Beloved
As the Beloved turns your soul to light.” 
                – An excerpt from a poem by Om Prakash.

I knew a woman who had two cats. “Winter” was the name of one of them and “Summer” was the name of the other. Their personalities could not have been more different. Winter was huge. His stomach touched the ground when he walked. He moved very slowly except when he heard his food hit the dish! Summer was big also, but she was not as chubby as Winter. For example, her tummy did not swing back and forth as she sauntered. 

Summer loved to chase things. The minute my friend would pull a small pen light from inside a desk drawer, Summer would pace. When we clicked the light on, pointed the beam at the floor projecting the tiny target, Summer would pounce. She seemed very serious in her attempts to capture the moving light. My friend and I giggled uncontrollably as we watched the younger cat at play. 

Winter, the elder, appeared to be totally disinterested. He would watch the dot of light move for a minute or two then he would look away, toward the window like there was something better to see beyond the curtains. Sometimes Winter napped even as Summer bounced around the room, wild with determination. (Come to think of it, I wonder if Winter had a thyroid problem? Occasionally, I can totally relate to his lethargy.)

This month at Friendship Fellowship at Pineda, our theme for worship services is Mystery. Like the two completely different personalities of the cats I described above, our season of winter is filled with mystery. Of course, scientifically speaking, we know why it’s dark but for most of us, this time of “absence of light” provides opportunities to wonder and reflect for even in Florida, the arrival of December means fewer hours of daylight. Evenings approach sooner than we desire. At seven in the evening, we look around and think, “It must be getting close to eleven, right?” Although darkness invites us to slow down a little, most of us still long for light. 

Perhaps the best part of our winter holidays is the appearance of illuminations. We are delighted to gaze at twinkling lights on evergreen trees (at Christmas), candles ablaze on a menorah (during Hanukkah) or flames flickering on a kinara (a candle holder set alight for Kwanzaa).  

This holiday season, I hope you’ll be a little bit like Summer, the cat. May you experience joy at the appearance of the dancing lights because by now, most of us have had more than enough dark dreary days of concern. Let’s make a solemn vow to sing, dance and pursue the light of hope in the advancing days. May we become unfrozen by fear and allow our hearts to celebrate.      May it be so.