Maggie and Kate scooted into church, armed and ready for one of their favorite Sundays: The Blessing of the Backpacks. It happens yearly, when school starts.
A couple of weeks beforehand, Patrick Gray, our Rector, reminds: “Students, bring your backpacks. Everyone else, bring your briefcase, computer, hammer, diaper bag, some symbol of your work.”
Since retiring, I’m never sure where I fit. Can’t bring all the Grands, my primary calling, now. So lugged my laptop. “Lord, please bless the writing, communicating.”
When Patrick called up the backpackers, students swarmed to the front, eager for blessings, hopes high for the coming school year.
Blessed and beaming, Maggie and Kate scooted back to our pew. Meanwhile, I wondered when or if I should go forward.
While I pondered, Kate and Maggie heard, then yelled, “Go, Momo! He’s calling for Gordon College people.”
Do I still fit?
Maggie and Kate barked, “Momo, it’s Gordon. That’s you! Go!”
So I went,
Laptop and I,
Not as much by sprinkled holy water, since I felt not a drop, but by the diverse men and women around me, faculty and staff from Gordon College, Gordon-Conwell and other places. Their tools? Hearts, minds and serving hands. Fellow strugglers, truth seekers and tellers.
Jud and I, so blessed to have spent the better part of our working years, fulfilling a mission we believed in, with people we grew to love.
Including many no longer at Gordon.
When Patrick made his final call, down the aisle came a solitary figure. All eyes turned as a professional hockey player, gear slung over her shoulder, strode to the front for a blessing.
Patrick sprinkled player and pads, prayed, then shouted, “Goal!”
A winning Sunday in September.
Blessed beyond belief.
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