Hosted by Randy Smit and Rhonda Edgington
Trudy Vander Haar joined Hope Church in 1992, when she and her husband Del, who served as calling pastor, retired in Holland. Trudy served as an elder, was a storyteller for Children in Worship, was active in Circle, Brim Bunch, Hope Church Readers, and wrote a series called Branches on the Vine, which shared the life journeys of Hope Church members. Trudy passed away in February at the age of 94. At her funeral, her family included with the bulletin two poems she had written; she’d included the poems in a book called Come to the Waters, which Trudy put together for her kids, grandkids, and great grandkids. In its introduction she wrote, “I invite you to come to the waters by taking just a few moments to let me share some of my thoughts or experiences.” She described them as random pieces she had written on her life journey. As is evident in her writings, poetry was an important part of Trudy’s spirituality—an opportunity to notice more deeply what God was doing in her life and the world. See “A Warm Spot,” right. (Poetry Corner thanks Jane Van Es for help in putting this together)
“Some of my most sacred moments have been in God’s beautiful creation, usually where there is a body of water—a creek, a river, a lake or an ocean. I don’t know any more than the rest of you what heaven will be like. It doesn’t matter because we are promised a very special place. Of course I like to think that my heaven will include water, because I have enjoyed its beauty in so many places.”
Good friends, with Poetry Corner entering its second season, it remains our joy to share that same spirit of wonder and grateful noticing with you each month. Sometimes just a few phrases or lines from time to time is all it takes to call us right back to life as it feels to us exactly where we are; awake to abundant blessings, ready for truth, restored through the miracle of creative expression. (Oh, how we’d like to hear from ya…)
A WARM SPOT
I remember that one spot
in the dining room of my childhood.
I remember the hot air register on the east wall,
and losing things down the cavern
of that square of black metal.
I remember “finding things” there too—in favorite books.
I remember Mama sitting in her chair reading to us
as we gathered around, hugging the register.
I remember that spot of warmth in the big, cold parsonage,
and I remember the emotional warmth I felt—listening—
surrounded by loved ones and favorite story characters.
CONCERT
Lying on the beach with eyes closed,
I listen to the music of the sea;
Whoosh, swish, roar and sigh,
Humming, gurgling, trickling sounds
Blend in perfect counterpoint
Orchestrated by some mysterious Hand.