Morning Light, Waxler Church

Morning, and my little shadow dog and I cannot believe it is sunny. Cold, but beautiful. It's been a long time since we cast a shadow on the ShadowBarn.  I like my summer shadow better--does this fleece make me look fat? 

Your responses to Spirit Light were every bit as interesting as the post. Thank you for sharing your stories. These photos were all taken the same morning that Ada Louise, the little Hune girl, sent her rainbow message to me. Sunbeams were dancing everywhere. 

My Bacon was on high alert, watching for who knows what? 

We reveled in the rectangles of light and warmth making their way through the church interior. I never come here without wishing I could somehow stay, write, think, paint here. (It is very cold inside now and I can't stay long).  The light is so wonderful. And the acoustics are absolutely amazing. You can sing in a normal tone and fill the space like Pavarotti. I can only imagine how the voices of the choir and congregation rang, especially when the hymns were sung in German. They'd shake the rafters.

There was a church, even more beautiful than this one, with generous concrete steps to sit on and narrow beautiful weathered wainscoting, that once stood on our road at the spot of my beloved little cemetery. I treasured it. But the roof went and then the floor slumped and fell in and people without conscience or dignity did nasty things in there and before too long the township people came and burned it down. That was a dark, dark day.

Now all that's left of the church is a rectangular green depression in the grass, two arbor vitaes, once so magnificent, scarred forever by fire, and of course the congregation, who aren't going anywhere. Nancy Love, the Scotts, the Congletons, the little girls and boys stopped cold by Spanish flu. 

 I pray the same fate will not befall the Waxler Church. So far, so good. Being up on a hilltop instead of hidden in a holler has a way of keeping vandals at bay. Yet maintaining a building in standing state takes money, money no one around here has. As long as the roof is good...

Shadows of unseen trees paint its back. The shadows are so long in the morning.

The only sign of vandalism here, one broken light. Did someone throw a rock in this hallowed space, then, hearing the shattering glass, stop and think better of breaking all the rest? There's no replacing those fixtures anymore.

I love that a caring person has brought a bathmat for muddy shoes, even though no services are held here anymore. It seems to me that people around here fall into three categories: The ones who would bring a bathmat to an abandoned church; the ones who would throw rocks at its light fixtures; and the ones who merely hope it stands forever.

 The doors hold a glimpse of winter sun on the land. I like to let some new air in when I visit.

My eye runs down the German names on the list of parishoners. There are Alma and Herman Hune, who I believe to be Ada Louise's parents. City Treasurer in Marietta was a Peppel. There were Heldmans at our church in town; Morgensterns on our road, and there's Irene Payne, who at 86 still lives on my favorite running route. More about Irene later...

Services were still held every other Sunday when this piece was printed. 

There's still a little service held here on Sundays, a service for two. One, a seeker; one, a seer. 

And whomever else might be attending. You never know. 

As my friend, actress Jane Alexander commented on the last post,

"Whatever is happening here, it is we who make the connections
with our minds, our memories and our needs. These visitations 
are telling us to pay attention, to what is not always easy to discern...but as Hamlet says 'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'" 

The sun rises behind the Waxler Church, illuminating and casting deep shadows, too.

And I am so blessed to be here to see this. 

My friend Tim Ryan gave me this:

"The lesson which life repeats and constantly enforces is 'look under foot.' You are always nearer the divine and the true sources of your power than you think. The lure of the distant and difficult is deceptive. The great opportunity is where you are. Do not despise your own place and hour. Every place is under the stars, every place is of the world." (John Burroughs) 

On the run home, my daily redtail.