Fellowship

Fellowship

It’s the biggest thing I miss about living with my parents and my brothers.

Sure a lot of the time, we’re going our own separate ways, but just by virtue of being in the same house, fellowship happened. The same thing happens in college, which is one of the greatest things about college- all the down time, when you aren’t going to class.

It’s also one of the things that I liked about church as a kid. Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t enjoy church proper- the sitting still, the uncomfortable shoes, the being quiet. But my dad played the piano for the choir, so there were many times when we would be at the church building, but not actually in church or Sunday school or AWANA.

There were always other kids around- pastor’s kids, other choir members’ kids, and we would wander around and play games. We would stack the chairs after the service (the gym doubled as the sanctuary) and gather up the hymnals. We would go flying across the floor on the dollies.

Just being “stuck” there with some other people after hours made magic happen. The fellowship. The real deal, not the fake fellowship that churches like to throw around when they are talking about why you should come to Sunday services.

Frankly if you want the real deal-skip the service, and help clean up afterwards.

Well, now I live alone with one son, and it’s a big difference from how I grew up- one of six kids. I enjoy some things about it, but sometimes, it’s just boring.

Well, last week, we made some magic happen at my friends’ house. They were going to be canning tomato sauce, and invited me to lend a hand, because I wanted to demystify the intimidating process of pressure canning.

I figured it would be a couple hours, and we’d head home in the afternoon, hit the farmer’s market, and grab our usual Wednesday pizza for dinner.

Ha. Nope, we were there for about nine hours.

Two or three hours would have been fun, but in nine hours, you have real fellowship: washing, cutting out the nasty parts, and stirring and stirring and stirring.

It reminded me of when I did the dishes as a child. I used to take FOREVER to do them. It was our least favorite job, but somehow, some nights, maybe a brother would hang out in the kitchen with me and hilarity would ensue, or maybe my mom would be singing silly songs, and the least of jobs got elevated to supreme status.

To be honest, Caleb and I took a break from the kitchen during those nine hours. On their farm, they have these big old apple trees, which they graciously allowed us to pick from.

And we spent time in the rain, fellowshipping with nature.

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Caleb is a climber, but good climbing trees are hard to find.

Especially that have good things to eat hanging from their branches.

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He kept saying, “this is SO fun. This is sooo fun!”

At home the next day (after I got my work done), I made applesauce and apple juice (in the food processor) and the next day, I made apple pie.

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I’ve been listening to Michael Pollan’s book Cooked while I’ve been working the past couple of days, and one of the prevailing themes is that cooking (and eating the cooked fair) brings people together. Fellowship.

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