Finding Home in Montana

“What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.” Crowfoot, Native American warrior and orator

Community

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12.18.12 In my Monday Creative Women’s Group, we’ve been doing a program together about “grace.” One of our members happens to be the pastor of a local congregation and it was her turn to lead our Monday group. Setting the “grace” curriculum aside, she brought in gingerbread men for us to decorate together and to just talk, in our little community. We laughed, named our goofy creations, ate the icing, made a mess. She had preached the day before, gathering her community together during this terrible time, and at the end of the service, she passed around rectangular pieces of paper to everyone and asked that they write down a wish, a dream, a prayer for what they hoped for in the world in the weeks ahead. Then each congregate made a circle of their piece of paper, attaching it to one another in one long garland of hope. Grace.

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