Plymouth UMC

Plymouth UMC United Methodist Church

Someone I know reminded me today of the blessings of an ordinary day. I don’t know what struggles she’s had lately, but ...
06/03/2026

Someone I know reminded me today of the blessings of an ordinary day.

I don’t know what struggles she’s had lately, but I know this—she is grateful today is a calm and ordinary day.

And I think, maybe we don’t give thanks often enough for these days.

For Wednesdays when sun shines bright, when wind blows soft.

For ordinary days when work still gets done, but slower.

When we are not so much in a hurry as deliberate, moving from task to task in a way that accomplishes what we need but does not deplete us, heart and soul and mind and strength.

Maybe we don’t say prayers enough to the God of us all for days when laundry flaps in the wind out on clotheslines, when we clip gardenias from the edge of yards and bring them inside to grace us with beauty while we sweep floors.

Maybe we should give thanks more for the slowness of middle of weeks, when less is urgent and more is noticed.

The buzz of hummingbird wings.

The flash of red on a blackbird when he snatches peanut from feeder.

The sigh of wind through green leaves.

The gloss of horse’s flank, glistening with sweat when she gallops up for supper.

The smell of biscuits baking, sound of ice maker, for clean dishes and for rocking chairs.

For ordinary days.

For good books and favorite songs, for yellow daisies and green things sprouting, for good dogs and old trucks and for dirt lanes that always take us home.

For these and for all thy blessings, Lord, we give you thanks.

Blessings,
Vickie

06/02/2026

I know they’re w**ds, but I watch them dancing on the side of the road, and I just don’t care.

They bend, sway, dip, stretch like ballet dancers on a stage.

They bow and curtsy one to another, partners in a dance I can neither predict nor choreograph.

I watched them while I drove, admiring them for miles until I finally stopped to examine them more closely.

Queen Anne’s Lace, w**d with elegant name, dances beside roads and on ditch bank. Whether w**d or cultivated flower matters not one bit—they continue waltzing with the wind, doing what they do, oblivious to us as we pass by.

But today I give thanks that I was not oblivious to them.

I give thanks for their grace and their elegance.

And I give thanks to the Creator of us all.

Blessings,
Vickie

Standing water finally dried in my garden. Alleys are dry enough I walk and my feet don’t sink down in mud any more. It...
06/01/2026

Standing water finally dried in my garden.

Alleys are dry enough I walk and my feet don’t sink down in mud any more.

It’s still wet out there.

Soil is still workable.

But it’s nice to be able to walk and not squish.

Truth, though, wire-grass had nearly taken my garden from me.

I saw it growing, saw it spreading through alleyway and on tops of rows, saw it moving ever closer to my tomatoes, to peppers and corn and beans.

I saw it move closer to squash and cucumbers, already full of blossom and sprawling green and free themselves.

I have several good excuses why I hadn’t been able to rip grass by roots and throw it out to wither in hot sun.

Good reasons, really.

But Saturday I had time.

Early in the day, while it was cool, the time when mosquitoes rule and butterflies not yet out to gladden us with their grace and color, I went to the garden to pray.

And pull w**ds.

And pull grass.

I hoed.

It makes me smile to have a hoe of my own. My Boy and I talked the other evening, and realized we shared the same experience as children—our fathers had hoes to work their gardens.

But we had knees and young backs, and so we crawled along and pulled w**ds by hand.

This hoe is mine, and yet I found myself kneeling down, squatting down, crawling along rows and pulling grass carefully out from under squash, uprooting w**ds beneath cucumbers.

And praying.

The work was hard, but this?

I prayed my way through the garden.

I talked to God while I worked as though God were there with me, and, He was.

I prayed for everyone as they came to mind.

This I remember—for all the reasons we find not to pray, for all the reasons we think we cannot pray, for all the times we think we don’t know how to pray, we are wrong.

Paul reminds us, “The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.” (Philippians 4.5b-6).

May we always open our hearts, open our minds, and pray about everything.

Blessings,
Vickie

I had the best sandwich for lunch today! I was at a cafe in another city, having lunch with someone who really matters t...
05/30/2026

I had the best sandwich for lunch today! I was at a cafe in another city, having lunch with someone who really matters to me.

She and I meet fairly regularly, not often, but often enough we keep in touch about sons and daughters and work and God.

Life in different places keeps us apart, but we make an effort to touch base and remember who we are to each other.

But we met in a place different from our usual lunch place.

And I had a different kind of sandwich than I usually do. No grilled cheese, no soup.

Just something on wheat with a large tomato on it.

It makes me smile that I eat tomatoes now.

For many years, I wouldn’t even taste them.

My granddaddy used to say a tomato was the only thing a hog wouldn’t eat—I’m not sure if he was right or not, but he was right about most things. I don’t know if I decided then I wouldn’t eat them, or if there was another reason I didn’t, but truth is, for years, the only thing resembling tomatoes I’d eat was ketchup.

But now, I love them.

I’m like Bubba was, in the movie ‘Forrest Gump’, about shrimp.

But about tomatoes.

Tomato pie.

Tomato sauce.

Marinara sauce.

Grilled tomatoes.

Bruschetta.

Roasted tomatoes.

Tomatoes on sandwiches of all kinds!

I miss my mama, for all kinds of reasons. I miss the one person who loved me without reservation from the earliest day of my life.

But I also miss having her around to tell her once again, she was right—this time, about tomatoes.

Truth, she was right more times than I ever gave her credit for.

But I have a feeling she knows.

She already knows.

Blessings,
Vickie

There is a story I remember about a little boy, nine or ten years old, who walked along the beach beside the ocean early...
05/28/2026

There is a story I remember about a little boy, nine or ten years old, who walked along the beach beside the ocean early one morning.

Every now and again, he’d stop, pick up something, and hurl it with all his might into the ocean, as far as he could, past the breakers and out into calmer seas.

An old man watched him for some time, and finally, he walked up to the little guy and asked him what he was doing.

The little boy explained that there had been a storm the night before, and some of the starfish had gotten thrown up onto the sand of the beach.

If he didn’t pick them up and throw them back into the water, the little boy explained, seagulls and other predators would soon come along and eat them.

The old man shook his head and told the boy how foolish he was.

"Don’t you know," he said, "how very many starfish are on this beach? There are hundreds of starfish and miles of beach, and you are just one small boy. You can't make a difference."

The little boy looked at him patiently, and then leaned over, picked up a starfish, and threw it back out to sea.

"There," he said. "I made a difference to that one."

Never, ever let the voices you hear out in the world tell you that you don’t make a difference.

Never, ever let those voices tell you that you don’t matter.

Because you do.

You are precious to God, and you are cherished by God.

Jesus said, "Do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows." (Luke 12.7).

And you are of more value even than those starfish on the beach.

This evening, know that you are God's beloved.

I’m certain of it.

Blessings,
Vickie

The Old Farmer always said, no matter how dry it got, one day it would be just that wet again.He was usually right. And ...
05/27/2026

The Old Farmer always said, no matter how dry it got, one day it would be just that wet again.

He was usually right.

And he was this time, too.

We’ve been dry up here on the farm, as dry as it is everywhere else.

But I planted a garden this year, my first one ever on my own.

It’s small, as far as gardens go, three rows, and not long rows.

I’ve got some pretty little sweet corn, string beans, a few squash and cucumbers and tomatoes.

I’m excited about the tomatoes. I have a yen to make tomato pie with tomatoes from my own garden.

But it rained.

Rain has made tomato plants grow by leaps and bounds; squash and cucumbers are spreading all over rows and aisles.

And so is grass.

Overnight, I went from clean rows and thriving plants to grass covered hills.

I’ve been home today, a sort of Sabbath in the middle of a busy week.

So I w**ded my garden.

I started out with boots and gloves, tried to used a hoe, wound up barefooted as a yard dog pulling w**ds.

I sank nearly knee deep in mud.

Mud squishes.

But it made me smile.

Last week, I did a thing—I had a pedicure with a friend of mine, my first one ever. I didn’t tell the woman in the salon I was a farmer in one of my lives, but I think she knew. She frowned a lot as she worked on my toes.

But when she finished, my toes were pink and presentable.

Today, I’m afraid I un-did a lot of her good work.

I’m afraid to go back, lest she be disappointed in me.

Maybe a good shower will take care of the mud between my toes.

And on my toes.

The garden sure took care of my weariness—it feels good to ground myself one more time in this good earth.

Blessings,
Vickie

Some days are so long and full that at the end of them, words are hard to come by. I look back to find where I saw joy. ...
05/27/2026

Some days are so long and full that at the end of them, words are hard to come by.

I look back to find where I saw joy.

I look back to find peace.

I look back to see where God was.

And because I am tired, because the day was a blur of this and that and her and him, go here and go there, it’s hard to put my finger on any one thing.

That was today.

This day.

And so, looking back, I remember, I filled my hummingbird feeder up early today, before the sun rose high. My Boy refilled it this afternoon, and now, this evening, it needs to be filled again.

There were downpours and spatters and sprinkles all afternoon and I was in and out of it all, but I stayed dry. Mostly dry.

Roscoe and Sugar danced in mud near the gate, waiting for me to bring them supper. I did, and Sugar, ever the leader of our little herd, showed me where to bring her supper.

I did what she wanted.

And tonight, looking back, I realize God was in all of it.

Wherever I was, whatever I did, God was there.

There is a beautiful prayer of protection called St. Patrick’s Breastplate, that ends with these words:

Christ with me,
Christ before me,
Christ behind me,
Christ in me,
Christ beneath me,
Christ above me,
Christ on my right,
Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down,
Christ when I sit down,
Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who
thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who
speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.

That was this day.

Blessings,
Vickie

It’s been a while since I’ve had to feed up in the rain. We’ve been dry for some time now, bone dry. But over the past w...
05/25/2026

It’s been a while since I’ve had to feed up in the rain. We’ve been dry for some time now, bone dry.

But over the past week, rains have fallen, cool, life-giving waters.

And today, we had a full out storm. Skies clouded, thunder rolled, lightning flashed, and the heavens opened.

Curtains of rain fell.

Sheets of rain fell.

I remember mama played piano and sang alto for a southern gospel group when I was a little girl. They met at our house one evening a week and sometimes on Saturday nights before fifth Sunday singspirations.

Mr Willis. sang bass, low and deep.

Mrs. Florence soprano.

And Mrs. Margaret filled in somewhere between Florence and my mom.

I loved to hear them sing, loved the way Mr. Willis’s eyes twinkled behind his glasses when he was happy. They did what they did because they loved God, and because they loved those good old gospel songs.

I’ve been hearing them in my mind these last two days, singing “Showers of Blessing”.

We’ve needed rain so badly I kept hearing the chorus, “But for the showers we plead.”

Finally, the rains have come.

This day I have worked, I have rested, and I dashed out to feed up between showers of blessing.

The horses don’t care if it’s raining or not; they expect to be fed about five o’clock.

So I went, dodging raindrops, slopping through mud in boots and shorts.

Roscoe met me at the gate the way he always does, oblivious of weather. All he wanted was to stick his head in the bucket and steal food while we walked to his trough.

They have feeding troughs in the shelter—the idea is, I can feed them there when the weather is bad.

But, Sugar herds me, bosses me the way she does Roscoe, and lets me know when she wants feed outside the shelter and when to feed her inside.

Today, she herded me outside, and I obeyed

They ate, light sprinkles falling, and I stood in wet pasture, rejoicing in life giving rain.

Verse two of that old hymn says, “There shall be showers of blessing, Precious reviving again; Over the hills and the valleys, Sound of abundance of rain.”

For these and for all thy gifts, Lord, we give you thanks.

Blessings,
Vickie

05/24/2026

May 24, 2026

John 7.37-39

What's In Your Cup?

My Boy has a long weekend ahead of him—his office is closed on Monday in observance of the Memorial Day holiday. For a l...
05/22/2026

My Boy has a long weekend ahead of him—his office is closed on Monday in observance of the Memorial Day holiday. For a lot of reasons, I’ve been thinking about what this day means, and I’ve been thinking about Abraham Lincoln. A friend sent me part of one of his speeches I had never read before, and I am struck anew by his wisdom and his eloquence.

But Lincoln not the reason we have Memorial Day.

General John Logan is.

A few years after the end of the Civil War here in America, he declared that May 30, 1868, be observed as Decoration Day, the first Memorial Day, a day set aside “for the purpose of strewing with flowers or otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country during the late rebellion, and whose bodies now lie in almost every city, village, and hamlet church-yard in the land.”

But truth, Lincoln is the man I always think of on Memorial Day.

His Gettysburg Address is one of the loveliest pieces of writing I’ve ever read.

The spare beauty of the words he chose, just two hundred seventy two of them, say to me all that I need to know about these United States I live in, and the United States I love.

Lincoln wrote these words, and he delivered them on November 19, 1863, four and a half months after the Union armies defeated those of the Confederacy at the Battle of Gettysburg.

He went there, not to gloat, not to celebrate a victory, but to dedicate a cemetery to the dead, killed in brutal battle.

He was not the key speaker.

He was to dedicate the cemetery, but another man, a better speaker, delivered the keynote address.

Nobody remembers that man's name, and nobody remembers what he said.

But today, to this day, I remember Lincoln's Gettysburg address.

And I remember it, because he dedicated that piece of ground in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania to the lives of the men, all men, both Union and Confederate, who died there.

He dedicated, he consecrated, that piece of ground to the ideals of liberty and freedom and to the common good of our entire country, the Union he was at war to preserve.

This year, may we remember "...these honored dead [from whom] we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion".

This weekend, may we remember all those who fought and who died and who never came home to enjoy what it was they fought for.

Blessings,
Vickie

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109 E 3rd Street , PO BOX 734
Plymouth, NC
27962

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+12527932549

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