The pastoral staff spent the day collaborating. We brainstormed about programs that help the congregation, and ways to be more intentional about it. It was a fruitful exercise, and knit us closer to one another. My affection and respect for my coworkers expanded in the effort to be a team. 

The event took place at a local bed and breakfast. The gracious home has three fireplaces with oak hearths, curved glass panes above the window seat, three porches, and two staircases. There is even a spot in the closet where the children who lived there eighty years ago wrote their names over their coat hooks. 

As I sat listening to the conversation I noticed the artwork. There are paintings, and pottery, and photography by local artists. As it happens there will soon be one of my star quilts on a bed upstairs. 

A painting of a little girl in a meadow filled with irises captured my attention. Their petals were purple and yellow, and she was absorbed with picking a bouquet. Maybe she planned to give it to her mother. For part of the day I sat on a couch where the sky behind her head appeared to be nothing but clouds. Yet later I sat where I could make out a face hiding in the texture of the paint. The child's grandmother was watching over her. 

I confess that the person speaking at the time faded from my attention while I absorbed the image. The girl was oblivious to her protector, feeling only the gentle breeze and the sunshine. Maybe it was really the breath and adoration of her grandma, transformed across the divide into earthly sensations. 

For a fleeting moment, I could see, or perhaps just feel, the waft of affection from those angels who smile down on what we were trying to accomplish.