August 11, 2026
Beloved: First day back from a delightful time away from email and all things church. I slept a lot, sewed a lot, spent a lot of time with grandkids, took a little trip with my sister, gardened and did some house projects. I enjoyed it all and am grateful for the time to rest my brain, body and spirit. My garden plot is really coming on. I’ve put up a dozen jars of pesto and picked bowls of cherry tomatoes two mornings in a row. I have bouquets worth of zinnias on the stem and two bell peppers on the vine. My herbs are exploding, so let me know if you want some oregano, chives or thyme. The squirrel just showed up to check the feeders he already emptied a few nights ago, so instead he’s chewing a nub of tree branch. Behind him, workers are laying straw wattles (I had to look up the proper term) in my neighbor’s and my backyards. They’re planting grass seed over the area they dug up two weeks ago to lay drainage tile. I’m more hopeful than optimistic that they’ll be back to water what they’ve planted, else we will have our own muddy river every time it rains. Alas, not everything is mine to fret over. Ever am I startled that the world can be so calm in one spot and so chaotic in another. People the world over can only fantasize about a neighborhood so peaceful and quiet, where it’s safe to sit outside and gardens are a memory. And not just oceans away, of course, sometimes merely streets. In cities big and small, including our own. Why should I be so fortunate while others know only hardship and struggle? It doesn’t always come down to choices and hard work. I don’t work half as hard as the single mom who works at Walmart and also drives for Grub-Hub. No one chooses where they’re born: suburban North America or Gaza. I go months at a time not worrying that a hellcat missile will hit my children’s houses or my church, yet grandmothers and pastors in Palestine think about it every day. Which is to say that while I am indeed and ever so grateful for this safe and peaceful life, I also try to sit lightly with it, knowing it is so very, very fragile. We are all susceptible to the disasters, storms and tragedies that fall upon a person or a community in the twinkling of an eye. Life itself is unfragile – unsusceptible, that is – to the disasters that befall us. According to the faith within us and we share. Given freely by the Christ to us all without respect to our fortunes in this world. This is my comfort and my courage every day, most especially on the hard ones. Summer is not quite winding down, but I can feel it coming. I pray your hearts and hands and mind are well occupied this day. ~peace & prayers, pastor annette
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July 21, 2026
Beloved, It’s time to give my basil plants a deep pruning and make some pesto before they bolt much more. I’ll get another crop or two before I let it go for the season. Tomatoes are on the vine but none are even close to ripe. I’ll pick jalapeños soon, and my zinnias are gorgeous. Gardening and sewing are the two things quieting my mind this summer. Only as I leave that quiet zone do I realize how busy my brain stays nearly all the time, even when I’m sleeping. I regularly wake up from dreams in which I’m trying madly to finish a project or meet some people’s expectations. I don’t like waking up relieved to be relieved of the busyness of sleep. I like working too, writing, reading, meetings, corresponding, planning, and my visitation rounds. I just don’t like how much mental space and energy even joyful work consumes. Which I suppose is why touching dirt and growing things, or stitching hundreds of tiny pieces of fabric together is so restorative. What’s happening at my fingertips requires my concentration but the stakes are very low; starvation doesn’t drive my gardening and no one dies because my quilt blocks are crooked. I’m in it for the process and the gifts therein. If only I brought this nugget in from the garden and out of my sewing room. If only I imagined myself, in this time and place, here for the process and for the gifts therein, less than the expected, hoped-for outcomes I attach to all this labor. If only I was as willing to work as methodically and patiently at everything as I am in the garden and the sewing room. What is it about being in a hurry that suggests to me I’m working harder or doing a better job, especially when that pace exhausts me so and leaves me dodging the work rather than returning to it joyfully? Who is whispering such nonsense in my ear, so persistently that it takes root in my thoughts? Habit, I suppose, a long habit of believing work always comes before fun, before joy, that the two are naturally antonymous. A hard lesson to unlearn for sure, but in the practice I feel it softening. For that I am grateful. It smells like a put-out campfire inside my house this morning.* I hope you & yours are safe & well. ~peace and prayers, pastor annette *Canadian campfires, I assume, as nothing in my neighborhood is burning. July 14, 2026
“Whose grandma are you?” demanded the tiny barefoot girl the moment I waited for my grandgirl to be ready. Twice more by other kids, “Who are you here to pick up?” Not a smile among them. It felt more like a security checkpoint than the preschool classroom I’ve been in and out of since 1994. Turns out these kids had just joined this class from another as the school rearranges age groups. They’d interrogated adults all day, matching us to their playmates. Amazing, I thought. All this time I assumed that a room full of 3, 4 and 5 year-olds were ignoring me, when in fact they were silently keeping track of who belonged to whom. What else are they tracking, I wonder, what other data is being organized and filed in those tiny brains when all we see are kids painting and playing dress-up? They feel safer knowing who that mama, daddy, grandma, grandpa is and to which friend they belong. I feel safer when I know who is in my space and why. I also love how their enquiry designates the classroom as their domain, not mine. I am a guest, my presence there conditional on whose grandma I am.* Community is everything to us, isn’t it, from the time we begin realizing we share the world with other humans. The members of a strong community, like a preschool classroom, protect each other and their bond of belonging. They have a healthy suspicion of outsiders and practice the clear boundary-setting we adults pay therapists to teach us. They are welcoming once connection is established. I can learn so much from them for my own grown-up life, where I can be so hesitant – so afraid, that is – to tell the truth when it comes to belonging for me. Simply, the tribe I want to be part of is a tribe of people chasing the ways of Jesus, in study and in practice, enjoying this life and working together, grateful for the preciousness of being alive for such tender moments as when a 4-year-old Chinese girl asks me for some identification. I pray you have time with your people today and are strengthened by it. ~peace & prayers, pastor annette * I thought it hilarious and not a bit startling that I was immediately recognized as a grandma. I am working on embracing this identity. Beloved, I’ve been thinking about my grout, the concrete stuff that holds tile in place and gets dirtier the more it’s mopped. I’ve owned three different houses over the past thirty years, all of which had tile, and not once have I cleaned grout. The house I now own is more than 30 years old and I can say with some confidence the grout has never been cleaned as it’s black throughout the kitchen save the pantry floor where it’s a nice creamy beige. When we decide to clean something really dirty we say we are going to tackle it, which is how I spent a good part of my holiday weekend, tackling my grout. Like Brother Lawrence peeling his potatoes, the tedium of running my $10 electric scrubber back and forth in that narrow road between each tile became almost meditative, allowing me to think about absolutely nothing. Rarely can I think about nothing. Of course I am nothing like Brother Lawrence. I complain and procrastinate and am so easily distracted by all the projects I have going in this house. I do my best to forgive myself, to tell myself the mess is all my own, that it bothers no one else. Besides, I finish things all the time, just not as fast as I start new things. My simple point is this, framing our daily existence as trying to catch up cannot possibly be the life God intends for us, can it? Two baskets of laundry and stacks of dishes to be put away do not fit my idea of abundant life. But somehow mindlessly soaping, scrubbing and wiping away thirty-plus years of homemade alluvium is next level happiness for me. I fully expect to die with projects still spread out on my desk and sewing table, with unfinished books all over my house and dirty window sills I’ve been meaning to clean since last fall, or maybe the fall before that. And hopefully my grout will have turned black all over again. Because I was busy NOT fretting about what wasn’t done but enjoying what each day offered. Of course it’s far easier to write about than to practice, which is why it is called practice. Like Brother Lawrence said. ~peace & prayers, pastor annette 
Beloved:
Birdy is always beside herself to get outside first thing in the morning. Partly to take care of her business but mostly to greet the walkers. Not a few stop to love on her and she knows who has treats in their pockets. But one early morning last week a new friend was waiting at the end of our driveway. A mallard drake – standing still and looking around. I pulled up a chair to watch him do positively nothing for ten minutes but look around and take a step or two in this or that direction. No cars came by the whole time. Birdy, named such because she is a golden retriever bred for retrieving waterfowl by the by, took zero notice of A DUCK in the middle of the street not twenty feet from where she lay. Eventually a mallard hen waddled out of my neighbor’s shrubs and the two of them waddled a few yards down the street before taking wing over the rooftops. They haven’t returned as far as I know and there’s no nest across the street. Maybe they were house hunting. Maybe she needed time to herself after an argument. Clearly he was waiting for her, patiently. There’s always something to see, said my friend Jon, when I told him about the duck visit. We were talking about nature and the blessing it is to go outside and just look. When I visit him we usually sit in the same spot where there’s always something new to see: something blooming, something fading, car windows down in the pouring rain, a cardinal in the lilac bushes, a woman working circles around the men on a roofing crew, a lady riding her personal mobility scooter in the street waving at folks like she’s in a parade. All for free to anyone and everyone willing to slow down even for a minute; slow down and take in the offerings extended to us as we pass through time and space. We get this one trip through this world – sixty, seventy, eighty, ninety years. The days are long and the years are short is one of the truest phrases I know. There is so much I will never see, I certainly don’t want to miss what is right in front of me, the lovely and the hurtful. Each sharpens the other and we are better people for the sharpening. As you move through these sweltering days, I pray you stay safe and that, whatever comes your way, you face it with the hope and courage given us by this faith we claim. ~ peace & prayers, pastor annette 
Beloved:
I’m home from the CBF General Assembly with a bagful of ideas for church life and community ministry! I’m home in Indiana, grateful not to live in Florida in the summertime. I’m excited to share these ideas with you over the coming months. To that end I hope you will join us for the UBC Commons group which begins tomorrow. I’m also enjoying working on the section of the church flowerbed assigned to me. I’ve plenty more weeding to do but I’ve transferred lots of irises from my beds and have plans to move in a big clump of bergamot. The butterflies and bees love it and it spreads nicely. See Donetta and let her know you’d like your own patch to tend or if you have plants to share from your own yard. Indoors, I’ve been hand piecing a quilt and knitting a baby blanket for Poppy Ann. Of course I have oodles of other unfinished projects spread all over the sewing room and half-read books in every room. I’ve just finished The Lost City of Z, A Tale of Deadly Obsession in the Amazon by David Grann, who deep-dives into little-known historical events and people to write really amazing non-fiction narratives. Back indoors, I’m working on the usual list of projects like preaching, pastoral care, administration as well as my responsibilities with the Bloomington Severe Winter Shelter. We are currently focused on the quickly approaching enforcement date for Indiana Senate Enrollment Act 285 criminalizing (class c misdemeanor) sleeping or camping on public property. Our concern is the displacement and safety of our unhoused neighbors as they scatter to avoid arrest. They are already so careworn and exhausted, this law only adds to their trouble with no provision for the promised outcomes. You can read the full law here: https://iga.in.gov/legislative/2026/bills/senate/285/details. Returning to my first thought ~ my time with so many other ministers, learning about the good work other churches are doing ~ I am so grateful for my calling and my career at UBC. Everything I know about the business of the gospel I learned from you and among you. No pastor, preacher, minister ever had it better. How fortunate I am to live and work and serve here. I pray this gorgeous day allows you some time outdoors. ~peace & prayers, pastor annette June 16, 2026 While I am out of town, our UBC Administrator is sending out a rerun of VBS-week adventures from ten years ago. Fortunately, nothing quite so dramatic as the first paragraph occurred this year, but we did have chocolate raspberry crumb bars again. Yum! 
(originally posted June 7, 2016) Beloved: VBS 2016 will go down as the year Pastor Annette didn’t burn the building down. I was the last to leave Vacation Bible School set-up Sunday afternoon. “Let me get tomorrow’s dessert out of the oven and I’ll lock up,” I told my excellent 12-year-old kitchen assistant. The chocolate raspberry crumb bars looked and smelled perfect. I turned off the oven and set the pan on the stovetop to cool overnight, not noticing the burner still on beneath it. The retired men’s group arrived a few minutes before me Monday morning. They had already opened the windows and cleared the smoke. Some people think it smells terrible. Compared to, say, six thousand square feet of smoldering ash, I think it smells wonderful. Our other take-away from this week and next is the Habitat for Humanity Builders Blitz house we are sponsoring, which is literally going up as I type. By day’s end today it will be completely dried in, with electricals and plumbing roughed in, lots of interior drywall and exterior siding hung. As you can see, I’ve picked up all kinds of builder lingo lately. I did a quick walk-through this morning and talked with our homeowners, Irma and Oscar. They are very pleased with the process and with how their house is coming together. Irma’s new front porch is to die for. And thanks, to the UBC Gatorade crews coming and going from church to work site every afternoon too.
June 9, 2026 
Beloved:
My 26th Vacation Bible School at UBC. It would be 28 but we missed two during the pandemic. Kids of those early kids now sing and dance and make crafts. Last night they made paper chain snakes, like the ones who live in the rainforest. Tonight a guest will bring a real python, and a 36-year-old tortoise, and a bearded dragon ~ as we talk about the wonder of God’s creation and the wonder of their little selves. I’m never prouder of my congregation than when they spend so much of their precious time to welcome little kids to church. For my part, I’m as tired as the 2-year-olds by the time I leave the building. All I can do is feed the dog and take a shower before I fall into bed. I pick up my book and wake up hours later to take my glasses off and turn out the light. Silly songs and paper snakes, popsicles, water games and a full-grown man dressed up like Tarzan ~ having this much fun after all these years must surely mean I’m still in the right business. There will be time to rest and recover later. For now this is where I belong. In other news, the weather has officially turned to summer, heat in the 90’s and a little rain. On the good side, my tomatoes will take off now and the neighborhood pool will warm up. My plan is to wear out my welcome at the pool this year. But for people living outside, the heat is not good news. Places where they can get cool are fewer all the time. A new Indiana law goes into effect next month making it a crime to sleep on public property overnight. Cities who don’t comply will lose necessary funding from the state. Thankfully local agencies, including law enforcement, are hard at work creating alternatives for our affected neighbors. Ministers are preparing for the possibility folks will request staying on church properties. This is most definitely something we can pray about, and if a meeting (or two or three) would benefit from your input. But in the meantime, I hope you are making time to enjoy the delights of summer, whatever your favorites are. I remain ever so grateful for your partnership in the work. ~peace & prayers, pastor annette June 2, 2026 Beloved: To be missed by someone else in our absence seems to me the essence of human connection. To be remembered fondly when and where we are not present. I really can’t wish or hope for more from the ones I call friends or family. My closest neighbor has been in post surgery rehab for a couple of months now, so I’ve kept an eye on her house and swept her driveway a time or two. We always have sticks to pick up out back as well. I miss our small talk chats as we come and go, analyzing the weather and why the mail comes at no certain time. She asks after my little grandchildren and I after her grown ones. Everyone in our little patch of the neighborhood looks forward to her being home. The time I spend watching tiny humans grow, bursting toward tomorrow as the song goes, has me thinking about the absolute gift it is to be present with people we love, and the gift it is to have loved them and been loved by them. These little ones will be grown and gone in the blink of an eye, and I’ll live on the memories we are making now. I don’t regret a minute I spend with them. Or my children. Or my friends. People matter most. In any given conversation, the people matter more than the topic of discussion. If they don’t feel safe, if they are not respected, the conversation will stall and either fail in the moment or be meaningless in the end. They matter more than the relationship itself - being someone’s mother is less important than the person being mothered. To be in a partnership is less important than the partner. That can be a hard notion to wrap one’s head around sometimes, that a child (or partner or friend) is someone apart and free from our identity in relation to them. Letting go of others is hard and I struggle at it, both in my actions and my heart. But the reward is great when I am able simply to receive what connection comes my way, and enjoy the memories of time together. Besides, we are surrounded by others, people with whom new memories are waiting to be made. I pray this day is gentle and kind to us all. ~peace & prayers, pastor annette
Some people asked for the recipe for the rolls I made at Wednesday Night Supper last week. In that case I doubled the recipe. Here is the original from Taste of Home Cooking.
Instructions
Beloved:
A very old friend was through town last week. We had about 20 delightful hours together, reminiscing and catching up on each other’s lives. We are both recently single after long marriages. We are both healing and grateful for good memories and good friends. She is still one of the funniest people I’ve ever known. Revisiting nineteen-year-old me and all she didn’t know about her life yet ~ marriage, kids and ministry most of all ~ has been a tender blessing for me since. I continue to believe it won’t rain all summer. Some plants are flourishing while others struggle to stay upright. The milkweed is taller than me now and I pull up runners every day. They have bigger flower heads this year than they’ve ever had before, which hopefully means more butterflies laying eggs. Two items on my garden to-do list:
I remain equally heartbroken over the state of the world. My extra son, brought home from college by my original son 12 years ago, is from a part of the world that has been wracked by civil war for three years and has just now made the news here. His parents are displaced inside India. We stay in touch and they are safe but they have more family there about whom they worry constantly. Such hardship I cannot imagine and it is multiplied a hundred times over throughout the world, rarely or never crossing our news feeds. Making sense of our privilege in so troubled a world is the never ending work of faith; acknowledging that the same systems which benefit us oppress others is hard but necessary. Adjusting our behaviors, attitudes and opinions accordingly is too. And finally - working to correct injustice as we are able and sacrificing privilege for the sake of solidarity with the suffering. We are never finished, nor required to do the hardest work 24/7/365. We are also allowed, not just allowed but encouraged, to rest and refresh, to recover and restore ourselves for the work. Thankfully, therefore, goes the free entertainment of my tiny garden where life bursts from the ground and squirrels swing and bounce on slinkies. ~ peace & prayers, pastor annette |
I write a Tuesday morning devotional to members and friends of UBC. It is also posted here.
Enjoy! Pastor Annette Copyright
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July 2026
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