Category Archives: grace

Cloudy..,With a Chance of Meatballs

08 Friday May 2020

Posted by in action, fear, food, grace, Uncategorized

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satisfies you with good…

One of the effects of all the orders to shelter in place these past weeks has been the turning our attention to FOOD, in many ways–how to get it, who has access, whose recipes are being shared, and what satisfies.

On the creative/coping side, I have been delighted to receive recipes that people are sharing, pictures of fabulous concoctions that friends are experimenting with, reminiscences of old family standbys with a whimsical twist for this shelter in place. I myself, having abandoned the culinary arts in our house to the more talented for years, even I have even baked muffins for the last two weeks–for nourishment and for delight! The endeavors of those baking bread, creating interesting drinks and one-step cakes and casseroles make me happy when I see them on Facebook! I only wish I could taste them!

At the same time, I am daily aware of the epidemic of food scarcity and accessibility in the world due to the Covid-19 epidemic. Food banks and soup kitchens are running out of supplies more quickly than they can be refilled. Grocery stores cannot keep their shelves stocked. The lines of cars driving through stations where food is being shared go on for miles. And I am brought up short: what for me is entertainment, fun and nourishment is a gift of my privilege, and it calls me to find ways to act in ways that make sure that all God’s humans can find adequate food. I scour what I read and see for opportunities, and there are plenty to which I can give, deliver and for whom I can pray.. This week these doors opened: Bread for the World, a church pantry, a disaster fund, and an acquaintance that was suffering with no food herself! And today the city councilman provided a list of local food sources open for business. All of them gave me a chance to share from my bounty what I have been given.

Throughout Lent and Eastertide I have been seeing clouds as a metaphor for these time through which we are living–not in clear, sunny skies, but with the pandemic afoot in the world, in a sky with shadows, unpredictable, looming, sometimes even threatening. And the clouds remain! Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs is a children’s book by Judi and Ron Barrett, the title of which seems to me, to describe part of the way I am living right now, we all are living, right now. All of the clouds of this upsetting time of our lives are evident: confinement, disappointment, loss, fractures of class and race in our culture, inept government, poverty, vitriol, meanness, uneasiness and anxiety, Yet I hear again the words of the Psalmist:

She sets her table before me in the presence of my inner enemies. She anoints my head with the oil of Her blessing. My cup of joy overflows! (Swallow’s Nest. Marchienne Rienstra)

Therefore, I continue down this path we are walking, “in the shadow of death” without fear, knowing that neven as the clouds continue, there a chance of a table…with meatballs, or cheese and crackers, or brownie torte…as we go. I pray for the Grace to live into that as I recycle that Grace to those I am given to care for!

Mighty Clouds of Joy

28 Tuesday Apr 2020

Posted by in darkness, dryness, grace, joy, soul friends, Uncategorized

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I hit a wall with this pandemic. I observed the end of Lent, the services of Holy Week and Easter Day on-line with my church community, but I was stuck in my own internal musings. I could give a tacit affirmation to the holy events we were acknowledging, grateful for familiar words and rubrics, music, but could not get in touch with my own heart–there was numbness, blankness, opaqueness. Rather than try to parse it, exegete it, power through it, I decided to let it be and to see what and how it would unfold if I continued my daily practices–those that could feed my own longings and those that could reach out to others, whose apparent immediate needs were so much greater than my own.

For the first two weeks of Eastertide, my soul felt static or gray, yet I felt compelled to start and keep a gratitude list in a brand new journal, open-ended, without lines, with a whimsical cover by Brian Andreas that says, “Grateful today for the Sun & the earth & the memories of what it is to love everything life has brought me.” Some days my lists are mundane, sometimes repetitive. Some days they are short lists, other days quite ample. The practice, which I have done often in the past, was not a magic door-opener to my heart, with all my feelings becoming hopeful and joyful. In listening a friend, I heard her say that she allowed that for her right now, Thursday is just a bad day, no matter what; I resonated with that kind of sentiment.

Yet I noticed toward the end of this last week, that my sights were being lifted, that there were some breaks in the clouds, that the words I was reading were beginning to penetrate, have some meaning. Not every word, but some. I am finding that I have days when I rise with hope and ambition, prayerful and energetic, and then others when I am stuck in amber the whole day. What I do know to do is to observe the practices that daily open a way for Grace to get in–and some days I recognize it when it comes.

This is a time for discovery for me. I have not set out on a quest to learn more about myself and my spirit, but I am noticing things about myself that I would not have recognized. I am tranquil and unflappable much of the time, but in these days when I hear singing of all kinds, I feel my eyes fill with tears of longing, of memory, or wistfulness, of need. I discovered a group of gospel singers a while ago called the Might Clouds of Joy. In researching I found that most of them are gone now, but their legacy remains in recording and video, and they sing and praise and lament in a way that gives expression to my own heart: “”I’ve Been in the Storm Too Long,” “Heavy Load” and “”Pray for Me.” And as I join my heart to their song, I feel some more of the blankness and numbness dissipate even as I weep. There is no denial in their song that trauma in our world exists and has sorrowful effects, but there is also joy and hope and trust in the Holy One as well.

The days of sheltering in place, and rules and regulations continue. There is no date of expiration, which is in itself wearying. But there are also Mighty Clouds of Joy, there are gifts of Grace every day, there are communities of faithful folk who are doing everything they can to protect and care for those who are at risk, and the Holy One who hold us does not slumber or sleep or let us go. I am resting and practicing in that place on Good Days, Bad Days…even Thursdays!

Grace Leads

05 Friday Jul 2019

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Full of Grace

I have been enamored by Grace, especially the Grace of the Holy One, ever since, by Grace, I fell into a deep understanding of what it was and what it wasn’t when I was in school. I have practiced it, named it, watched for it, featured it in the decorations on my wall. But some how it, its power and presence slips from my awareness with great frequency, and I relapse into the ways of being that are not grace-filled–anxiety, judgement and indifference.

Then, in a synergistic way I was reminded of Grace and how important it is to my faithfulness and well-being to savor it and to practice it. In a gathering of friends, I was reminded of a seminal sacred text that assured me that the Grace of the Holy One was sufficient for all the bumps, hurts and slights, even the the traumas and the anticipated anxious events coming up. Furthermore, the text reminded me that God becomes evident in the places and time where people feel inadequate, broken, even getting old.

As if to illustrate the truth of Grace, I remembered the way that Grace had threaded its way in that gathering. We have known each other for decades, and have encountered times of hilarity, times of deep learning, times of cheering each other up, times of grieving, and even times of rupture in our loving one another. Yet here we were, all these years later, basking in the aura of the Grace that had illuminated, that had healed, that had forgiven, that had empowered us to continue to be in each others’ presence with energy, imagination and love. Wonderful food and drink were shared, music played, gifts exchanged, memories replayed, and challenges offered. It was a gift of Grace!

As I wended my way home, I mused on the ways and reasons I let Grace slip from my view. It begins when I forget to breathe–deeply, intentionally and wholly. It is exacerbated when my senses get clogged with an overload of sensation, commentary and pontification from the nearby sources surrounding me in print, on-line, on the air waves, or conversation. It sidles away when I rush to evaluate, assess or judge. It evaporates when my memory fails me by popping up with all the wrongs, hurts, grievances and failures, when I forget that it is “Grace that has brought me safe this far,” and is the Truth that is leading me home. And I fail to live in Grace in an epic way when I do not extend Grace to my “neighbor,” anyone who comes into my consciousness, near or far.

Choreographer Ronald K. Brown of the Alvin Ailey Dance Company in New York was asked,”What comes after Grace?” His answer was “Mercy.” He was referring to his dance compositions, but I am convinced that it is also true about living: when Grace is extended to me, in gratitude I am called to extend Grace in Mercy to those I encounter. That Grace may not be well received, or may be ignored, or may be too little too late, as it can be offered in weakness. Yet it is the song by which I want to live, and right now I am feeling the hum of the reminder to be more aware of Grace proliferates itself in my life. I wonder how Mary. mother of Jesus did it; I get only glimpses, but she did it!

One of my spiritual teachers, Ann Lamott, reminds me that “In the long haul, Grace will win out over everything, over the misery, the stupidity, the dishonesty” even my own. I am letting Grace keep leading me home!

Lent 5: Taking Delight in Grace

04 Thursday Apr 2019

Posted by in delight, grace, Lent, paying attention, Uncategorized

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photo taken in Trois-Rievieres Quebec

I found myself in a very large gathering of people I had not seen for a long time. Each of them had a personal history and a history with me that was checkered and some of which included a great deal of brokenness and pain. While the main text of the gathering was going on, a deeper part of me was reliving and evaluating those narratives, listening to my own judgements and critiques of past events. Mercifully, (and I do mean that literally), as the day wore on, I began to relax into what Denise Levertov describes this way: into Creator Spirit’s deep embrace,/knowing that no effort earns/that all-surrounding grace. It wasn’t necessary for me to carry the darkness of the past: in Grace I could let go, and take delight in what Grace had brought into those stories that meant healing, freedom and redemption for everyone involved.

My journey has been revolutionized by coming to recognize Grace, and to continue to learn over the course of my years, “even into old age,” the depths and heights of that Grace. I seldom have had as graphic and audible an encounter as the one I just described, but Grace abounds in daily and dramatic of my life, if I am awake and taking delight in it. I think of this week alone–an accident averted, a garden in bud and about to bloom, the poetry of Lucy Shaw, cards and notes of friendship, acts of kindness by the clerk when I was confronted with automatic checkout at the grocery store. Frederic and Mary Ann Brussat in their wonderful book of reflection called Spiritual Rx call those things “gracelets” this signs of God’s presence that indeed feel like gifts.

I am half way through Lent now, remembering to take delight is becoming a little more intrinsic in my daily routine. However, training my senses to discover Grace is a little more challenging. The banner lines and news shouts emphasize “gotcha” moments, bleat out dire predictions, and revise history in a way that frightens, demoralizes and leads the ways to despair. So I need to be vigilant in seeking with grace-filled eyes where Grace is happening. As I sat down to compose this blog entry, a tiny article, clipped long ago by me, surfaced from under the stacks of paper on my desk. The author is Bryan Doyle, and it was included in The Best Spiritual Writing of 2001. Here is is:

First rule of grace: grace rules. Grace lifts, it brings to joy. And what, as we age, do we cherish and savor more than joy? Pleasure, power, fame, lust, money, they eventually lose their fastballs, or should. At our best and wisest we just want joy, and when we are filled with grace we see rich, thick joy in the simplest of things. Joy everywhere.

Notice how many saints–whom we assume were and are crammed to the eyeballs with grace–are celebrated for their childlike simplicity, their capacity to sense divine joy in everything: the daily resurrection of light, the dust of sparrows.

Grace indeed! I am delighted!

Lent: Taking Delight in Memories

20 Wednesday Mar 2019

Posted by in delight, grace, remembering, Uncategorized

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Outlier art–Quilt from Gee’s Bend

In this Lenten season of taking delight, I am savoring good memories with delight. Sacred texts reminds us to mark and remember the goodness of the Holy One, for God’s sake, and as a marker of the Grace that has brought us safely thus far. I notice that the concrete way I have taken delight in happy memories is through my gathering of quilts. In my living room in pride of place is my Amish quilt that I acquired when I finished my last degree program. On the back of the chair in that room is the quilt my husband has made of all of the ties he wore in his 50 years of teaching. On the bed in the guest room is a quilt made for me by friends on a big anniversary of my ordination. I have a collection of quilts on the adjacent chair, given to me by friends who knew I loved them. And in the corner where I go to pray each morning, I lean into an antique quilt, restored and given to me by my late spiritual director, Betsy, a legacy which unfolds around me each day. Each one captures memories of the good, the true and the beautiful.

If left unchecked my mind can turn to the dark side of memory with ease–the bad, the rumor and the ugly. Wasn’t that awful? weren’t they unkind? if only I had… And I know from experience, as Shakespeare has said, that way madness lies. So my Lenten practice this year is to take delight in the memories, not denying the dark and painful, but asking myself, How was God present in those events? those conversations? those outcomes? The quilts are one visual reminder of the way that God has been there through it all–those delightful things–the joy of studying despite the loads of papers and attention to detail; the call to teaching faithfully followed by my husband for all those years; the friends and family who have accompanied me in the long and winding road to and through ordination to retirement; and the strong and gentle direction I was given for so many years, taking me more deeply and truly into the Mystery we call God.

And yes, there were hurts and slights on the journey, some that still sting. However, in many of them I can remember moments of laughter, of surprise, and most, amazingly, lessons that were learned that gave me strength for the rest of the journey. I think of Joseph who became ruler in Egypt when facing his treacherous brothers, saying to them, “Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good…” Gen 50:20. Some sad memories can’t be understood with a meaningful gloss though, and I find that I need to let then go, again, again, again.

Meanwhile, I am taking delight in the good things that are in my narrative, and In the wider world, and the memories that can be reframed. And I love to witness the memories of others. At the art museum this spring as part of an exhibit of “outlier art” were several quilts from Gee’s Bend in Alabama, an isolated town of African-American sharecroppers, creating quilts out of what they had available to cover themselves, to keep warm, and to remember. When the quilts came to greater public awareness in the last part of the 20th Century, viewers were astonished at what they saw–unconventional, daring and beautiful! Taking delight!

I continue taking delight this Lent by remembering the places, names and times I have encountered the Holy. And I am thankful!

Beautiful!

19 Monday Nov 2018

Posted by in beauty, grace, gratitude, Spirit, Uncategorized

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BeautifulCambriaWe heard the word Ugliness and have been seeing it demonstrated over and over in the last weeks on the national political scene. Even the most experienced and enlightened are nonplussed at best, and most are horrified at the behavior and language choices on display in what is supposed to be the center of reasonable and moral leadership in our country. It is hard to overcome Ugliness–visually and aurally and emotionally–once we have encountered it. But I believe that Beauty is one way we can resist, defy and countermand that ugliness we meet.

Older versions of Hebrew Scripture tell us that God made everything Beautiful in its own time (Eccl. 3:11). So, I am seeking ways, in this time where so much Ugliness abounds, to see Beauty, to celebrate it and to share it. In this week of Thanksgiving I am cataloging Beauty as I find it:

  • the music of Bach sung last night by the Los Angeles Master Chorale, “The Magnificat”
  • the stalks of 12 white bearded iris that greeted me when arrived home from my trip last week
  • the complete absorption in singing “Count You Blessings” by the little girl at the end of the row in the Children’s Choir
  • the elegant and startling prose of Gretel Ehrlich as she invites me into a part of our country that is unfamiliar to me
  • each step of newly minted personhood that each grandchild is taking he and she become who they are meant to be
  • the sunset on Cayucos Beach, as I am wrapped up in sweatshirt and blanket
  • the outpouring of generosity and caring and love that neighbors, friends and strangers are proffering to those devastated by fire and disaster
  • the memories of a high school friend who left us this week–her joie de vivre, her persistence, her luminous laughter
  • the faces of those with whom I sit weekly who are intently listening and looking for Spirit presence in their life
  • the dignity and grace with which some participants in political striving carry out their calling, despite so much opposition

As I write I feel that the list is endless!!! Thanks be to God!

In an unexpected synergy of friendship and celebration, I was able to see the musical “Beautiful,” telling the story of songwriter and singer Carole King through her music. The title anthem has become my marching song in this season of celebration, deep grieving, of resistance, of call to be Light in the world:

You’ve got to get up every morning with a smile in your face,

and show the world all the love in your heart.

Then people gonna treat you better; you’re gonna find (yes, you will)

that you’re beautiful as you feel.

As the Beauty of the Holy One fills me with this invitation, I can be an increasingly potent antidote to the  ugliness that seeps through the waves of of communication and discourse in our world. May I be given the Grace to be Beautiful in this season..and always!

 

 

 

 

Tonic

17 Monday Sep 2018

Posted by in blessing, family, friendship, grace, taste, Uncategorized

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JEMIslasMujeres

TONIC: a substance taken to give a feeling of vigor or well-being!

In these days in the turning of the season, when so much is raging and swirling–from the weather to the headlines to the principalities and powers, I often wonder where my energy will be replenished, refilled, kept alive. Much come comes from many of my spiritual practices, all being reformed, in my life. However, I am am increasingly aware of how much tonic –energy, renewal, healing–comes from my encounters–face to face, phone to phone, e-mail to e-mail–with people whom I have been given.

Having lived through a cascade of sorrows among my family, friends and the world in this past season, I am buoyed up by these tastes of tonic through the duration:

  • a piano concert by a friend celebrating her jubilee year
  • a recommendation of a book I haven’t read or a series on Netflix
  • a memory shared about my high school or college days
  • a phone call out of the blue
  • laughing out loud with someone whose sense of humor is as off-center as mine
  • an insight into ways to carry the Light in the midst of a darkness
  • an honest reflection about how things are from another point of view
  • an adventure trying something that seemed a little scary
  • prompts from recollections of things past that gave nourishment and hope–old hymns, former spiritual practices

These sips of tonic bring grace and beauty to the living of days that are so easily cluttered with deeds of greed, dishonesty and stories of pain. They bring hope–“Tis Grace that brought me safe this far, and Grace will lead me home.” They are concrete reminders that the Holy One that I follow and trust never slumbers and never sleeps. and that there are no final defeats.

And so I  take a turn into a new year of life for me in a week, my intention will be to seek tonic wherever it appears, and to savor it, swirl it around in my mouth before I swallow it, and continue to discover the many ways the God is good..to me, to those I love, and to the worlds God created!

Easter Sabbath

31 Saturday Mar 2018

Posted by in celebrations, Easter, grace, Holy Week, rest, sabbath, Uncategorized

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HolySaturdayThe gospel of Luke tells us that after all the profound and intense events of the days of Holy Week, those who loved and followed Jesus, “On the sabbath…rested according to the commandments.” I am entering into that rest today, Holy Saturday. I am taking sabbath in my spirit. It’s not as if I don’t know that there are things that need to be done. But I am intending to let my spirit be at rest. Marva Dawn in her important book, Keeping the Sabbath Wholly, identifies four movements of Sabbath that I am observing inwardly today.

Ceasing: This Easter Saturday I am ceasing from anxiety about tomorrow–whether all the connections will be made, whether the food will suit everybody, whether we will get to church early enough to get a seat, whether or not I have remembered to reach out to everyone. I have done or will do all that can be done, and will no longer worry about what’s undone.

Resting: In between the things I still need to do to make life livable, I will rest–short respites of listening to Bach, a brief snooze before company arrives, a quick reading of a chapter of mystery, a time to sit and gaze at the beautiful back yard in bloom. For a brief shining moment here and there, I will rest my body as well as my spirit.

Embracing: I am opening my arms and heart to the beauty and gifts that are offered to me–an unexpected warm e-mail from abroad from an old friend, a top of the morning snuggle with my beloved, a granddaughter who is coming to decorate for tomorrow. All are welcome in my heart today, gifts from the One who gives good gifts continually. I also intend to welcome the gifts I don’t yet know about!

Feasting: The feasting on food will happen tomorrow in the main, but today, a Sabbath, I am feasting on sacred music, the new bloom of roses, the aroma of Black-Bottom cupcakes, a nostalgic recipe from my children’s birthday parties, the softness of my throw rug and the dog’s silky ears, and the taste of the extra chocolate chips that don’t quite make it into the batter. I am also feasting of the awareness that for this day there is a Grace in not having to do anything to make thing all right, not at home, not in the Church, not in the world. Jesus is at rest, out of pain; I can be too. Tomorrow all the energy and power of Easter will compel me forward again to celebrate, to rejoice, and to let that energy become action for change in the world. But today I am observing sabbath.

I am resting in anticipation of the good news to come!

 

 

 

 

 

Preparing a Welcome

21 Wednesday Mar 2018

Posted by in breaking bread, grace, hospitality, listening, Uncategorized

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welcomingfireplace I love to inhabit the place where people come to visit. Each week people come into my living room to sit and reflect on the places here the Holy has been apparent in their lives and what challenges have presented themselves. Each Thursday my granddaughter comes over after school to do homework, to create a new project, to snack on Doritos and catch up on conversation. And every so often, people come from far away to spend a night or two with our home as a base of operations. I am always in need of preparing the space for each visitor.

I have the memory of a bustling mother who hosted many in the homes she inhabited over the years. She with my father were, in their stateside missionary years, hosts for missionaries in transit from their fields of work abroad to their homes for furlough. The dinner table was long and set with many inexpensive dishes that fed a crowd. My father ferried people from train, plane and boat to the home and back again. Besides food and transportation, they were busy with helping find medical resources, shopping and assisting in making connections to the next points on the itinerary. All this was done in between the rhythm of daily prayers and ongoing helpful conversation.

Another icon of hospitality for me was my first spiritual director. Her home in my imagination was a Hobbit House–cozy, warm, and full of icons of Spirit, some classic, some personal signs of her own. More important than the place was her presence. She was always smiling and welcoming, and as we talked, for over 20 years, she brought to me an attentiveness, supported by an accumulated memory of who I was and where I had been. I was not just a generic guest, but I was a particular visitor, in that sacred moment and place, whose journey was worthy of all the time and listening the hour afforded.

As I turn into Holy Week this weekend, I am drawn to the occasions when Jesus was offered hospitality–the supper where his feet are anointed by a woman who did what she could; a Passover meal in an upper room, where he welcomed his beloved one by washing their feet; a sharing of a loaf of bread and a cup of wine, his icons of himself, given to those around the table. On each occasion, someone prepared the material of the meal and the place for eating it in readiness for the welcome. And in each, someone, Jesus, became the host in attending the the deep need of Spirit, for a sacred space and sacred moment in which to experience the Spirit.

In this Holy Week ahead of me, I would like to exercise hospitality of Spirit–by welcoming those who are brought to me, prepared for what they might need–a cold cup of water, a listening ear, a shelter from the storm. And I would like to offer my presence to each one–listening for words or no words, receiving their stories with Grace. I also ask for an awareness of how the Spirit is the container for each visit, and be able to have eyes to see and ears to see how the Spirit is moving and prodding and comforting each one. so that I can join that movement in grounding us in energy, imagination and Love.

The poet Rumi tells us, “This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival…Welcome and entertain them all!…Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.”

I pray for an open door, an open ear and an open heart this Holy Week!

 

 

 

 

 

Surprises on the way!

07 Thursday Sep 2017

Posted by in beauty, grace, surprise, Uncategorized

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I am living in a week of surprises! Not all of them have been welcome. In trying to take an airplane flight to San Francisco on Monday, the delays and cancellation diverted us to spontaneous Plan B, which was to embark on an overnight road trip, complete with motel stay, a visit to an old Italian restaurant, and navigating traffic and road repair.

Yet, I found that there was surprising Grace in the change of plans. Despite starting out at the tail end of a holiday weekend, there was almost no traffic going our way as we started out, a welcoming inn in which to stay, a long restorative sleep to be had in comfort. And I found in the recesses of my travel bag, a mystery novel tucked away, which I began to read aloud to my husband, which diverted and kept us amused along the lengthy sojourn the next morning. We often read to each other, but rarely do we read fiction or stay in such contained quarters for so long. For me there was a welcome intimacy in the sharing of space and story.

We arrived in San Francisco on the dot of the time we were to meet beloved friends at the art museum, there to see an exhibit of the artist Edouard Munch. However, we had spare time to wander other exhibits in the newly expanded and appointed museum. The top floor had an exhibit called Sound, a title which did not sound like much art to me, until I saw the exhibit by Celeste Boursier-Mangenot, an installation of ceramic bowls in a broad pond of gently moving water. From the surrounding observation bench, I could hear the slight ting of each bowl as it nudged the one beside it, moving it a little bit forward or to the side, sending it off a new trajectory. I kept being surprised by my fascination as I sat watching, as layers of implication for the world and the way humans live in it coursed through my imagination. What if we were to be a bowl that floated in grace with others, and brought forth a song of delight and grace when we bumped into each other? Wouldn’t that be a surprise!

My surprises were still unfolding. As we entered the warm hospitality which is the hallmark of the home of our friends, I was greeted with the question,
“Are you the surprise lady?” Not quite sure of what was transpiring, I looked at my husband and my friends to discover that this evening was to be a small dinner, very early birthday celebration for me, months in the planing, threads of e-mails streaming through the internet, and memories and pieces of my life gathered from over 40 years. I had my initial beginning anxiety: would it all work? was I dressed for the occasion? and who might appear? And then as I allowed myself to savor the surprise, I prayed that I would be open to receive whatever came as the gift of this generous, extravagant offering of love. As I did the surprises poured out: memories from long ago, shared journeys, laughter, wisdom, hilarity, reflections on my presence and person, surrounded with amazing provisions and touches of charm. And, in a way, in that evening, we became the beautiful ceramic bowls floating in the same sea, touching one another gently, and making beautiful music together. It was a brief, shining moment with which I begin a birthday month and start a new year of life. Not only will I be offering grace notes to each of my companions, but I will be carrying the images with me as source of Hope and Grace.

Even as I savored the beauty and goodness, my family was awaiting medical reports and news from the latest hurricane. Friends were digging out from devastation, managing new paths forward after diagnoses that threatened, navigating situations that seem hopeless, and marching with courage and ardor for justice in the streets of our cities and towns. So I am not confused into thinking that if I just float in Grace that everything will be all right in the world. But I know deeply that I am invited to be open to surprise when it appears, to hang on to its presence firmly, and to let it be Light when I am needing Hope in the Dark!