My best friend and I are back in Miami for our second year of attending Unrivaled, the women’s professional basketball 3 on 3 league.

After a rousing good time on Friday night watching two games, we got up on Saturday for a trip to Key West.

We were out the door just after 9, and our routing said we’d be there in less than four hours.

But it was us, traveling companions for over thirty years, and we’ve learned that almost everything takes us twice as long.

Because first there was a stop for coffee and breakfast.

And then there was lots of traffic.

And then a second stop for some more refreshment at a place where no one spoke English. Always good to be reminded of what it feels like not to be part of a dominant culture.

And then lots and lots more traffic.

And then a stop for a late lunch.

And then another major traffic jam.

And by then it was nearly six in the evening.

It had been a wilderness kind of day sitting in the car. In so much traffic. And it was hot. We were honestly tired and cranky. Even though it wasn’t actually that much of a wilderness day because we were in an air conditioned car, and we had been pokey because of stops for provisions.

After a short drive through Key West (yay! we made it in only eight hours), by *happenstance* we made it to the southern most point of the United States. Just in time for the Vesper Light. Without the wilderness-ish drive, we would have missed this moment.

After immersing ourselves in the prayer-filled sunset, we drove to our motel for the night on another of the Keys. We were exhausted.

We decided to leave early the next day to avoid some of the traffic caused by special events.

We’d arrived after dark, and so we had no real sense of exactly where we were. *Something* had me open the curtains as we packed up to go.

It was like a scene from one of my favorite movies, The Enchanted April. After a difficult rainy and dark journey to a villa in Italy, one of the travelers wakes up and opens the window and is met with the most extraordinary view of a sun- filled luscious garden. Never could she have imagined.

I opened the curtains, the first Sunday in Lent, and there was a wildlife preserve outside my door. Bathed in sunrise.

We were only in this very 60’s Floridian hotel because a priest friend of my best friend had suggested it. It was the most economical place we had been able to find.

We were only up before sunrise because of the wilderness drive the day before that we wanted to avoid in our return. It was a “but wait—there’s more moment” of a God who always makes beauty in a wilderness, that surprises us, and for which we cannot plan.

It was a perfect place to start for a Holy Lent.

I’m on my way to Oregon for Jonas’ #13 by way of Washington, DC. I’ve gotten almost as many great comments about this itinerary as I did for my lark to Seattle last month for Patti Smith’s 50th anniversary tour of her first album, Horses. Ah. Retirement adventures!

Two of my dearest cousins live in Virginia and have some serious health issues. Both decorated veterans, their declining health is very likely exposure to Agent Orange while serving in Vietnam.

I’d wanted to visit them for some time but one thing and another had interfered. When detouring to Oregon via DC turned out to be easy money wise, I thought why not? They’d been on my heart during my prayer time so it felt like a holy nudge.

Thursday I flew to DC and then did a ride share on Friday to their home in Virginia. The area had an unexpected early snow which made the world full of wonder for this Texas girl. Snow infrastructure in place, roads were clear.

I spent the morning with one cousin while my other cousin went to one of her frequent doctor’s appointments. He and I had great conversation and did some processing of the many challenges in their lives. Tears were frequent.

I made us a stew for lunch from food provided by their weekly helper. The conversation around the table was even more warm and delicious than the comforting bowls of stew on a snowy day.

Right as we finished lunch, another friend stopped by with cardamon cookies. She is helping them with their upcoming move into assisted living and their end of life decisions. More deep conversation followed.

After a final conversation with my cousin as she rested from the full day, we ended with healing prayers. And more tears.

As I rode back to the hotel surrounded by snow covered trees, I was grateful for over forty years of sitting with people in life-changing circumstances. In this retirement season, using those experiences and learnings with those I love was a gift from God.

Not to say—Snow!!!!

I’ve been traveling to Beech Grove, Indiana, to the Monastery of our Lady of Grace for over twenty years. First, as a part of a Lilly renewal ministry for women clergy called Women Touched by Grace, and then as a Benedictine Oblate of the Monastery.

I’m here on retreat with intentional prayer and discernment for what my response is to be in the chaotic, cruel times we find ourselves in.

I’m guided by questions of discernment offered by the Rev. Nadia Bolz-Weber:

What’s mine to do? What’s not mine to do?

What’s mine to say? What’s not mine to say?

What’s mine to care about? What’s not mine to care about (meaning the work of others to do)?

I’ve taken walks in the Peace Garden, a community project of reclaiming part of the monastery property with native plants and as a natural habitat.

I’ve prayed with the Sisters in the morning, at noon, and in the evening.

I’ve painted prayers.

I’ve knitted.

I’ve had times of silence.

I’ve had time of listening to the wisdom of the Sisters.

I’ve read.

I had an unexpected evening with women who share devotion to St. Mary in fellowship, praying the rosary, and more listening.

I’m still listening, God.