As we drove home last night in the sunset, I remembered that it was New Year’s Eve, and by the time we made it home another new year would have begun in the Church calendar.

How did I spend my new year’s eve?
Up at sunrise for morning coffee
Quiet holy reading and gentle prayer
Walk into town for fresh bagels and coffee
Walk to visit a dear friend
Drive to walk a labyrinth outside of Questa
Another long drive to be still in one of the most beautiful places in creation, Valle Vidal
Painting and picnicking and walking and deeply looking at the winter beauty

Than the big decision. To end this year, do we return the familiar way or try a new way? Usually we travel with GPS and atlas, but for some reason, not this day. Of course our app-filled phones had no service. Remembering holy words written by the Rev. Barbara Taylor, we decided to go the wilderness way. To allow ourselves to be lost.

Almost as soon as we decided to drive the unknown way, we were met with the most extraordinary vista. Then as we drove the unpaved, washboard road, elk, deer, and wild turkeys crossed our paths. Each time I thought the surprises were done, God popped out yet another good gift.

We were never in truly any danger and were never truly lost. We had a full tank of gas. We were on a Kit Carson National Park service road. It was not so much about being lost, but about trusting God.

I ended the year recalling how I began the year. Here in Taos, seated at the dining room table of the Casa, I said yes to God about allowing myself to be a candidate for suffragan Bishop. At least I thought that what I was saying yes was about. But in fact I was only saying yes to God to go the unmapped road. And oh, the vistas I’ve seen along the way.

Today another year begins. Another day to say yes.

Yes.

This time of Sabbath is nearer the end than the beginning. As I move from this time of holy rest to returning to my community renewed, it is fitting that this last month will be in the midst of Advent–that most countercultural of church seasons. Filled with the color blue for hope, and words like expectation, waiting, silence, listening, promises revealed and fulfilled.

For over fifteen years I’ve come to New Mexico with my best friend during Advent. The last three years we’ve stayed in a beautiful small house called La Casa de Los Abuelos, the house of the grandparents. Which is what my best friend and I are– grandmothers. This Advent I am waiting for the birth of a particular child– my second grandson, Jonas.

My image, my icon, as I start this season of mysterious expectation is a fresco I viewed at St. Mary’s, West Jefferson, North Carolina, during my fresco pilgrimage earlier this month. This expectant Mary, stopped on the road, one hand cradling the new life to come, and the other hand raised in greeting? blessing? fills me with quiet thought.

A very good place to be in the House of the Grandmothers, this cold November morning.

The plan had been for me to drive up to my mom’s sometime Thanksgiving week.  My mother had been a little under the weather for a while, so we’d planned a simple Thanksgiving day.  My brothers and I, and the bonus of my nephew, Andrew, were going to have a quiet, feasting day together.  Which happened.  Except I wasn’t there.

Turns out early in the week I came down with a cold.  It’s actually pretty amazing with all of the traveling I’ve done during the Sabbatical that this was the very first time I’d been sick.  However, Thanksgiving Day found me in in bed or on the couch at the Rectory.  Alone.

First time in 61 years that I’d been alone on Thanksgiving.  It was strange to look outside the window and see cars parked in front of neighbors’ houses, people moving in and out with smiles and hugs and arms full of food, and to be inside still in my pajamas.

I’ll be honest.  I had a few minutes of feeling sorry for myself.  I’ll admit it.  But then I got out the basket of cards written to me by members of St. Mary’s and read their kind words and prayers.  I had a grilled cheese sandwich, made the proper way browned in butter on top of the stove.  Less you feel a bit sorry for me–a  grilled cheese sandwich is one of my most favorite foods, especially when made with homemade bread (baked by me from a cookbook given to me by my wonderful daughter, who, by the way, is featured this month in the Ladies Home Journal) and cheese brought back from my trip to Iona.

I had cookies that same daughter had made for my birthday that I’d frozen away for a special occasion.  I had an organic honeycrisp apple–perhaps the best apple God ever created. I had my drink of choice–sparkling water, and it all felt like a feast to me.  I had phone calls from my son, my daughter, cousins in Virginia, a nephew in Brooklyn, and my best friend.  I knitted.  I watched dvds.  It wasn’t the Thanksgiving I’d wanted to have, but it was definitely a day that was easy for me to give thanks.

To top the day off, a friend sent me a Thanksgiving letter written by the Bishop of Atlanta–and his words of wisdom are worth sharing with any of you who have muddled through to this point.
The Right Rev. Rob Wright wrote:

Thanksgiving Day ~ November 22, 2012 “Now thank we all our God, with heart and hands and voices, Who wondrous things has done, in Whom this world rejoices….” Today many of us will sit down to Thanksgiving dinner with friends and family. Just before we dine, we will bow our heads and voice our gratitude to God for food and family and fellowship. This we ought to do. We have been so blessed! But, go further this year. This Thanksgiving, in response to all God has done for you, do that which God asks of us. Tell the children and grandchildren of the wondrous deeds of God. Read Psalm 78:1-7 to them. Tell them why you follow Jesus. Tell them the difference it makes. Further still. This Thanksgiving, ask God for the courage and grace to make peace with the family member you struggle to love. Ask God for the grace to forgive a longstanding hurt inflicted by a family member. In thanksgiving to God, let it go. Yet more. This Thanksgiving, choose one issue that tugs at your heart: homelessness, domestic violence, child poverty, etc. Serve the people in that circumstance for one year, until next Thanksgiving. Do this in thanksgiving to God. I commend these to you this Thanksgiving, mindful of the words we pray each morning: ” …We pray give us such an awareness of your mercies, that with truly thankful hearts we may show forth your praise, not only with our lips, but in our lives….” BCP pg.101 I thank God for you, +Rob

This part of the Sabbatical was all about the frescoes.

Ben Long is an artist whose medium is the fresco. He has created a group of frescoes using this ancient practice in North Carolina in both public spaces and churches. My best friend and I did a three day road trip to see these frescoes.

The frescoes in churches were usually on the wall behind the altar so that they greeted you as you entered the worship space and were the focal point throughout worship.  Imagine celebrating Holy Eucharist with a lively fresco of that meal inviting you to be a part of that first communion with Jesus and his disciples.

One of these frescoes is in the chapel of Montreat College and is inspired by the parable of the prodigal son. The jealous brother. The dancing servants. The ecstatic father. The fresco features each detail of the parable.

It’s the gospel appointed in the daily office for today, Luke 15. 11-32.

I am struck that this scripture was selected to be the place of a kind of lectio divina in a space where college students gather–men and women who are in a time in their lives when they are especially searching for the meaning of life.  Do they feel like prodigals?  Like dancing servants?  Like jealous brothers or sisters?  Do we?