Since November, I’ve found myself unable to write. As I continued on the mourner’s path with my mother and the (for me) distress of my perception of the direction of our country, I moved to a silent place.
Through three wonderful trips to visit grandboys;
Christmas with my friends at St. Paul’s, Navasota and then at the farm with my family;
A trip to Taos for Epiphany;
To Miami to go to an inaugural Unrivaled game;
To Des Moines for the Red State Revival;
Through beautiful worship with my church family at Holy Family every week I was in town;
To a week in the Faroe Islands;
I’ve been traveling towards my center with God.
I’ve been unable to find words to write.
Yet, my eyes and heart were open to signs of God’s mercy, and my soul was filling to the brim.
A year ago last Advent, I began an alphabet blog series—moving through the church year with alphabetical themes.
This second week of Advent, one year later, we are now to Z which is for zigzag.
This has been a zigzag year with the very best of the very best, to some of the very lowest of the lows.
I’ve traveled to amazing places, had dear visits with loved ones, seen amazing art, and had more than enough lolling time.
My mother and several close friends died this year; I experienced a hurricane and a derecho; I’ve had several friends going through difficult times.
I’m still zigzagging through what it means to be retired. After working since I was fourteen, being able to choose whether or not I work has been a good thing. I have found what will be my church home, when I’m not working, and that feels very, very good.
As I write this, on my last flight of the year, through a series of flight zigzags through delays and cancellations, my bag is on its way to LAX, and I may or not be on my way to SFO to catch a red eye to Houston.
I came to Oregon for the joyful celebration of my grandson’s 12th birthday. I zigzagged on the way to Bend pausing for a long layover in San Francisco to see an exhibit of one of my favorite artists —Mary Cassatt at Work. There was a tsunami warning while I was viewing the extraordinary art; I seemed to be the only one concerned.
In Oregon, I spent one evening at a high school band concert proudly listening to my older grandson play. I watched kid-ish movies, ate delicious family meals, including birthday cinnamon rolls and cake, and was surrounded in family love.
To end the trip, I got to enjoy the first snow of the season.
To cap off a week full of joy, I ended with a major zigzag home.
I’d already changed my flight back to Houston once in order to stay an additional two extra days (yay! retirement) so I could go to Austin’s concert. As my daughter in law and I prepared to go to the tiny Redmond airport, I was notified of a flight delay because of high winds in San Francisco (now tornadoes in SFO!). After lots of research, I decided to change flights, again, and go through Los Angeles.
As I waited to board my plane to Los Angeles, it had one, then another delay, and was scheduled to depart too late for me to get on any flight home to Houston tonight.
I changed back to my original, still delayed flight, through San Francisco since it appeared to leave sooner.
Wouldn’t you know it? The flight to Los Angeles had a miracle of recovery, and left much earlier than expected, with my bag safely on board.
Now in San Francisco, having missed my connection, I snagged a seat on the red eye to Houston, where I hoped my bag would be waiting for me.
These final zigzags were all of my own choosing. I rarely check a bag, but this time I did. I rarely rebook flights because there is never certainty that the flight that appears better will actually be dependable. But this time I did.
This is the point in my blog that I usually write something very spiritual and inspiring. This is the time where God gives me something to write that ties my thoughts together with a God-moment.
In the zigzag of this year, I am left with no words of wisdom.
It is Advent, after all. So I’ll just sit a spell. And pause. And wait. And know God With.
It’s fall in northern New Mexico. This part of creation has decided that yellow will be the color of the season.
The yellow cottonwood tree greeting us for lunch at the Rancho de Chimayó as three long time friends gather for blue corn enchiladas and sopapillas with honey and conversation about times past and times future.
The yellow of trees and rainbows outside the window on the High Road drive from Chimayo to Taos.
The yellow of chimisa laughing with delight before it rests for the winter in muted colors.
The yellow of Trujillo Lane as we drive to our casita outside downtown Taos.
The yellow carpet that waits for us as we carry our groceries into the house.
The pine tree that invited some cottonwood tree leaves to sit a spell so she could wear some yellow, too.
The aspens that welcome my own sitting a spell in the back yard of the casita.
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Brother Curtis, in his devotion today for the Society of St. John the Evangelist entitled, Look, writing:
When you pray, how do you use your body? My default when I pray has been to close my eyes and be very still and silent. But my prayer has greatly enlarged as I open my senses and let the world that surrounds me be an icon.
Today I look, and my icon for prayer is God’s creation putting on yellow and praising the One from whom all blessings flow.
I honored the remembrance of 9/11/2001 by exercising my right as a citizen to accept my call for jury duty. I put my x in all of the right boxes.
In this election season, I am especially aware of the privilege it is to be an American citizen in our imperfect nation. To be willing to serve on a jury, even when it is inconvenient. To vote even when choices may not be clear.
I’ve been praying earnestly, daily, for all candidates (all means all of the candidates) and for all of us who have the privilege of voting:
+Praying for us to listen carefully to those with whom we disagree.
+Praying for us to be respectful of all candidates, especially when it is difficult to do so.
+Praying for the speaking and the hearing of truth, and the discernment of truth from untruth.
+Praying for those who serve in order to make our elections possible.
+Praying for those who use violence as a means to communicate and to protect others from the harm they cause.
+Praying that in all things we will seek to rise to the other’s best and to serve the common good, especially when it might not be the best thing for us as an individual.
On 9/11, I gathered in downtown Houston with a cross section of citizen siblings. What a wonderful group of Americans were gathered in Jury Assembly Room One. We raised our right hands and swore that we were United States citizens, lived in Harris county, and not convicted felons. We were also repeatedly thanked for honoring our civic duty.
I wasn’t chosen to serve on a jury that day, but I was still paid $30 for showing up and my parking was validated, too. I could have gotten a free cup of coffee also if I’d chosen to do so.
On 9/11, I decided the best way, as a citizen, was to donate my jury money to two candidates I am supporting.
In choosing who I will vote for (and all is not yet decided), I’ve done my best to read carefully all I can about the candidates, trying to stay away from more partisan sources that can be more fun, frankly, to read, and searching for more thoughtful facts and opinions. It takes time.
I’ve also spent time trying to clarify what I value most, and to use that as one of my filters for discernment.
If you’ve read this far and disagree with the candidate choices I’ve made, I would love to sit and have a cup of coffee or tea with you. To listen to what you think and hear how you’ve come to your decision. Not to change your mind, but so that we can be a more perfect Union. If you ask, and only if you ask, I will tell you how I’ve discerned my vote.
It’s how we might hear the Way, the Truth, and the Life.
House of Grace 