The very last tree that my dad planted on his farm in Chambersville was a golden delicious apple. When I was visiting my mother at the end of summer, the tree was full of apples and we picked as many as we could reach.

They were pretty hard and not particularly delicious for eating raw (it turns out that part of the reason was that we were picking them before they were completely ripe).  I took a big load home and froze them for later enjoyment.

My very favorite way to eat an apple is when it’s a good, crisp, juicy, sweet raw apple–my personal favorite right now being a honey crisp.  My second favorite is apple crisp–apples sliced and baked with cinnamon and topped with a crumble of oats, flour, butter, and brown sugar.  I especially enjoy it warm and topped with Greek yogurt.

Yesterday at church we had our money stewardship ingathering, and to celebrate we had a big Thanksgiving lunch after the 10.30 service.  Sonya and the St. Ann’s ministry moved the tables to make long rows for family style sitting together, and then decorated the tables with beautiful decorations.  Every one brought a dish to share–heavy on the desserts, dressing, and macaroni and cheese–and Traci roasted a turkey.  We were full of joy–and delicious food.

I decided that making a crisp from the apples picked from my mom’s tree was what I wanted to share.  I hadn’t peeled the apples or dipped them in lemon juice before freezing, so they weren’t the prettiest apples ever; in fact, one parishioner complemented my plum crisp. Still, with a little extra honey and cinnamon, it passed the taste test as far as I was concerned.

When my daughter, Lisa, was a little girl one of her favorite books was Rain Makes Applesauce.  Turns out that it now has a Facebook page, and you can even read the words of the story on the internet.  I never cook with apples that I don’t remember the joy it was reading that book together and saying the refrain, “And rain makes applesauce.  Oh, you’re just talking silly talk.” My son and I read it, too, and I now read it with my grandsons when I go to visit them.

Later this week I’ll go to my mom’s for Thanksgiving.  Both of my brothers, one of my nephews, and one of my brother’s friends will be there, and the friend is cooking the turkey.  It will be a small gathering, and I know that I’ll miss my children and grandchildren, my other nephew, and our extended family of cousins.  My mother has said she has a hankering for some apple crisp, so I’ll make some for her to enjoy.

It’s cold and rainy today but I feel warm inside–thinking of happy memories of my children and books and family gatherings with both my birth family and my church family, too.  I’ll warm up a little leftover apple crisp in a bit and top it with yogurt.  My heart is full of thanks–for a warm home, and enough food to share, and so very much love in my life.

As Julian of Norwich says,

Thanking is a true understanding of who we really are.  With reverence and awe we turn ourselves around toward the working  that our Good Lord incites us to do, enjoying and thanking with our real selves.   True thanking is to enjoy God. 

That’s a line from the blessing song that the Sisters of Our Lady of Grace always sang to the Women Touched by Grace at our final worship together.  The Sisters’ arms outstretched to the 30 women clergy who had finished yet another ten glorious day retreat, it’s a tune that is often in my head whenever I say goodbye.

In less than two hours I begin the airport shuffle back to Houston.  I’ve sung Noonday Praise with the Sisters one last time, I’ve had my last meal, I’m nearly packed up, and I’ve done a final walk around the Monastery which included my final labyrinth walk.

I’ve walked the labyrinth each day–in cold and colder; wind, snow, and rain; sun and overcast.  Today was the first day that I didn’t need a coat, and the sky was bright clear blue and the leaves were even more technicolor.  As I prayed while I walked I became aware why this retreat was especially sweet.

I came here from another retreat, the Episcopal Diocese of Texas Clergy Conference at Camp Allen, and I’d had good worship and food and fellowship and intellectual stimulation and affirmations and rest.  I left there full of joy and came to this retreat already in a very good place.

While I was here in Beech Grove, I started the six week Well to Serve program, and it’s always a surprise how good walking 10,000 steps each day and eating healthy, especially giving up sugar, makes me feel.  But I think that it was the openness of my time that gave me true rest.

My ordinary daily life is very full and scheduled, and here there was very little required these past five days, and much free time in between those very few events that I felt like I was floating in a large, warm lake. Because I wasn’t running to the next thing, I was able to accept invitations to stop and chat or share a meal. On Saturday night I went to the Knights of Columbus with three sisters, where nuns eat free (I got to as well!).  It was the best gift not to hurry.

My heart continues to be very full of gratitude.  I have another song in my head, a hymn we sang yesterday during the Eucharist:

and still is ours today.

For most of my life, Mary was pretty much a prop for good stories about Jesus.  It wasn’t until after I was ordained, and began to face more deeply what it meant to be a woman called to serve God, that I began to search Scripture for tips, and ended up doing quite a bit of study about Mary.  When my son went through some hard times in his teens and early twenties, Mary became a companion for me, one mom with another.  I believe that all those who have gone before us intercede, in some mysterious way, for and with us in heaven, and I expect that Mary has a special affinity for moms with challenging sons.

It’s no real surprise that I became rector of a parish named for Mary, and that when I became a Benedictine oblate, that I made vows with the sisters of Our Lady of Grace (one of many, many names for Mary) Monastery.

On Saturday evenings, it is the practice of the sisters to end Evening Praise with a hymn to Mary, the Salve Regina, whose ancient words are sung in Latin. Most Roman Catholics are very familiar with it, and high Episcopal churches may add it to their liturgy.  I don’t think I’d ever sung it until I started coming to the monastery eleven years ago.

 

There are images of Mary all about the monastery.  It makes me wonder what inspired someone to place each particular image of Mary in each particular space.

As much as I love visiting family, as much as I love traveling with friends, as much as I love my job, there is nothing as sweet as a retreat at Our Lady of Grace. The thing that is especially filling my heart with gratitude on this beautiful fall day is the sense of Sabbath that fills these few days at the Monastery.