Today I leave Taos on a road trip to Chimayo for lunch with a friend, then on to Santa Fe for two days and nights.

This has been the most joy-filled of my trips to Taos. Waking to extraordinary sunrises, rich morning quiet, long walks each day, crafting, blue corn red chile cheese enchiladas, daily labyrinth walking prayer, and beauty beyond measure.

Taos friends asked if I’d be back next year. Was I done with Taos? Absolutely not. My traveling friend and I have two new hikes on the to do list and a coffee card ready to be filled. Here are some of my favorite Taos images.

Coming to northern New Mexico for so many years, I have made good friends by happenstance. The path from one friend to another new friend to yet another is joyfilled mystery.

This trip I met Lenny Foster.

Some of our friends participate in an annual art show during Advent called Taos Folk. This year’s visit I was attracted by photography called Healing Hands. Turns out that the art was done by Lenny, and we were told we must go to his gallery a couple of blocks away.

As I walked through his gallery, I was attracted to the back room. Dimly lit, it felt like a sacred space. It was indeed.

Lining the walls were Lenny’s photographs of hands of people from all over the world. Old hands. Young hands. Hands holding hands. A rainbow of colors. Many were holding or touching some talisman of healing–like prayer beads, paint brushes, herbs, pottery, an apple. It was when I came to the black and white photograph of an older woman holding her Bible, that my heart caught. It was at that moment that I also met Lenny.

It was a holy moment of sharing faith and stories. The photograph that had touched my heart was of his mom’s hands. He and I talked about bringing his exhibit to Houston. We’ll see what God has in store.

And the name of Lenny’s gallery? Living Light. What better place to meet a new brother during Advent?

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.