During Hurricane Harvey, when many of us were cut off from one another by floods, the parish I served began doing prayers on Facebook Live. Over time, this became a daily practice of joining together at “the eights” on Facebook for prayers in the morning and prayers at the close of day.

A few of us still offer these prayers on Facebook in a group called “Episcopal Worship to Anchor your Day.”

I’ve been part of this praying group since the beginning, and Tuesday morning is my prayer slot. I’ve led prayers from my dining room table, my grandson’s room, my room at Our Lady of Grace Monastery, airport lounges, coffee shops, and many states and countries.

I have mixed feelings about Facebook these days. I try to stay away from it as much as possible and have considered leaving it all together. However, in the mix of this uncertain world, I have decided, for now, to continue to pray on that site. Jesus went to wherever people were, to meet them in their most ordinary lives. For me, praying on Facebook feels a bit like that. So I stay.

Over these eight years of praying on social media, I’ve developed a kind of litany in my time of morning prayers.

Will you join me now?

Let us have a moment of silence as we gather from one part of our day to another.

Good morning, God. This is your day. We are your children. Please show us your way.

Thank you for the night’s rest and another day to walk with you and to serve you.

We offer to you, one by one by one, every name, every situation, on every prayer list throughout the world, knowing that you are doing more than we can desire or pray for through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Silence

We pray for all of us with privilege and power. In all things may we seek to rise to the other’s best and serve the common good.

Show all of us with enough how to share with those who do not have enough.

Forgive us when we put our own selfish desires and wants before those without enough.

We pray for all of those who use violence of any kind, especially the violence of words, to communicate. Protect others from harm and heal their brokenness.

Silence

We pray for peace. For peace in our homes, in our country, and in the world.

Silence

We thank you for the many blessings of this life, especially for our family and friends.

We pray especially for those who are hard for us to love.

Silence

For whom else shall we pray?

Silence

AMEN

As I try to navigate these tumultuous and chaotic days, I am searching for any way that I can be the presence of Christ. For me, praying is one way that I know, even when I don’t feel like it is, that Christ’s presence is made known.

How are you finding ways to be the presence of Christ?

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.

And words are returning.

AMEN

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.

+++++++++++++++

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.

AMEN