When I return to Our Lady of Grace, there are touchstones that let me know I am indeed home.

Sister Mary Luke always leaves a note in my room and some Texas memorabilia she has found on one of her thrift shop jaunts.

Calligraphy on the wall of my room that is a Word to ponder for the week.

The beauty of whatever season it is– it stops me in gobsmacked joy at each window I pass, and lures me outside for walks.

And then the prayers in the Chapel. The sisters invite us to join with them in the dance of the Hours, and it is a glimpse, for me, of worship in heaven.

When we sing and pray and chant the Psalms, we are invited to do so slowly and quietly. In doing so, my voice blends with those next to me and what we hear is one voice. This is always the most challenging for us women clergy. We are used to leading with our voices in worship. Here, “we who are many are one.”

The intercessory prayers in chapel are not a long list of rote individual prayers but a litany of those who are more often forgotten–children in foster care, those who have been abused by the Church, those without health care, those who will die alone, and on it goes–and always with great thankfulness for their benefactors.

And then there is the gracious hospitality. Who goes to a place where everyone is glad to see me? I am filled with the warm welcome and smiles and hugs. This is because Benedictines believe that all they meet are Christ. Jesus shows up every time someone comes through the door.

It so good to be in my Monastery home.

In October I went to Camp Allen in Navasota. Three times.

To Marlin, Texas. Twice. Waco. Chambersville. Tyler. Lindale. Minneapolis and St. Paul. Many miles around the Houston area.

Including traveling home to St. Cuthbert to preach and celebrate Eucharist, the parish that sent me to seminary nearly thirty years ago.

I am a Missioner, after all.

I begin November on my way to Beech Grove, Indiana for an Oblate retreat at Our Lady of Grace Monastery. A week of prayer, worship, and holy reading. Surprises of joy and play.

I am nearing the year anniversary of my departure from St. Mary’s. This is a good week for my spirit and soul to catch up and rest.

This past week I voted for the first time since moving into town. I was struck by the many colors and shapes of people that joined me for early voting. I was reminded by how much I am loving living in a city where everyday I experience the amazing greatness of the image of God.

Traveling. Again.

Because I am spending more time in a smaller circumference on this vacation, rather than travels hither and yon, I am having time to read.

I started my third book yesterday (!) while waiting for my friend to finish her massage.

On this trip I’ve read:

And now I’m a few chapters into

I love that I can check out ebooks from the library and download them to my iPad. It’s a light weight way to carry a library of possibilities when I travel.

I’m also having more time during quiet mornings to read the myriad of devotions I receive via email and apps each day. All via iPhone.

A daily email, though not one that would be classified as a devotional, almost always gives me deep spiritual pondering. Its from Seth Godin, and this morning’s gave me pause:

Politics is organized sparring about power, without much regard for efficacy or right or wrong.

Governance is the serious business of taking responsibility for leadership.

When we have a chance to speak up for governance we strike a blow against politics.

Dedication, resilience, and concerted effort have saved us before and they can save us again. Except once again, it’s up to us to speak up and do something about it.

These words had me write a letter to myself in my head. I am one of those leaders after all.

If our country was indeed founded in the belief of the unalienable right of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,

Do the decisions I make forward life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness? Not only for me. But most particularly for others?

Am I, a woman of great privilege, willing to give up some of my privilege for others? Or at least share? Or at least work to break down the walls and open the doors that keep those privileges selfishly close?

And it’s so easy for me to see how someone with many guns might harm other’s life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness, what choices do I make that harm someone else’s right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

What about me?

(From the Harwood Museum: Judy Chicago: The Birth Project)

When my best friend and I were deciding in July whether or not we could make our trip back to Iceland and the Faroes, part of what we did was imagine all the steps (metaphorically and literally) we’d have to take. We finally allowed reality to meet romance, and we realized that although it was possible for us to go the Faroe Islands, they would be enjoyed more father down her healing road.

And that’s how we came to decide to do a “pilot” trip instead. New Mexico was an easy flight from Georgia and Texas, and we had a wonderful and familiar place to stay.

And that’s how we came to learn about priority travel–the way we can travel when one person has less mobility than she’d like.

There’s priority parking.

Priority chairs on wheels a friend can push when walking a museum is not possible.

Priority gardens out the back door when the circumference of miles usually journeyed becomes feet.

Priority hiking of 70 steps out the front door to see our neighbors, the llamas.

Priority body care including hair cuts, facials, and today, massages.

A day short of a week into our trip, we still have half a tank of gas, most of that used driving from the Albuquerque airport to Taos.

Priority travel has been about listening. Slowing. Asking for assistance. Receiving help. Nearly unceasing prayer. And lots of laughter.

From Agnes Martin’s gallery at the High Museum:

Friendship. Perfect Day.