One of the gifts of being an Episcopalian is that Christmas lasts twelve days. In planning this trip to see my Bend family, I had all sorts of ideas of ways to celebrate each day.

At the beginning of Advent, I sent my grandboys a homemade Advent calendar, of sorts, with a card to open each day. In each envelope, there was a small card with a food item and a Bible verse. The first envelope had a one hundred bill to buy the food items. The plan was to buy the groceries during my Christmas visit and deliver them to someone who might be hungry.

Today, the second day of Christmas, was the day. My daughter-in-law suggested a local agency that serves those without homes called the Bethlehem Inn (how appropriate is that?). On their website, they had a list of items they actually needed so that became our revised list.

As we had made our plan on how to celebrate the second day of Christmas, the boys talked about sharing God’s love, and we decided to do something for someone else before we did something for ourselves.

We shopped the local Fred Meyer, and the boys used their $100 to buy two $50 gift cards. I matched their gift by purchasing the items on the list. The boys chose which specific meat, cheese, butter, cereal, paper goods and other items we would buy (the ones they would want for themselves) for our friends at Bethlehem Inn.

A quick stop at Starbucks for some personal provisions, and then we were off to the Inn.

Our outing was capped off with a trip to see the new Spiderman movie. One of the gifts of being a grandma is seeing movies I’d never choose to see myself–and enjoying myself immensely.

The second day of celebrating Jesus’ birth was full of joy. Jesus’ love shared. Given and received.

It is my first Christmas in over two decades to have no priestly Christmas responsibility. It’s a whirlwind of change as I move to a brand new place (in every sense). The other night my grandson, Austin, read from his Bible the story of Abram and Sarai traveling from their familiar home to the home God had yet to show them. It feels like I am walking with them.

Instead of writing a sermon, I made Christmas cookies with the grandboys.

We went to church early afternoon, and I sang Silent Night with my candlelit family. As we walked out of worship, the world was wrapped in snow.

Christmas Eve was celebrated with my ex-husband and his family. I was warmly welcomed. That evening ended with singing happy birthday to baby Jesus.

All of the joy is underlaced with sadness. I missed walking up the farolita-lit walk to the Eve of the Incarnation at St. Mary’s. I missed the spiritual anchor of being immersed in the preparation and celebration of liturgy. I am on a new way.

On this morning of the Incarnation, my communion bread was cinnamon rolls made by my son. My grandson was the deacon as he read the Christmas gospel as our breakfast blessing. The congregation was my Bend family joined by their cat.

In the steps of the Wise Ones in Matthew’s Gospel, it is home by a different way. Filled with the love of Christ. Finding new ways to share that love.

I have been spending most of this season of Advent looking for a new home.

As my time as rector of St. Mary’s has come to an end, the Rectory needs to be readied for someone new.  In this time of transition, I have generously and graciously been allowed to live in the Rectory.  But I know that it is quickly becoming no longer my home.

Since my new office will be downtown, I’ve been searching with my realtor for a place closer into town. I have been surprised how exhausting it’s been–not the Sabbath I expected December to be.  You see, the story I’d made up in my head was that God had a fabulous new place already prepared for me (which I still believe is true) and that the process would go much more quickly and easily.  Now why in the world did I think this pilgrimage would be different than all of the others of my life?

My new job with the Diocese will be ever so much more different than being a rector of a parish.  I’m imagining the kind of home that will fit my new way of life.  I first had to decide whether to rent or buy.  Since I’ve been in packing and moving mode for the last two years, I’m ready to pack one last time and unpack for a good long while.  I’m going to buy and abide.

Part of the challenge of becoming set on my new home is that I’ve spent the last two years reimagining the Rectory and that house, after two renovations in two years, thanks to flood water, is as close to perfect, for me, as any place I’ve ever lived.  Oh yes.  Except that it is prone to flooding.

I’ve had to decide what is essential in my new home, and what I can do without.  As I’ve driven from place to place, walked up and down stairs and opened doors, this has changed.

I’m also aware that any change involves grief.  It also involves trust.

And so I’ll sing the O Antiphon for this 19th day of December:

O come, O Branch of Jesse’s stem,
unto your own and rescue them!
From depths of hell your people save,
and give them victory o’er the grave.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Immanuel
shall come to you, O Israel.

Today I’ll rejoice that I have a home.

Today I’ll rejoice that I have the resources (money, friends, wise counselors) to find a new home.

I’ll remember what Immanuel means…God is with us.

I’ll remember what Israel means…..God prevails.

Gracious!  Holy Immanuel and Holy Israel.  The Advent unexpected pilgrimage continues.  God with.  God prevailing.

Being on a Sabbatical in the season of Advent means

Letting the sunrise be my wake up call on a Sunday morning

Having space to visit a friend who is dying

Not hurrying anywhere, and so puttering my way back home

Reading books with abandon

Making a Mickey Cake on a Sunday morning because I feel like it

Having a whole day unfold before me to do as God and I will