I missed sharing the beginning of Advent with my St. Mary’s family. With the ear of my heart, I heard the music of the community. With the eyes of my heart, I saw the nearly bare manger and the new Advent wreath. As are so many things this year, it was bitter sweet.

I decided to create something new from things I already have. I had seen the idea of a living Advent wreath planted with succulents. I mulled the idea around in my head and used what was available to make my own.

I emptied a pot from outside (carefully moving the plants that were already in it). I gathered small live plants from around the house for the greenery:

A small plant that I’ve kept alive for probably nearly three decades. It came from a piece that broke off and was left behind on the floor of our car. The plant was a gift from my then husband and me to our sister-in-law as a thank you for hosting Thanksgiving.

A jade plant that has grown from a small branch that had fallen on the floor of an Episcopal Church in Washington. I had attended worship there on an early weekday morning during a long ago vacation. Later that day my traveling friend and I would receive the news that her mother-in-law had died. I almost lost the plant in the Tax Day Flood, but was able to nurse it back to health.

Two plants from an arrangement given to me by my son and daughter-in-law to thank me for caring for my newborn grandson, Jonas.

A new plant, given by a dear St. Mary’s parishioner, as a goodbye gift.

After Christmas, I’ll remove the candles and hope to keep this arrangement of plants alive until next year. It will be one of the items that will move into my not yet found new home. In the year ahead, if one or another of the plant dies, I know there will be something new that can grow in that no longer empty spot.

Advent at the Monastery began with Saturday night Vespers. One blue candle was lit, and we began to pray.

It is now the morning of the first Sunday of the new Church year. I walked in the dark and the rain to the Monastery from the guest house for coffee and silence before Matins and then Eucharist.

My first spoken words this morning will be words of praise to God. After worship our silence will be over.

The #Adventword for this day is journey.

It has been good. It is good. It will be good.

Now the silence.

Now the peace.

Now the empty hands uplifted.

From a hymn by Jaroslav J. Vajda

On a silent retreat words spoken aloud are in the context of worship and spiritual direction.

For an introvert like me this is not that big a challenge. Of course when I include silence from social media, that becomes my stretching place.

The spiritual practice of silence doesn’t stop the chatter and foolishness in my head. That’s why fasting from all but spoken holy words is essential. Surrounding myself with words that are windows and doorways into God is an opportunity to shape the murmurings in my mind into words that are more compassionate, full of loving kindness, and appreciative joy.

Off to Diurnum (noonday prayers). Time to get another mind full of the. holy.

Since I spent my final Sunday as rector of St. Mary’s, it’s been a whirlwind of change and last things. As I worked on my transition plan, I knew I had a gift of an empty Sunday on the first day of Advent, when the Church celebrates a new year. I decided to go on a silent retreat with the sisters of St. Helena in Augusta, Georgia.

The podcasts and devotionals that have begun my mornings have been full of words about beginnings and endings. I feel a gift of opportunity in this time as I move from one part of my life to another.

There’s no direct flight to Augusta, so a friend offered to meet me in Atlanta and drive me to the Monastery. We went via one of my favorite towns, Athens, with time for coffee, a movie, a visit to a favorite potter, and a couple of great meals.

We walked into town for breakfast this morning. The need for silence was coming upon me, and my friend was wanting to visit a museum. As God would have it, my friend saw a notice for mindfulness meditation at the Georgia Museum of Art. Starting in twenty-five minutes.

We power-walked back to the hotel for the car and drove to the museum with five minutes to spare. Nothing like rushing to be still for meditation.

Inside the museum, we walked to a small gallery. We sat on folding stools and cushions with a group of people while a professor led us in an hour of meditation. For part of the time, we were invited to continue our meditative practice as we gazed at the art on the walls surrounding us.

The room where we sat in stillness was an exhibit of works created by Ted Kincaid called “Even if I Lose Everything.” On the walls were his digital images of clouds.

Using words like compassion, loving kindness, and appreciative joy, we meditated sitting, and then we stood or sat in front of the art and joined what we saw with the silence within.

The blues of the paintings and the intentional mindfulness was an unexpected beginning for my Advent retreat.

Now arrived at the Monastery, the silence begins.