Arise! Shine! Your light has come; the Lord’s glory has shone upon you.

Though darkness covers the earth and gloom the nations, the Lord will shine upon you.

God’s glory will appear over you.

Nations will come to your light and kings to your dawning radiance.

Lift up your eyes and look all around: they are all gathered; they have come to you.

Your sons will come from far away, and your daughters on caregivers’ hips.

Then you will see and be radiant; your heart will tremble and open wide,

Your gates will be open continually; day and night they won’t close,

Violence will no longer resound throughout your land, nor devastation or destruction within your borders.

You will call your walls Salvation, and your gates Praise.

The sun will no longer be your light by day, nor will the moon shine for illumination by night.

The Lord will be your everlasting light; your God will be your glory.

Your sun will no longer set; your moon will no longer wane.

The Lord will be an everlasting light for you and your days of mourning will be ended.

From Isaiah 60 (CEB)

Good morning, God. This is your day….

My first prayers this morning were in front of the fire with my community across the miles through St. Mary’s twice each day Facebook live Daily Office, a ministry gift from the Harvey floods.

As Becca Stevens writes, Mercy is clearest in hindsight.

Today is an unscheduled day. Wide open with possibilities and invitations.

My friends back in home in Texas are having a rare snow day. Wide open with invitations and possibilities.

Wherever we are, until we gather again for prayers at day’s end, may we hold each possibility and invitation in our hands as God’s gift of Mercy.

I am your child. Please show me your way. AMEN

I’m sitting at my very favorite coffee spot in Santa Fe. I’m thankful I can walk with no pain again.

I’ve been healing from an ankle injury since before Thanksgiving. Nearly healed during Advent, I reinjured my ankle in a fall, and have been walking with a limp since.

Last week at the monastery, I took my first walk in nearly two months without pain. That first walk was Our Lady of Grace’s labyrinth. It was not lost on me that this first walk was a prayer.

Like many of us, I count my steps each day. Walking in pain, my step count rarely got over 5000 steps since November.

Yesterday between church and travel, I was what Fitbit calls an overachiever–over 13,000 steps. It was not lost on me that these many steps were made in the midst of serving at St. Mary’s and traveling to play and rest.

Today I begin my Epiphany walk in New Mexico. There is always a retreat aspect to my trips. This year I am walking through two important Epiphany anniversaries in my ordained ministry walk. Twenty years ago on the Feast of the Epiphany, I was installed as Rector of St. Mary’s. On January 25, I will celebrate twenty five years of ordained ministry as Priest.

When my friend and I arrived in Santa Fe last night, we were surprised to see the Plaza still lit with festive lights. Our expectation was that these lights were put up in Advent and would be removed after Christmas.

Epiphany lights!

Christ to light the walk. In pain or not. Few steps or many. Thanks be to God.

I’m in snowy Indiana at the Indianapolis airport waiting for two friends’ delayed planes to arrive.  Truth be told, in the midst of a very busy Advent, Christmas, and now Epiphany, it is good to have time for my body, soul, and spirit to catch up to one another.

I knit.  I listen to Carrie Newcomer’s wonderful music.  I think.  I ponder.

I spent last week mainly in bed with a winter cold.  Trying to stay away from folks in order to not share the gift, it was as good a place as any for me finally to complete my 2016 (I know, very delayed) taxes and submit the paperwork and documentation for the insurance claim for my personal belongings lost in the 2017 Harvey Flood.   Drinking hot tea laced with lemon picked from a friend’s tree and eating soup made by another friend, I relived the Tax Day Flood (2016) and Harvey Floods (2017).  No wonder I was abed!

Yet there was joy, too.  With the sad and painful memories there was much care and love to recall, too.  Having put off facing the pain of the two floods, I had also missed experiencing healing, compassion, and so many gifts.

I had not looked forward to this new year.  This time last year I had hoped (as most of us had) that 2017 would be a better year.  On first glance, it felt like another hard year.  Who wants to do that again?

Although it all too often didn’t feel like it, in this wait in Indianapolis, I see how much 2017 was indeed a better year.  Having flooded twice, moving and giving away and throwing away again and again, I find myself with a freedom I’ve never had in my life.

I’ve never been more certain who I am and what is most important to me.

Each relationship I have is a treasure.  Each thing I own is valued.

I’ve never loved being rector of St. Mary’s more than I do today–I have a playfulness and joyfulness and creativity that I’ve never had.  There is a depth to everything I see and do that would never have happened without 2016 and 2017.

This month I will celebrate twenty-five years of being a priest.  And I feel like I’m only now discovering what that truly means.

It is not ordinary time.