It’s Tybee Time, again.  For as many years as I can remember, I spend a few days each Lent in this sleepy, quiet beach town outside Savannah.

Up at 4 AM to catch the first flight out, my mind was still pondering last night’s Vestry discussion.  We watched the 5 Marks of Love video appointed for that day in Lent and responded to the question posed:

How have you experienced God’s love? How does that experience inform how you love others?

As the Rectory nears completion after the flood eleven months ago, as I am surrounded by peace, care, and beauty, my heart overflows with God’s love.  As I drove to the airport, I could feel that love seeping out to those around me.

It started on the shuttle bus from the parking lot.  I found myself praying for the folks traveling with me, and especially for the two dark-complected men who spoke to one another in Spanish.  I wondered about them and the people they love–are they anxious or fearful about possible deportations?

My driver was especially gracious and helpful.  He did little things to make that trip easier–found out when our flights were leaving so he could be sure that we got to our terminal on time; updating us about changes in the parking rules and how we could make things go more smoothly.

When I arrived at my terminal, as I gave the driver a little more generous tip than usual (it is Lent, after all), I thanked him for his service and complimented him on how well he did his job.  He teared up and told me that his whole day had changed.  Having experiencing God’s love, loving others.

When I got to my gate, the flight was way overbooked.  I am an anxious traveler (my growth edge with God, for sure).  I told my friend who would be meeting me in Atlanta that there was no way that I would give up my seat.

Then the gate agent asked for volunteers. They were guaranteed a seat on the flight leaving an hour and a half later, with an upgrade, a voucher for food, and a credit for a future flight.

As if a hand was pushing me out of my seat, I was first in line to volunteer.  I decided it had to be a God thing, and as folks who had been waiting for seats were given tickets, I wondered if there was someone who really, really, really needed to get to Atlanta, who was now able to go. I’ll buy my friend a coffee in Atlanta with my food voucher to thank her for waiting an extra hour or two for our retreat to begin (thankfully, she hadn’t left home yet).   Having experienced God’s love, loving others.

So I’m waiting a little to get started on my retreat.  But maybe if my retreat is to be about having received love, then sharing that love in small and not so small ways, perhaps I’ve already begun.

On Sunday in Adult Christian Formation, one of our responses to the Scripture we read was to write a love letter to God.

I began my letter of love with words describing an image from the night just days short of eleven months ago when flood waters poured into my home.

A man I’d never met before and a man I consider a trusted friend kayaked, then walked, through the murky thigh high waters to rescue my best friend and me.  As I sat safely in the kayak, being rowed to dry land by a man I didn’t know, holding a zip lock bag with all the possessions that I knew for certain would make it to safety,  I was full of peace that passed any understanding.

Floating on the quiet waters that filled my street, the night lit only by street lamps that were somehow miraculously still working, the stillness and the silence except for the sound of the oars, was a defining moment of God’s love.

The days and weeks and now months that have passed have been the most challenging of my life.  My life as rector of  a parish with its own day to day joys, tasks, sorrows, and conflicts continued amidst the gutting and and throwing out and restoring and hauling as I redefined home. Grief, anger, joy, laughter, exhaustion, chaos, rest, and peace have measured my days.  As I look back, now I begin to see God’s love in each and every moment.

This morning’s Lenten devotional quoted a familiar hymn, How Can I Keep from Singing.

My life flows on in endless song;
above earth’s lamentation,
I catch the sweet, though far-off hymn
that hails a new creation.

Refrain:  No storm can shake my inmost calm
while to that Rock I’m clinging.
Since Christ is Lord of heaven and earth,
how can I keep from singing?

As I did my morning prayer walk this first Tuesday in Lent, still in my temporary home, there was a visible sunrise for the first time in days.  Completing the walk, I looked back on the way that I had traveled this morning.  I noticed that the gravel path was full of puddles from the last few day’s rain–little pools of flood waters.  The spring green of new growth framed the road.  All the morning birds were singing their hearts out.  At the end of the path was a gentle, beautiful sunrise.

Another love letter to God.

How can I keep from singing?

Through all the tumult and the strife,
I hear that music ringing.
It finds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing? 

Refrain:  No storm can shake my inmost calm
while to that Rock I’m clinging.
Since Christ is Lord of heaven and earth,
how can I keep from singing?

What though my joys and comforts die?
I know my Savior liveth.
What though the darkness gather round?
Songs in the night he giveth. 

The peace of Christ makes fresh my heart,
a fountain ever springing!
All things are mine since I am his!
How can I keep from singing? 

Refrain:  No storm can shake my inmost calm
while to that Rock I’m clinging.
Since Christ is Lord of heaven and earth,
how can I keep from singing?

I woke up in the middle night and had some pondering time. I was pondering the companions I have found traveling to New Mexico each year.  Most, if not all, though people of faith, hope, and love, have no formal connection to a faith community. I’m not certain if any would say they follow Christ. Yet being with them, I find my own faith growing and being deeply enriched. They are always accepting of my faith journey and our conversations are rich.

Having begun the 24 Project here, I gave to organizations that might not have been on my own list yet each organization furthered God’s good work.

Project #4 was to Stray Hearts Animal Shelter. I’ll be honest. I love animals, but for me, caring for animals is always second to providing for the needs of people.  Yet I know that among God’s first words to us in Scripture was a charge to care for all of creation. As I drove the streets of wintery Taos, handmade signs had been placed beside the road reminding folks to bring their animals in for nights that were sub-freezing temperatures.

I gave to Stray Hearts in honor of Pablo and Lydia, owners of The Coffee Apothecary.  Pablo and Lydia opened our new favorite coffee place in Taos only five weeks ago. Not only do they brew the most delicious coffee in town (and some other places, too), what makes this our new favorite is the amazing hospitality.  Smiles and warm personal greetings abound, and after your first visit, they
remember your beverage of choice. We’ve come at least once each day of our stay.

My heart was moved to tell them about the 24 Project, and a request to give in their honor.  What followed was an beautiful conversation the joy of giving.

Today is my last day in Taos. As we prepare to leave town, we stopped for coffee at the Apothecary. We were greeted by name, and Pablo and Lydia were so hoping to see us before we leave town. They
gifted us with our final cappuccino and latte until the Epiphany trip next year.

For we’ve discovered a new rhythm.  The quiet of January in Taos fits our travel style far better than the bustle of Advent. It’s been a slow and good rest, with time for creativity, friends, and much laughter.