I am currently (slowly) reading Richard Rohr’s book, The Tears of Things, so I spend some time in that. These last two books allow me to sit in gratitude. To recognize the importance of day to day living. The divine threaded through the ordinary. And then I end with a chapter (only one, Greta!) from a perennial favorite, Joan Didion’s Slouching Toward Bethlehem, which leaves me with an unsettled and strong desire to write.

From creative, to appreciative, to action. This is the dance that works best for me. I am very strict with my boundaries around this reading. I refuse to call them ‘devotions’, unless including all areas of life to be appreciated. I think of them as inspirational reading, inspiring different synapses in my brain.

I find my final exercise is to turn to Substack. Some of the most inspirational (creative, intelligent, thought-provoking) people frequent this corner of the internet. Their words push me and challenge me and soothe me and mostly, make me feel less isolated in a busy, thinking world.

Two ‘coincidences’ collided today in my reading. They seemed antithetical at first glance, but I found their similarity of theme almost humorous. The first was today’s journaling prompt from @Thee Book Club: What is one ordinary thing you hope you never stop appreciating? and secondly, I read an article from Didion called ‘The Seacoast of Despair’ (1967) in which she discusses the indulgent opulence of the late 1800’s in Newport, Rhode Island. (It’s an essay worth looking up.)

“Happiness is, after all, a consumption ethic,” Didion writes. “The landscape less to be enjoyed than dominated.” Henry James hoped the houses would stand there always, “reminders of the peculiarly awkward vengeance of affronted proportion and discretion.”

I thought back to my simple answer to the journaling prompt earlier in the day. I hope I never lose appreciation for the way the light lays across the living room during the first bursts of sun in the morning. I don’t want to lose appreciation for seeing the random beauty in life. The way a grouping of household goods are piled together or the shade of pink that dominates the afternoon attic.

If you’re feeling…simple…in the scheme of living. If your world seems particularly small in this season, remember there isn’t some manufactured happiness waiting on the other side of struggle - even when it seems like the most logical conclusion. There is still morning light and summer fruits and quiet coffee shops with your favorite barista.

I have fallen, so very often, into the let-me-just-get-beyond-this-thing mentality. At this time in my life, I am determined to learn to sit quietly in the peace of this moment, be it chaotic or boring or plentiful or sparse.

What is the one ordinary thing you hope you never stop appreciating?

Surely a peaceful heart sits higher on that list than extraordinary wealth or position. May we both learn to see the pockets of joy as they unfold, and know we are wealthy in the face of recognized contentment.

Inevitably he would utter from the bedroom, “I can hear you being quiet. Just be normal.” All my attempts at consideration, vanquished.

In the end, the normal bangs and creaks and noises of our home were the most comforting to him. They created the environment of normalcy so he could truly relax.

My two-year-old grandson has a noise machine that works on a similar principle. Instead of producing one constant sound, it subtly changes its pitch and pattern so babies learn to adapt to the ordinary noises of a home rather than waking at every change.

All of this came to mind recently when my thoughts headed down a familiar path of self-doubt. My daughter is getting married at the end of the year. We are all excited about the various festivities and celebrations that will happen in their honor. Simmering beneath all the excitement is a familiar (if not universal) anxiety: looking my best.

What if I were more…

Could I lose…

If I try to elevate this part of my personality and mask more of this less-savory part…

on and on it goes.

The unhealthy thoughts of the past start nudging their way into my aging confidence. The doubts of who I am, begin to edge out the good things that I’ve worked hard to cultivate over the passing years. If I could only tweak this. Hide that. If only…

The funny thing is, humans are surprisingly good at sensing when someone is being inauthentic. We can feel it in a stranger, and certainly in someone we know well. We instinctively notice when someone is performing instead of simply being.

On the other hand, we are naturally drawn to pure joy. We relax around people who give off a sense of authenticity. We might not be the finely polished product we hope to display to the world, but when we step into our whole self, we allow others to do so as well.

Giving others the space to be freely themselves is the unspoken gift we offer to others.

We know people who speak harshly about their own appearance so we feel sure they’re judging us under the same harsh microscope, and that feels wildly uncomfortable. As we learn to be kinder in our self-talk and laugh at the inevitable process of aging, we are simultaneously learning to embrace others in a grace-filled manner.

“I can hear you being quiet” sounds like a funny oxymoron, and yet we instinctively feel the stress level of someone changing/hiding their true selves. It is only when they move into a familiar and comfortable rhythm that we can sit back and relax. The what-ifs and if-onlys aren’t just hurting you, they are a barrier to genuine human connection.

I’m not exactly sure what God had in mind when he wove some of the strings of my personality together, but when I trust that they were fearfully and wonderfully made - with intention and purpose - I begin to see a work of art, not a hapless assortment of parts.

Collectively, we are a gallery of art. Each one of us is creating a storyline of humanity. Your part and my part are different. But working together we are a continuous masterpiece. An ongoing exhibit.

Similar to Scott's admonition all those years ago, I wonder how often we need to catch our own noisy self-talk. When we're trying so hard to become a quieter, better, more polished version of ourselves, everyone can hear the effort.

The ordinary sounds of a home are comforting because they’re real. Maybe the ordinary rhythms of a person are comforting for the same reason.

God wasn’t asking me to become someone easier to admire. He was inviting me to become fully who He created me to be.

The before and after is pretty fun to see!

This is a common phrase in meditation practice. Many people assume meditation is about “clearing your mind.” But who can actually do that?

The idea of sitting down for twenty minutes and perfectly breathing without thoughts of unanswered texts, grocery lists, or replaying yesterday’s tense conversation feels impossible. Or at least for 99.9% of us.

The central discipline of meditation is not emptiness. It is noticing. You notice you are lost in mental chatter and gently let those thoughts go - for the time being.

There are many analogies for this, but I prefer clouds drifting overhead. In the middle of meditation, I realize I’m caught in a cloud of thought, step back from it, allow it to float by, and return to the centering rhythm of my breath.

Breathing grounds us in the present moment instead of yesterday’s regrets, tomorrow’s concerns, or even worries of later this afternoon.

There are significant health benefits of slowing your heart rate, not to mention the emotional relief of managing nothing for a short while.

Meditation is not about clearing your mind.

Meditation is about returning to your breath - again and again.

After a particularly meaningful guided meditation this morning (led by one of my favorite teachers, Sharon Salzberg), I picked up a book by theologian Steve McCormick called Doctrine Made Faith.

McCormick writes about the journey of faith as being a continual returning - again and again - to the Creator.

And suddenly the connection clicked.

Christianity can also be misunderstood as a relentless pursuit of perfection. Words like sanctification and perfection in Christ can begin to feel pressure-packed.

Some of us spend too much of our faith lives wondering why we get distracted. Why we feel anger. Envy. Laziness. Anxiety. Why we cannot sustain perfect devotion.

We feel we have disappointed God with our ordinary humanness.

But perhaps those moments are more like the clouds overhead.

We notice them.

We allow them to pass.

And we return.

Return to prayer.
Return to presence.
Return to Christ. The centering, grounding, life-giving presence of God.

Maybe the journey of faith - like meditation - is not built on perfect performance.

Maybe it grows through the discipline of noticing our drift and choosing to come home again.

These two simple ideas collided for me this morning:

• Faith is not perfection. It is returning to Christ throughout our days.

• Meditation is not clearing my mind. It is recognizing my wandering thoughts and returning to my breath.

This may be why they are called practices.

We strengthen faith and meditation not through performance - but through the sacred act of returning.

** Admittedly, this is plain ol’ nerding out post about something that has been a lot of fun for me this year, but might be of zilch interest to you. I get it…it’s a longer post! But maybe??? it will spark something for you. Take all or part of it and do your own creation. I would really love to know if you also practice something similar and what the mechanics are for you. Are you a torn-off-dinner-napkin-with-notes-jotted-on-it type of person or do you have something more formal? Because honestly - I am definitely both! If you make it to the end - my sincerest THANKS!

I went to college later in life. I was 35 years old when I started and four years later I came out a tad bit smarter but a whole lot more curious about all the things I didn’t know. That’s the purpose of college, I suppose. To make us lifelong excavators for a deeper understanding of the world outside ourselves.

A graduate, I now had journals and torn pieces of paper and sidenotes on lectures and syllabi - all filled with questions or notes like: ‘look up the impact of bridges’. They were each as random and detached as possible. But I have been collecting them over the years. Like the books on my shelves, I’ll never live long enough to read or research them all, but it seems I am unable to let a curiosity slip by without noting it down somewhere for future me to discover.

I have been excited to learn more about Commonplace Books this year. Little did I realize I’ve been ‘Commonplacing’ and didn’t know it had a name. Once I learned it was a reference tool I could use, I started my own Commonplace Book earlier this year and have thoroughly enjoyed the process of cataloging some of my bits and pieces.

Many people - from various fields - have kept commonplace books as an encyclopedia of their brains. Unlike journals or diaries that house our inner thoughts, a commonplace book holds ideas from outside sources so we can reference back to them at a later date.

Here are a few of my own pages. Could this be done with a slick app like Excel or Canva or another online tool? Absolutely. But for me, the analog aspect of it is key. Researching a topic, then writing it out with my own hand is a part of the memory completion. It disconnects me from online and places me in my own eye/hand space.

As a kid, I remember pulling our family’s encyclopedia books off the shelves to research a topic for school. Flipping through the pages, mentally reciting the alphabet in my head to check where I was within the pages of information. It was a tactile process that I now think about much more romantically than I did decades ago when a deadline was looming far too menacingly close.

Some of the entries are quotes I picked up somewhere or segments of speeches given or book excerpts I might want to come back to as writing references. These words are printed in a small font and sometimes followed by my own reflection (in cursive) on what they meant to me when I read them. The sources are written in the side columns.

Many times the page is instigated by something in the news or events happening in society at the moment. Below is an overview of Ralph Lauren design over the years. I have a renewed interest in Ralph Lauren each time the Opening Ceremony of the Olympics showcases his work on the American uniforms.

Or here, a quick overview of Resistance/Revolution in American history. In particular, I was reflecting on modern day resistance (George Floyd shooting, Ferguson, Missouri, ICE demonstrations, etc) instigated by the Minnesota riots in March.

Staring out my window one night, I stared up at the full moon and my curiosity was peaked about the phases of the moon and the intentions we can set within each moon cycle.

As Iran entered our news cycle, I wondered about the history of such an ancient culture. Ironically, days after creating this entry, the President commented on ‘wiping out an entire civilization’ and I immediately thought of the people and their history I had just recorded in my commonplace book.

I’ve been involved in a fantastic political book club this year. Each book we read left a lingering question in my mind: What is politics if you eliminate culture wars? I was beginning to realize that if a question keeps hanging around in my mind then it is probably something that needed to be researched in my commonplace book.

This simple observation from author, Kent Nerburn about the morning birdsong made me think of his role in my own personal evolution in the early 2000’s and was able to reflect on my changing beliefs as well as the ‘founding fathers’ of my own second half of life.

I have several pages from a significant book I finished this year. A book that has involved a lot of healing in my life personally - so I wrote each meaningful excerpt then followed it with my personal reflections.

I saw someone on social media talk about getting in trouble as a kid. This led me to think about my own ‘downfalls’ in childhood and what kind of adult that reoccuring trouble usually creates. My parents - one a junior high English teacher and the other an elementary school principal - would get so upset with me when I came home with the saaaaaaaaame comment on my progress reports or grade cards (in fact, I got in double trouble when I would try to sign their name and get caught doing that too.) As educators who deal with kids all day, they were never happy to see the comment: “Greta is a pleasure to have in class but she talks too much.” I bet a lot of you got the same comment too! You can imagine how frustrating that was for them to think I was a part of the disruption in class or causing frustration for the teacher. I totally understand their anxiousness. But a little chat with GPT revealed some spot-on things about who I became as an adult. It was extremely freeing for me to research. I let my child self off the hook a little bit in the process.

The most exciting part of this ongoing project is the way a Leuchtturm journal is set up with an index in the front page. I won’t actually fill that out until I’m finished with the book but I’ve been keeping possible topics that I can use. Because each page is numbered, I can easily jot down the page number and the related topic in the front index. When going back to the book in the future, I’ll be able to quickly go to the pages about, say, ‘world events’ or ‘life skills’.

I don’t write in this commonplace book daily, only as a topic comes up that I keep rolling around in my head. Researching through the topic then writing it out in my own ‘personal encyclopedia’ has been the perfect amount of challenging and invigorating for me. Some of the information I will pull from in future writing endeavors. A lot of the information was meaningful for the moment in which I needed to know more about it, but may not be useful again in the future. Both scenarios are okay. I am deeply grateful for a curious mind and the desire to learn new things for the rest of my life. Surrounding myself with the ability to do that is key; widening the opportunity to learn something new by listening to things happening in the world and taking note of beauty in any form.

This exercise has also initiated a new commonplace book specifically to one topic I have studied for years and am constantly learning more about: the enneagram. I have gathered together all my notes and slips of paper and am working on a separate commonplace dedicated to the subject of the enneagram. Again, it’s a fun mental challenge for me and I know I will reference it often in the future.

Total nerd? Yeah, probably. But when it’s your own nerddom - it’s a happy place to be! I am anticipating many years of collected knowledge in these commonplace books if for no other reason than the thrill of learning something new.

Does this spark any ideas for you and your own quest? Is it the craziest thing you’ve ever heard of?! -ha. I’d love to know what it stirs up in you.

Leave a comment

We also collectively suspended our frustrations over wannabe “astronauts” backed by billionaires, and gold-enshrined arches that are simply a rip-off from a country who has already been carrying the big arch legacy beautifully for decades. We paused our worry about war and gas prices and instead linked arms in unison to usher our space heroes back to earth. Reading and sharing others’ excitement has been healing and encouraging. A much-needed mind and spirit reset.

Then yesterday, watching Poppy excitedly cheer her daddy’s Masters win. His deep gratitude for his parents. The last-minute drama in the pine trees. The calming atmosphere in Augusta where the azaleas know their job is to bloom brightest and stand proud.

It's a new kind of Monday. A hope-filled reset with my new millions of best friends around the world. When I don’t feel like unloading the dishwasher or getting the steps in or finishing the overdue project, I’ll think about names like Christina or Rory or Rise (or Rise’s creator, 8yo Lucas.) Thank you, NASA, and even Sunday afternoon golf, for a refreshing reminder that humanity craves the good. We needed it! Our future looks brighter because you did the difficult things then magnanimously allowed us to stand with you in celebration.

We will pay it forward with Moon Joy in our hearts.

I appreciate the practice in the Catholic tradition of selecting a saint by which to live. I think I’d pick Mary Magdalene, if given the chance. I’ve been reading the book, Mary Magdalene Revealed  by Meggan Watterson and have to keep stopping to process the text in my mind. It has helped me to record key points in my Commonplace Book for quick reference along the way.

The earliest evidence of the lost gospel of Mary Magdalene was discovered in 1896 in Cairo. In 1917, a third-century Greek fragment was found, including evidence of earlier findings. The only gospel written in the name of a woman, the writings took place around the time of the gospel of John.

Mary Magdalene was the first woman to be healed and to walk with Christ. Her story is not about sinfulness, but about how much she overcame. 

“I am she who is honored and she who is scorned. I am the whore and the holy woman. I am the wife and the virgin. I am the bride and the bride groom.”

These words resonate with many followers today. We know what pitfalls we have had - and continue to battle - which makes the knowledge of Christ’s resurrection over sin all the more powerful and appreciated. The carnality of our humanity seems cavernous, yet His love envelops it all. 

Mary’s compassion and insight are applicable even today. She speaks to the same equality we are currently fighting to uphold. As we raise signs at rallies and vote passionately for change, perhaps we can keep Mary’s words close at hand:

Every nature, every modeled form, every creature, exists in and with each other. - Mary 2:2

We exist in and with each other. That is a simple but powerful example of love for our neighbor.

Society is slowing beginning to recognize that all discussions are made greater when there is room for both men and women around the table. The inclusion of Mary’s texts about Christ gives us an approach to Christianity that - as Watterson discusses in her book - is an approach we haven’t yet tried. 

As the first person to see Christ after his resurrection, Mary recognized him by his voice. Blinded by grief and confusion, it was his voice that calmed her heart. It was her faithfulness that girded her belief. 

I am continuing to read and learn from this and other writings about the words of Mary Magdalene and her relationship to Christ. 

Easter 2026 feels overshadowed by global grief and confusion. For me personally, this Spring has been challenging and even fearful at times. Yet when I listen closely, I can hear the familiar voice, bidding me to hold strong. The call of Christ reminds me to remember the healing of the past; to stand steady in the belief that the future is in God’s hands. The risen, redemptive, resolute resurrection of Christ remains our hope in uncertain times. In the face of controversy, we rebelliously raise our palm leaves and shout, ‘Hosanna anyway!’

The grave could not hold him. Triumph is certain. Hope is secured.

“Put your car in neutral and take your foot off the brake.”

Suddenly our cars pitch forward into the blinding wall of suds.

I recently went for a car refresh with too many thoughts jumbled up in my mind. As the knobby pads of frothing soap scrubbed my windshield, I tried to reign in the aggravation and disappointment I was struggling with. Another global conflict. Another subversion of our political system, originally put there for our collective safety. Another confusing news conference of competing ‘truths’.

Where do I put this anger? Do I ignore everything and hope that some day our country will right itself? Do I use the anger as fuel to dive deeper into resistance? What, pray tell, do I do with this anger?

The colors of soap popped me back into the moment. The blues and yellows and reds – all splayed upon my windows as an entertaining form of car maintenance delight.

Just this morning, while performing the most mundane task of brushing my teeth, I swished my final swish followed by the rinsing off of the toothbrush in my right hand. It was then that my attention was brought to my left hand. Balled up at my side. Clinched shut. All my stress, present in my non-dominant hand. Is this symbolic? Am I moving through life performing everyday tasks in one breath while holding my tightened anxiety in the other?

Meanwhile, the waxy substance poured from the overhead sprayer above my car as it slowly coated the now clean surface with its promise of protective shine. Feeling somewhat shielded again from the avian waste that surrounds our tree-lined driveway, my mind brought me back to the beginning of this cleaning chore: Place your car in neutral…take your foot off the brake…

The mechanisms that surround an automatic carwash are fully reliant upon the alignment track. The attendant waves us a little to the left. No, now a bit more to the right. Okay! We’ve got it. Straight ahead. Car in neutral. Hands off the steering wheel. Foot off the brake. Our car is lurched onto the tracks as we proceed through the washing and waxing and undercarriage and buffing and drying until we are once again, gently pushed out into the messy world.

It is difficult to release control of a car…a cause, a purpose, a dream, a revolution. How do we go about taking our hands off the wheel – if even for a moment? Can we be stubbornly naïve one moment and hyper-informed the next? Can we stand for what is just and right, then later passively put things in neutral for sustenance and replenishment? Perhaps a larger question: Can we resist the temptation to judge/cancel/imply/convict others in their own journey toward justice? We are a conglomeration of differing personalities and personal boundaries. Some do and tell. Some do and quietly go unnoticed. We need to graciously make room for both.

Meanwhile, we do not need to live in a clinched-fist, emergency mode at all times. Brush your teeth with ease. Read a book in peace. Lift your voice in the way that you should, not the way society tells you to.

Can we do our best to remind each other of our worth? Our innate value? Letting someone lean on you just as the automated carwash track glides us through a time of cleansing? Sometimes we need to let go and slide into neutral. There is value in pausing. We need to be involved and give back and please dear lord VOTE and sometimes we need to sit in our own space with the window cracked and the curtain blowing and a wet dog nose and comfort tv. It’s okay. We aren’t failing in those quiet moments. We’re refueling for the next stage of our fight.

Unclench. Five deep breaths. Hand on heart. Go for the long game. Post something silly (we all need the laughs!) Show us your new rug and refrain from judging others for their “superficiality”. It’s an old choral trick I remember from college: Take a breath when your neighbor most likely won’t be. If we’re not all breathing at the same time, the music continues. Such it is with cause-resistance and times of rest. While some lean back into renewal, others are marching forward. The world needs your rested voice in order for it to be adequately heard. We need your strengthened back and your clear vision and resolve. We need you to be brave enough to say, ‘Guys. I need a break.’ Turn off the TV. Put down the signs and lean back into peace and limitations. Lasting change comes from many impassioned, but regularly refreshed, steadfast souls. This is a TOGETHER job.

I drove away from the carwash tunnel that day and into a sunny, bright world. My car was ready for another week of puddles and rain and muddy dips and splashes. I had cruised through the whole cleaning process while the carwash did its thing, moving me along, slowly and purposefully forward – even in my neutral, foot-off-the-brake state.

Inevitably I would pull up to the school drop-off zone only to be met by the lithe and impossibly elegant Mr. Nielson Garrett - Andy’s dad. Andy and Hannah had been friends forever, sharing theater secrets and church camping trips. Nielson was always dressed in perfectly tailored attire that was somehow casual while also being dignified and refined - the sign of a man who is accustomed to boardrooms and expense accounts. My daughter and I would exchange looks as I slumped my shoulders a bit lower to avoid any interaction in my oversized Old Navy corduroy coat covering mismatched pajamas. Andy was always perfectly on time, and we were ablaze with hurried panic. “Get out!” I would whisper-yell to her while nodding toward her car door. “He hasn’t seen us yet so SCOOT!”

“Have a great day!”

The idea of insightful meditation or energizing grounding or therapeutic journaling pages would a) never have entered my mind in the first place and b) been a good laugh between my sausage biscuit bites and a sip of a hardcore medium Coke as I made my way to work. One day, I’d think. One day I’ll be able to settle down and wrestle myself into peace and contentment. But for now, I have a report to write and WHERE ARE MY GOOD JEANS?!

I now find myself, thirty years later, at a different juncture in life. Occasionally my mind thinks it’s forgetting a band concert date or whether I am supposed to pick up or drop off after the school dance. This is where I should look back longingly at the bustle of life as a young family unit. But ya know what? That was hard work! I am currently fortunate enough to live near my children (and grandson!) so I get a familial fix now and then. But constantly being “on” and running and stressed about what you’ve forgotten to stress about is not something I miss with any amount of nostalgia.

I am a slow-going person. Something I didn’t have the luxury of knowing in my early adulthood. I am also a rather introverted person - something I certainly knew nothing about in college, surrounded by friends and roommates and 7:30 am classes. I didn’t know that was a big reason I skipped far too many classes. It wasn’t about sleeping in (which c’mon, was great) but it was about the quiet of the dorms once everyone was gone to class. The showering with no one else to get in your way. The slow progression of waking up to the day.

The loud thud of a kid in my bed wasn’t the wake-up call I’m most naturally inclined toward. I’m not a grumpy morning person, but I am a relatively quiet one. These days, after a few moments of waking up, my energetic husband will inevitably announce, “IT’S GO TIME!” and off he goes (skips? He might skip…) to his coffee maker. I can hear him moving around pans and scrambling eggs. He feeds our dog, Tilly, who has the patience of a god. And there I linger, blankets up high, side lamps turned on low, unwrapping my still-foggy brain for the day ahead. The noise level of life has been dialed down to a soothing tone.

Every generation believes the ones before them don’t understand. We thought the same of our parents, and our kids think the same of us. We don’t get the pressure they’re under. We don’t understand how life works these days - as they look at older adults with confused but tired eyes. How could someone lounge in bed on a random Tuesday morning, if even for 15 minutes?!

Of course we of an older set know they are mistaken. We remember all too well. We can even argue that we didn’t have the benefit of the internet to get us from point A to point B or to help us write (err, help write) our child’s American Revolutionary War paper that is due in 24 hours. In reality, all generations have a unique amount of pressure and stress. It does every generation well to understand that we can’t truly imagine the stress that our children are under, just as they cannot fathom how we functioned without Alexa or delivery drivers.

That is the beautiful and cyclical rhythm of life. We march through the stressful years and remember them as clearly as we remember the first labor pain of childbirth. It is in the remembering that we sink further into the gratitude that is our current stage in life.

I carry a book with me for doctor’s waiting rooms and my gratitude journal is usually kept up to date (give or take a couple of days.) I have time to sit. Usually, I sit and think. But sometimes, I just pause. Stop. I take deep breaths in, holding in the air as a signal to my nervous system that we are okay. We are surviving. We are safe. Then I release my breath, purging my lungs of a lifetime of deadlines and societal pressures and leftover meatloaf and too many mac n cheese boxes of convenience. I now have deliciously precious time; the thing I needed so desperately many years ago. I can work through confusing thoughts instead of tucking them under the bed to get to later. I have open spaces around me to take a walk in the middle of the day.

I am certain there are many harried 30- or 40-year-olds that read about the luxury of time and feel discouraged or dismissive. I get that. I did too when in your shoes. I feel like ducking Mr. Garrett’s tailored suit while drowning in my own pre-Lululemon stirrup leggings is a metaphor for how I have spent the last 59 years. Wrapping myself up tightly in order to keep the truth of my messy self from everyone who seemed to have it all together.

The extravagance of 60 is recognizing the mess and realizing there isn’t a lot that will change with my future self, but I can try to do a bit better today. I empty the online-purchased trashcan that hooks around my car seat, smile at my husband during a stressful newscast, lift a heavier weight at the gym. But fundamentally, I am a person of extraordinary strengths and needling weaknesses. I am understanding that life isn’t about perfecting things as much as it is about life-hacking whatcha got. Tricking yourself into doing what you didn’t want to do and holding back what you would have readily exclaimed in decades past.

Staying active as an aging adult is vital. But you know what else is? Sitting. Whether sitting and journaling or sitting and reading or sitting and thinking. The quiet, unhurried life is offering you a gift, my fellow 60-something’ers. It is opening vast moments of time for you to tweak what’s not working and to recognize, “I’m doing okay.” My knee hurts a bit. My shoulder gets janky if I sleep on it too long. (Sleep? You sleep?!) But we have survived. We have written the essays and cleaned up (most) of the backseat trash. We have lain awake worrying about our pre-teen and cleaned orange juice off the kitchen floor once again. We have struggled with our marriages and fought to rise above the noise of confusion and self-doubt. We deserve a sit. A lounge. A ‘gimme-a-second-to-think-about-that.’

If everything goes as planned, your time will come, 20- and 30-year-olds. It feels impossible during days of extreme joy and nights of sheer terror. But the time will come when you can pause to watch the people around you with awe and curiosity. They aren’t coming for your Old Navy protective coat. But they are interested in the things you’re thinking about and will stay long enough to hear you explain. You’ll stop to listen to their perspectives. The give and take exchange will renew your hope and shorten the space between You and Them.

Each generation has challenges and hurdles to clear and endure. Being able to sit for a minute in the gratitude of a life lived in sometimes turmoil and sometimes elation is the greatest health hack of all.

During the inevitable holiday craziness and celebrating, take a few moments to stare into the soul of a Christmas tree bulb until it fades into a cheery blur. Find some time for a quick solo date. Someday you’ll be able to take longer for solo time with yourself but at least start getting to know her a little now.

We are each born with a creative mind. Some years don’t allow for much recognition of it. All of us – to some extent – need to foster our imagination more. We need to work on the muscle of contemplation and curiosity. Unlike our trapezoid muscle that needs exercise at the gym, our inner life needs attention that many times comes with one easy move: to simply sit still.

Happy Thanksgiving Day to all who are celebrating. Hear all the laughter. Eat all the food. Spill some tea with your tablemate. My hope for you is that at some surprising moment you will find yourself sitting with your thoughts, barely noticing the looming deadlines tucked just inside that well-worn Old Navy wrap. May you freely enjoy the moment you are sitting within – finally letting the noise fall away.

When I look at its surface from my very tiny spot on Earth, I feel small and simultaneously seen. I imagine an actor at the beginning of a play, pulling back the red curtains to check the audience size. A full moon feels like a peek at the Creator. While worries and complications mount around us, the maker of all time slips back the curtain for us to catch a glimpse of the magnitude that orchestrates our time and space.

"There is something grounding", Sara Billups writes, "about proportionality."

In her new book, Nervous Systems, Billups writes about the areas of life that send us spinning. Political anxiety. Parenting children while caring for aging parents. Religious malaise. Anxious souls. Offering hope in the midst of chaos, Billups dismantles many of the early beliefs we were taught and counterbalances our adult indifference with calming encouragements of value. ‘A lot of kids raised in evangelism were taught to keep the body in check because it was dangerous and needed to be controlled and monitored. I was told as a teen that the body could get pregnant, get drunk and drive, kiss and get mono or step on a dirty needle at a park and get HIV. I was often on high alert. Theologian W. David Taylor gives a more enlightening look. 'Our bodies are these ambulatory tabernacles that carry around the goodness and grace and life and holiness of Jesus everywhere we go so we are ourselves these sacramental sites.'"

We find ourselves in sorrow over fellow humans being trampled by political elitism and infighting. Our hearts overflowing with worry for our forgotten brother, no matter their orientation, ethnicity, or resume. To remember we are sacred sites. Each one of us. Holy and worthy. And when my own body fails me or my mind spirals into nervous systems, I can sit quietly in the tabernacle that I am. Standing silently beneath a wide sky. Catching a small glimpse of the one who deems me worthy. Sending a prayer into the night. A prayer of global protection. A prayer for personal action. A prayer for peaceful minds.

#bookreview #faith #anxiousminds #sacredways #newrelease #bookstagram #sarabillups #thechurchtoday #supermoon2025

My husband and I took a much-needed trip up north in search of changing leaves and the sound of waves lapping the shore. We found all of that (thank you, Lake Superior!) but more importantly, we found moments of peaceful, quiet escapes. It's been a year of multiple surgeries and a lot of pet trauma (if you’ve ever had a beloved pet go through life-changing illness, you know the all-encompassing grief.) 2025 has not been a favorite year. Yet that's what makes the good sink in so deeply.

I recently had a person close to me do some mean-girl gossiping and ill-informed judging behind my back. Childish observation right? I'm older than a schoolgirl, it shouldn't still feel so bad when that happens. But sadly (I regret to inform you), the initial pang of hurt is still the same. I sat with it (that's the part that gets better), looked at it from all sides, took from it bits I should own and work on, and have been in the process of dribbling and drabbling it out of my grippy fingers. Remember the part in Shawshank Redemption when Andy's removing the cement from his cell wall, little by little, and dumping it into the yard as they take their daily walk? That's the image I often get when it comes to me letting go of hard things. I tend to stew a little bit less as I age, but sometimes it takes a while to move forward.

Stepping into the magic of Nature while she is changing clothes from summer into beautiful autumn was a cleansing refresh. No matter the slights trees endure over the season, they still move forward to the next season. They do their job. They edify the earth and all of us lucky enough to inhabit it.

Every health expert suggests taking a walk when you're feeling anxious, right? Let me echo their oft-used refrain. We were meant to be in rhythm with the earth. It's how we function the most efficiently. Stepping into nature releases endorphins as we breathe in the magical connection between human and earth. If possible, look up. Look out. There are many things to freeze us into fear - and complacency - these days. I am overwhelmed along with you. But we must remember to grasp for the good. Refuse to surrender our spirits to tyrants. Or mean girls. Or limitations. Or jealousy. Or daunting deadlines. Pick up a fallen leaf this season and keep it as a talisman. There is still reason to believe in purifying grace, blind forgiveness, and the turning tides and seasons. May the simple and efficient leaf show us the way this fall. There is innate beauty and purpose in letting go.

What if the story you leave behind is in the way you made homemade biscuits on Saturday mornings while singing Chicago's famed, Saturday in the Park, or the way in which you unconsciously crossed your arms when you needed some steady reassurance? Maybe it was the way you carefully tended to your plants, or researched the new birdsong just outside your window.

What if the truest knowledge of a well-lived life goes with you to the grave because you alone know your story best?

It has been a lifelong niggling that I need to (drumroll, please) CHANGE THE WORLD. Leave my imprint. Do something for the good of mankind.

Most days, however, I get caught up in my latest cross-stitch project. Or in the current book I'm reading. It doesn't seem like The Grand Gesture was meant for me. Yet that silly meme I sent my friend, or the text to my daughter to check on her boxed-up apartment, awaiting a move... are they enough? What if I use my 'gifts' in easily overlooked ways? Does that count as a life well-lived? Properly recorded? What if highlighting others is the best definition I have of what makes me truly happiest?

Of course it all counts. But we aren't all hardwired the same way, are we? In the past I wanted to be the center of attention but have found myself now more comfortable as a behind-the-scenes-prep kind of gal. Regardless, I strong-arm my brain (and guilt receptors) with glorious ways in which to leave proof of my existence. I think about this almost daily. I feel as if I should be writing a publishable book while I'm instead, unloading the dishwasher and reassuring my worrisome pup that I'm not heading out to the market just yet. I fret and worry about telling my kids everything they need to know while I'm also doing the daily dailyness of a typical, everyday life.

Is aging and wisdom created not from the tomes of lore but in the favorite mugs and wonky candles and movie lines, even if quoted incorrectly? Perhaps what looks like 'giving up' to some people is instead a peaceful acceptance that this - this rather quiet life - is just the right amount of life to live.

Learning to exist gently, rather than by the metronome of my to do lists, is challenging. Returning the phone call or offering kindness to my spouse as easily as I do the passing stranger – these are the tracks of an intentional life.  Even, egads!, if I am the only one who knows the strength it took - documentation relinquished.

Morning chats, afternoon naps, bills paid (or at least arranged), travel arrangements made - all, a legacy in the making. No filter. No app-enhanced photo to offer as evidence.

Bravery in the undocumented moments. Calmness in spite of the algorithm. Wrapping moments in your heart without a single word on the page.

Falling asleep one night recently - many decisions floating around in my mind - I asked myself what I really wanted in life and whether or not the choices I had to make aligned with my true desires.

I reached over and grabbed my phone and opened my Notes app:

I want to be creative.

Interesting.

     Funny.

     Curious.

     Empathetic.

     Kind.

     Chill.

     I want to fight for the disenfranchised. Protect the vulnerable. As Dr. William J. Barber II and Bishop Mariann Budde say: “I want to be a part of the coalition of the faithful working for change.”

I want to be free from past judgments and free from future expectations. I want to live peacefully and fully in the moment at present.

And so I begin to sift. What is the meaning of my life?

Ours may not be a memoir to write, but rather a life to be observed by people merciful enough to see what is floating just beneath the surface. The quiet and gentle undercurrent of an existence filled with appreciation for the small moments passing by. Holding, bravely, the undocumented moment before it turns into the next. And the next. Is this our objective to embrace in these times? The understanding without the word count. The taking-it-in rather than the taking-the-picture. Resisting the urge to memorialize everything as we go.

If your life was never captured in word or photo, would it change the choices you've made? The direction you are headed?

GOOD WORDS

Indian priest, Anthony de Mello told the following story:

A rich industrialist from the North was horrified to find a Southern fisherman lying leisurely beside his boat. “Why aren't you fishing?” asked the industrialist.

“Because I have caught enough fish for the day,” said the fisherman.

“Why don't you catch some more?”

“What would I do with them?”

“You could earn more money,” was the reply. “With that, you could fix a motor to your boat, go into deeper waters and catch more fish. Then you would make enough money to buy nylon nets. These would bring you more fish and more money. Soon you would have enough money to own two boats …maybe even a fleet of boats. Then you would be a rich man like me.”

“What would I do then?”

“Then you could really enjoy life.”

“What do you think I am doing right now?” said the fisherman.

Nationally, personally, collectively we are struggling. The volume knob seems to be stuck on 7 or 8 most days, 9 on many others. I really need a 4.

There are days of production and high energy, flying high on the wave. But I find myself wandering in an unfamiliar house and garden where I don't know which door goes where or what lurks around that row of discarded hedges. Where am I and how did I get here?

In those moments I reach for familiar things. Mugs with a favorite memory attached. Clothes of comfort. Music that soothes more than motivates.

There are quiet corners to be found, where peace can settle around you and gently lead you back to the world you recognize.

For the broken-hearted today, I see you. Let's sit a few minutes together. Disappointment or discouragement. Overwhelm and unknowing. It feels like too much for one person to handle, but maybe with two, we can work it out together.

Can we just sit a minute, here in the quiet?

I’m trying to enjoy the shorter days of winter while keeping one eye on the long, sunny days just ahead.

DESPITE EVERYTHING, A GOOD WORD

“I’m slowly learning that life is better lived when you don’t center it on what’s happening around you and center it on what’s happening inside you instead.”

The above statement was not made about our current national state (even though wildly applicable), the speaker was referencing our reactions to people and circumstances in our own personal lives.

Perhaps you also have difficulty allowing the simplest of concepts to truly sink into regular practice in your life. It sounds so simple when someone says it out loud, but it’s a very different thing to claim actual application in my every day existence. Here is something I have been practicing lately - similar to a gym exercise for my body, but for my mind and spirit instead. (Maybe we should all have ‘leg day’, ‘arm day’, and ‘spirit day’.)

Here it is:

Someone else’s response to a situation…is not my responsibility.

I know, I know! - we’ve heard it a zillion times on motivational posters and in woo woo speeches. But at almost 60 years old, I am finally beginning to understand all the aspects of this life-altering concept.

I grew up in a house with a lot of personality and some big feelings. I then married a man with all of the above too. The result is that I have become a person with VERY guarded emotions. I am an empath at heart. I feel badly for the mom in the grocery store with the crying baby and want to ask if I could just walk around with the child for awhile so mom can shop in peace. I feel sad for politician’s families that have to endure the bad press thrown at their husbands. Essentially, I project what my feelings might be in a given situation and imagine the other person feeling the same way. I take on the feelings of others.

I don’t know how I actually come across to other people, but in general I am solid. Stoic. Somewhat removed. In control. The event coordinator with the low alto voice. Commanding. But none of those things represent what is actually happening inside me because in truth, I am trying to manage my own feelings and reactions while also trying to predict what yours might be so I can simultaneously comfort your reactions or feelings as well. I am handling my emotions while also ‘handling’ your emotions. And if you’re a person with big emotions, I am going to guard and detach and “self-protect” as much as I possibly can. I feel it happening as it’s happening. Trying to protect myself from your potential feelings is another way of me attempting to control the circumstance from within and without.

{whew - many years of self-work is wrapped up in the above paragraph! A lot of work and a second marriage to a much easier-going guy.}

I am learning to look at situations fully, but carving out what part of the situation is mine to manage. How will this person or situation make me feel? How can I best navigate those feelings? Are boundaries needed and at what point? AND, how will I know when I’m beginning to step outside my own responsibility to incorrectly orchestrate the feelings of others?

What if they handle the situation badly? Not my deal. What if they overreact? Not my ownership. What if they hold a grudge or gossip unfairly or feel ill-will toward me? That is not my part to control.

Anne Lamott says that just like taking a coat off the rack, we should let ourselves off the hook occasionally. In the matter of managing everyone’s emotions - fire yourself from that job! Discussing a situation is reasonable. But juggling the emotional aftermath is each individual’s job. Work on your own work and let others work - or not work - on theirs.

I am attempting to reassure you that the thing you’ve been stressing about might not be yours to worry over. Maybe you can set it down gently on some random street corner and walk away. You’ll probably walk slowly at first and maybe turn around a few times to look at it, but then you need to start picking up speed. Maybe throw in a little jog to add distance quickly. Put distance between you and someone else’s feelings/burden/situation/pain. You’re being brave enough just working on your own stuff; you’re not being heroic by attempting to fix their stuff as well.

May you be brave. Be confident. Be released.

BOOKS I’M READING + MEDIA CONSUMED

60/60/60: Sixty Books Over Sixty Years Old in the Year I Turn 60:

1. 1984, by George Orwell (1949)

2. Our Nig:Sketches from the Life of a Free Black, by Harriet E. Wilson (1859)

3. Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain (1884)

4. Stoner, by John Williams (1965)

5. The Red Pony, by John Steinbeck (1933)

I finished three Over 60 Classics books this week.

Last year I read James, by Percival Everett and thoroughly enjoyed it. Written in 2024, it concentrates on the life of Big Jim from the Huck Finn classic. I appreciate reading current writing on familiar classics. I tend to read the most recent book which sends me running back to the classic to read or refresh. It happened after reading one of my favorite books Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver last year - a retelling of the classic, David Copperfield by Charles Dickens.

After reading James last year I knew I wanted to read The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. I love a coming-of-age novel and was deeply attached to the book. Adventures of Huck Finn will tickle your adventurous, childlike side.

I also finished Stoner by John Williams. This book title has crossed my path numerous times in the last few years with rave reviews. Written in 1965, the main character of this fiction, William Stoner, was born at the end of the 1800’s in a Missouri farming town. He beats the odds and eventually goes to college, becoming an English professor at the University of Missouri.

But Stoner’s life is ordinary and depressing. Estranged from his parents and eventually his wife and child. A new love interest ends in scandal. A career that never quite lives up to his expectations. The whole book reminded me of the same feeling I had reading Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller. I would love to have a deep literary reaction to Stoner (which is a widely acclaimed classic), but honestly, I was barreling my way through it and was relieved when I finished living in the midst of this man’s woeful life. It was rather overwhelming to read so unfortunately, my personal recommendation is equally low.

Have you read Stoner? What do I need to think differently about it?

The Red Pony by John Steinbeck

A typical Steinbeck classic that using words and creating mood, places the reader directly into the place, the story, and bonding deeply with the characters. Reading most of Steinbeck’s books is like revisiting Salinas Valley for every reader. Has there been a writer who has more adequately defined that area in California?

YOUTUBE

Are you a YouTube viewer? I am from the generation of YouTubers that use it to figure out how to replace a carburetor in their car or how to fix a washing machine barrel. Rarely do I think of YouTube in the form of entertainment (surely a generational attribute.) I went through my YouTube feed this week and followed some accounts of interest (plants, books, fashion, art, skincare, etc) and unfollowed long-ago subjects that no longer interest me. It was a nice techie thing to clean up, declutter, and rearrange neatly for 2025 Greta.

TV

Like so many of you around the country, I have been blissfully rewatching The West Wing and Madam Secretary. It is an ideal governmental scenario but there are some difficult scenes, aren’t there? There are times when an involuntary “Ugh!” comes creeping out when I think of our country today versus the ideal these tv series protray. But it’s nice to get lost in the budding relationship between Danny and CJ or making world decisions with Elizabeth McCord. It’s a favorite escape from reality around our house these days.

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ON MY DESK

We woke up one morning this week and Scott excitedly asked, “Wanna go to Mildred’s for breakfast?” That’s always an immediate YES from me! Mildred’s is a local restaurant with a location near us. During nice weather we ride the streetcar there but not with the weather in Kansas City this time of year! They serve steamed eggs which instinct tells me I don’t really want to know how they’re cooked or what they look like but they taste delicious. I bought some stickers from their merch table then cut apart their kraft paper bags and branding to make a two-page spread in my junk journal. It will be a nice reminder of one of our favorite downtown breakfast spots.

Today’s special: YES IT IS

OFF MY PHOTO ROLL THIS WEEK

Our sweet grandson, Felix, was sick this week. That’s bad, right? It should be bad. I should feel awful about it. But…we got to take care of him during the day and take him to his pediatrician for an antibiotic. Bad for Felix. A bit of heaven for us.

The hands. The face. The swirling red hair. I want to eat it all up and feel so very lucky to live near enough to help out in these situations.

Our kids came over for Sunday brunch to catch up on all the lifey things. The noise and the dog jumping all around and keeping Felix away from sharp edges (and from eating my monstera!) was like pouring pure honey over my heart. After they leave (we have a monthly brunch), I straighten things up and Scott runs a few loads of dishes and everything in the loft is back to normal. But having baby bottles drying on the countertop as I head to bed brings a sense of soothing calm. Life is as it should be at this very moment. Despite everything, life is exactly as it should be when you notice the ever-so-seemingly-normal signs of love.

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DESPITE EVERYTHING, A GOOD WORD

In the last few years I’ve made a practice of grabbing phrases that reach out to me from things I’ve heard or books I’m reading. You know the kind. Sometimes you swear they audibly said your name to grab your attention. When I find an idea or phrase that stands out to me, I type the phrase at the top of my always present To Do List on my phone so I’ll see it throughout the week as I open and close and check off and - more often than not - add to my list. I try to remember the phrase and bring it to mind when I stop to meditate, pray, or sit a minute and think. It is my talisman for seven days. A week seems to be how long I can hold a phrase before it begins to inevitably soak into the background unnoticed. Invariably a new phrase is grabbed for the following week but not before I write out the current phrase and throw it into my jar for later use. There are times in life when my generalized anxiety takes over and I desperately think, “IS THERE NOTHING GOOD TO SEE/HEAR/DO?!” at which point I put my hand in the jar and draw out a past phrase that meant something important to me for one small week. I almost always need the refreshing reminder.

I’d like to share those phrases with you here in this section. Always positive, but sometimes challenging. These nuggets of hope are my way of rebelling against the news and the media and the loud noises online and in the nation’s leadership. Maybe you could benefit from hearing them too?

BOOKS I’M READING + MEDIA CONSUMED

I have committed, in 2025, to read 60 classic literature books that are over 60 years old in the year I turn 60. I like to interject classics into my reading life but if I set a specific goal around it, perhaps I will be more consistent with them this year. Of course there are other books I will read: memoirs, mysteries, and historical fiction/non-fiction is my usual gig.

Currently reading Cher’s memoir. She was a large figure in my childhood. The Sonny and Cher Show was entertaining but Cher was not like my mama or grandmother! -ha! She was a woman I was fascinated with as a prepubescent teen. Is that what I would look like someday?? Is this a typical female? I innocently (and oh so erroneously!) hoped so.

My podcast app is filled with really good stuff. Do I stay up-to-date with them? No. It’s so frustrating when I see such fascinating material just sitting there waiting for me to indulge, week after week. I need to turn to them more often as a substitution for doom-scrolling or panic googling. Anyway. As I run across really good ones, I’ll share them with you in this section.

As for movies, I must admit that my comfort zone is rewatching tv series and movies I’ve seen a gazillion times - that’s been my definite MO this year. I read somewhere that we are drawn to old favorites, particularly in times of stress, because it gives us a sense of control when we already know what the outcome will be. No surprises! Lordy!, we do not need any more sudden turns or lurking surprises! I’ll be interested in learning about your go-to comfort favorites too.

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ON MY DESK

I have been junk journaling this year and it has been wildly therapeutic! Nothing fancy and no rules or consistency. I use the word ‘therapeutic’ on purpose. I watch for things throughout the day that appeal to me. Coffee cup sleeves, paper bags, receipts, magazine fonts. By making a conscious effort to look for these hidden items, it is allowing me to see beauty and art in the otherwise overlooked places. It’s a good way to retrain my old dog mind! Another way it is helping stretch me is that I tend to hold tightly to office supply’ish type things. I see a sticker I like then keep it for decades so I can use it on the elusive JustTheRightThing. {sigh} But this year I am peeling that back off and slapping that cute sticker right down on a messy page. Using pretty things now. That’s a concept I believe in with china dishes or tablecloths, but they’re reuseable, right? Using up one-time things has traditionally been more difficult for me. This year’s junk journal is pulling me out of that fog. I’d love to share some pages with you here.

OFF MY PHOTO ROLL THIS WEEK

Show and tell. I think that was my favorite activity in school each year. Here’s what is important to me - can you relate? Are we alike? I have an almost ONE(!) year old grandson that takes up a lot of my digital photo space plus traveling and creating and, let’s be honest, pictures when the light looked pretty while shining in on my morning cup of chai. Sharing a few of those pictures each week will help me cull my digitally bulging photo folder and it will show a deeper part of who I am and what I cherish (which I have to tell you, is many times that glimmering cup of chai!)

Whew…the Chiefs took a kicking both on and off the field this week. Regardless, KC is my hometown and a Super Bowl Game of any kind is reason to celebrate!

Scott has been in Planters Seed Co every week, waiting for their 2025 seeds to come in - and finally this week they arrived. He has a list. He has a plan. He has a sketch. Bring on the collards and beets and snap peas!

Hearing from you, seeing what you prefer, getting to know a little more about you - that’s my goal. I am an old-school blogger that misses that longer version of communication.

Our ‘country getaway’ at my in-laws property outside of Kansas City. It’s hard to believe this image will be filled with humidity and bright sun and grass to be mowed soon! This is where our garden will be and beehives! (more on that later)

I appreciate you being here. I have to mention that 1) taking your time to read my posts is HUGE huge to me. It means a lot, truly. And 2) should you decide to support me with a monthly $5 subscription…I mean. Wow. Thank you! Thank you thank you thank you.

The nightly news is frightening and social media can be overwhelming. Heavy responsibilities and big decisions are constantly coming our way. It can feel like a mean, ugly world some days. But despite everything, there are helpers lifting one another up and there are people falling in love with life. New friends are being discovered and old ones are amazingly faithful. Children are learning new things and help is being given to strangers. There is good. There is hope. There is kindness and infinite love. Despite everything, we will thrive.

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I found what I needed for today in the following prayer. I have modified it for publication but I hope you'll seek it out in its entirety. May you feel the comfort (and gentle nudge) I felt while taking in the poignant message.

A LITURGY FOR THOSE FLOODED BY TOO MUCH INFORMATION

In a world so wired and interconnected, our anxious hearts are pummeled by an endless barrage of troubling news. We are daily aware of more grief, O Lord, than we can rightfully consider, of more suffering and scandal than we can respond to, of more hostility, hatred, horror, and injustice then we can engage with compassion.

Guard us from shutting down our empathy or walling off our hearts because of the glut of unactionable misery that floods are awareness. You have many children and many places around the globe. Move each of our hearts to compassionately respond to those needs that intersect our actual lives, that in all places your body might be actively addressing the pain and brokenness of this world, each of us liberated and empowered by your Spirit to fulfill the small part of your redemptive work assigned to us.

Give us discernment in the face of troubling news reports. Give us discernment to know when to pray, when to speak out, when to act, and when to simply shut off our screens and our devices, and sit quietly in your presence, casting the burdens of this world upon the strong shoulders of the one who alone is able to bear them up. Amen.

What I didn't realize when we initially moved into our new home in late Spring, was the joy I would find in the cooler months of autumn. I love lifting our heavy windows each morning to clear out the stale air of the night before while ushering in the fresh new air of the morning (slightly tinged with the early-morning barbecuing a few blocks away at Pigwich.) Since moving in we have heard the faint bells of a nearby Catholic Church chiming at the top of each hour. The unexpected thrill of the open windows in the fall has been to hear the songs that follow the announcement of each new hour. I have discovered that Holy Rosary Catholic Church in Columbus Park plays hymns at different times throughout the day. Now that I know this, I purposefully take my morning chai break at 9am in a cozy chair by the open window. The bells ring in the hour with nine chimes then play a familiar melody: Morning Has Broken.

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Like so many of you, I have not been waking up in a fresh, dewy, magical garden these past few days following the election. I wake up in a gnarly, rock-laden forgotten lot of land of anger and disappointment and despair, trying desperately to find slivers of hope in the rubble. I am angry and mistrustful of the people with whom I thought I shared a serene garden of decency and peacefulness and alliance. It's been a rough few days inside my mind. The familiar lyrics of Morning Has Broken feels much more like Morning IS Broken.

As I begin to emerge from this fog of anger, I am beginning to hear a specific phrase in the 9am song: "...where His feet pass." I am not yet ready for the 'love thy neighbor' part of my faith. I am not ready to freely offer forgiveness and grace. I trust I will arrive at an acceptable level of human interaction again. But for now I am holding on to the idea that God has walked the way before me. That although I am heart-broken for my 30-something aged children and my 8-month-old grandson and the future they have to conquer that my generation was not able to provide them, I can hold firmly to the thin and fraying promise that He goes before them. That historically, we have endured even worse atrocities than what the next four years (and their aftermath) will produce. "...where His feet pass."

This doesn't mean that God will walk like a unicorn or Disney fairy, turning the torched earth into sparkling green meadows. It means that He is painfully walking ahead of me, crunching the weed and twisting on the rock and dry land. He is memorizing the way. He is reaching back to me and lifting me to a safer place. He is clearing the path with a holy machete and unending love. With each step I take, He has passed that way before.

We are familiar with the notorious "In the beginning..." part of Genesis. Yet I currently find myself interested in the way that each morning when I wake, God hands me an Etch-A-Sketch, freshly shaken to reveal a clean slate. A new 24 hour beginning. God's recreation of the new day. My personality usually wants the full how-to manual, not a blank notepad. I'm usually crying: ‘What about 2 weeks from now?! 10 years?! What do I need to be doing to plan for the future??!’ However that is not what my brain can handle these days. He is using this time of uncertainty to gently murmur, "Let's just look at today. What can you do today to move your sphere of influence to a better place? What things about yourself could we concentrate on today so you'll feel even stronger tomorrow? Who is in need today and how might you help?"

The phrase 'God help us' is said with no flippancy or trite conviction. It is uttered in earnest. God, please dear Lord, help us. Guide us. Walk before us.

I put another load of laundry in the dryer and decide to paint the hall bathroom today for a little distraction and cheap dopamine hit. I empty that box under the bed that has been there way too long and put my jewelry back in the jewelry box instead of tossing it all over the top of my dresser. Tomorrow I might feel like signing up for a local volunteer organization. But for today, I have some feelings to feel and some chores to cross off. And if I'm lucky, I'll have a lot of it done before Amazing Grace begins to chime at noon.

Choosing kindness as often as I can.

Help me to choose dignity when a quick-temper comes easier

While focused on the goal, help me to slow down long enough to interlock fingers

with those sharing my road.

Let grace, consistently, set our course.

Let forgiveness allow us to sit at one table.

May hope swell our hearts,

Humility guide our speech

May peace, abundantly, settle our souls.

Be our guide, O Lord

Strengthen our courage.

Embolden our compassion.

May we always believe in the sanctity of second chances.

May our struggle for redemption find us quietly in the presence of you.

Amen.

#innocenceproject #redemption #sacredlives #citypeople #urbanliving #faith #poetry #prayer

It is difficult, at times, for me to reveal my true self to you. I have spent a lifetime protecting what someday will be a mystery to those I'd wish knew me best. I have held closely the things that are dearest to my heart by hiding them all in plain sight.

You can find me in the margins of my books. The notes, usually written in pencil, scrawled on the edges of beautifully written words by an admired author. Words that spoke what I couldn't articulate. Words that touched something so deep inside me that I couldn't allow them to pass unmarked.

You can find me in the many diaries I started but never kept up - their cuteness outweighing my commitment. You can find me between the lines of the journals I did document each year. Sometimes merely a list of events, sometimes broken words of pain. But even in the lists, you can read the things I held in highest priority.

You can find me in the index box of plant cards. Each card a different plant with detailed instructions on care. Where they grow best. How much. How little. How I spent my mornings, hot chai in hand, in pursuit of their success.

You can find me in my playlists and vinyls. My most-played and my wishlists. You can find me, should you be looking. I am there. Within the torn Post-Its in the midst of cookbooks and interior design coffee table books. My daily rituals, my motivational notes tucked here and there. The memories kept of children and loved ones. The quilted autumn hoop, made with care by my mother. The ceramic house, created in a third-grader's diligent hands.

I am here. In the daily-ness of routine. The pride of folded clothes and the hope of yet unfulfilled dreams. You'll need to look closely for I have sprinkled my life about, not in bold proclamations but in the tucked and hidden places of my everyday life.

And please know, dear searcher -

I am so very honored that you're looking.

they've born too much fruit."

Nat said it best, 'Tis Autumn'

I'm packing away summer clothes and thinking about my favorite table at The French Market, back in the corner where it's easier to talk, face to face, with a favored friend.

I slide my sandals to the side, making way for loafers with slouchy socks but not without smiling at the times spent in those sandals with Felix, watching him grow from Day One to too many months old already.

I swap out the summer glassware and tuck in the fall colors as I touch the places at the table filled with daughters and son each second Sunday and parents and sister, fresh back from a local lunch date.

This Spring and Summer has been overflowing with goodness and newness and relocation and reconnection and new birth.

But the trees are tired. They've born too much fruit.

Pulling a freshly laundered warm blanket from the dryer that I'll throw on the couch as Scott and I watch - for how many times now??? - the fall festival in Stars Hollow and the I'll have what she's having drive from Chicago to New York, dreams to be realized on screen as we pop popcorn and plan apple orchard trips this fall.

I am ready for the slow season. I'm ready to linger and lounge and read past my bedtime. I'm ready for shorter days and my favorite Bitter Southerner hoodie every single morning.

Non-stop production needs an opposing season of winding down. The daylight will remind us we need to slow down. The dropping of leaves will make way for us to slough off our too many worries to stand bare in our season of less.

My cute new purse and I are waiting for cozy autumnal dates with friends and walks with my true love in luminously lucious layers of comfy clothes. We're anxiously watching for cooler days and warmer resolves.

There is a time for every season, The Beatles told us. I have raced through the season of moving and birth and excited reconnections. I am ready for the season of sleeping in later and turning in earlier. The season of cloves and cinnamon. Of rest and reflection. The season of quiet rebirth.

Such is the rhythm of life,

'tis Autumn.