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People sometimes are curious how as a Catholic woman I ended up in the field of preaching. That’s an interesting question. I started preaching….

This past Wednesday, February 16th, marked what would have been my mom’s 77th birthday. Since she slipped the bonds of time four years ago, I imagine she no longer counts the years in the same way. “A thousand years are but one day with God,” 2nd Peter claims. But we still count them! And each year in her memory, my family has been celebrating her birthday by baking pumpkin bread.

Growing up, I did not know much about King Solomon, but I did know that when he was anointed king of Israel, God invited him to ask for anything that he wanted and it would be granted to him. Sort of like a biblical version of the genie emerging from the lamp. I can picture my elementary school religion teacher in the front of the room laying out all the options: He could have asked for treasure chests full of gold or all the candy you could eat or a summer full of trips to the amusement park.

Have you ever received the gift of a word that you were looking for without ever really knowing that you were looking for it? That happened to me last week.

“In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that the whole world should be enrolled….so all went to be enrolled, each to his own town.”

Earlier this year, Mike and I stumbled upon a tiny shop in Helen, GA where they had an array of hand-painted Russian nesting dolls. Beyond the common Matryoshka variety, they had one that began with the Nativity scene. Of course I needed to see what was inside. Wouldn’t you?

It has been almost two years now since the first cases of Covid began to be identified and our lives are still not “back to normal.” (Hello there, Omicron.) It’s been 18 months now since the death of George Floyd and the work of racial justice and equity still looms large. It’s been almost a year now since the January 6th uprising and still we struggle to reckon with the truth of that day and all that led up to it. And then last week, another tragedy of gun violence—this time at Oxford High School in Michigan.

This morning for the first time in my life I finally had the chance to re-enact one of those famous NYC movie scenes where the person stuck in Manhattan traffic finally decides she is going to have to make a run for it and bursts out of the cab to jog the last mile in heels, suitcase in tow, scarf flowing in the wind. Let me tell you, it looks more romantic on the silver screen than it feels in real life. But the good news is that I’ve both made my train to Boston (with seven minutes to spare) and been offered an audition to replace Meg Ryan in the Sleepless in Seattle sequel.

It’s true that last month I managed to lose my belongings all over the country. (Indeed, I’m planning a return trip to St. Louis in November to recover my shoes.) But, that’s not really why I decided to focus on the theme of “lostness” in this month’s reflection on The Word. No, it has come more from eighteen months now of the pandemic’s ongoing impact on the health and well-being of friends and family members. There’s a lot that we’ve experienced that we still don’t know our own way out of.

Three years ago, I enjoyed a wonderful fall semester at the University of Notre Dame teaching a preaching class and writing Let’s Talk about Truth. When the semester ended and I was moving out of my apartment, I passed on those unavoidable pantry odds and ends to a dear colleague in the preaching department, Karla. I can’t remember what all I gave her. Probably a shaker of salt, some ketchup packets, and a half box of granola. But definitely there were five small purple potatoes in the sack.