News

Yes, it’s either feast or famine. Sometimes you don’t hear from me for weeks on end and then sometimes I write only a few days after you last heard from me. Perhaps it is because I am trapped on a plane in the wee hours of the morning en route to Denver for the Mennonite Health Assembly. I always think that I am going to do some major thinking whenever I have a long flight. Here I am undisturbed for four hours with noise-blocking headphones. I could write a whole chapter! Maybe half a book! And yet, there is something about having to get up at 4:45 a.m.

This week I am once again back in Charlotte, North Carolina working with the next class of Wexner Fellows teaching a leadership seminar in Difficult Conversations.

The rain is a steady drip outside my window right now and I’ve just returned from Compline, which at the Trappist monastery in Conyers, GA is prayed entirely in the dark. The monks have all the psalms memorized, so it is not a problem for them. For me… well, I’m content to just listen. Many of the words I cannot quite catch. They echo because the church is large and we are few and the voices a bit faint.

This past week I have had the extraordinary blessing of being in Florida for Catechesis of the Good Shepherd catechist formation. It’s a blessing because… well, it is Florida… and it is warm. Not to be underestimated after a semester in the middle of Minnesota. But more so because I’ve gotten to be with a whole course of wonderful people including my dear sister (Happy birthday, Janet!) and longtime catechist Carol P. Carol and I have crossed paths in the CGS world on any number of occasions—not only in Florida, but in South Dakota.

This year with Christmas being on a Sunday (to the joy of liturgists and choir directors everywhere), the church calendar goes a bit wonky and the feast of the Baptism of the Lord got bumped to a Monday, but the lectionary tries to make it up to John the Baptist this coming Sunday by giving him center stage again.

Happy New Year! I hope that you have enjoyed (and continue to enjoy) a wonderful Christmas season. I have finally made it back home to Atlanta as of yesterday after spending the fall semester in Collegeville, Minnesota and am now set upon the urgent task of fixing my windshield (which somehow go a large crack in the journey) and fixing my hair (which has me currently looking like a banshee). Hopefully both of these will be remedied within a week, before I set out for a couple of CGS courses in Florida—the best way I know to bounce back from the cold of Minnesota.

The Stella Maris Chapel is a two mile walk from St. John’s Abbey on a winding path along the edge of Lake Sagatagan. For much of the year, there are points along the path that you can no longer see the chapel because the foliage is so thick—green in summer, gold in the fall. But then suddenly the chapel will reappear before you like a jewel on an island in the middle of the water and a short plank bridge crossing over to it.

Gosh, it is hard to believe that it is Advent already. I say that every year, and this year I’ve had plenty of time to anticipate its arrival. We’ve had snow on the ground at Collegeville already since November 10. Nevertheless, it has caught me unaware yet again… even as all the readings the first week are about staying awake and being ready.

Apologies for ghosting you all the past six weeks. As mentioned earlier, I’ve been on a sort of writers sabbatical at the Collegeville Institute this semester working on a new book. I’d imagined long, luxurious days of uninterrupted silence in which I would make so much progress that I would need extra craft projects at night to keep me occupied. Are you surprised to hear me say that it hasn’t turned out like that? No, probably not. Nevertheless…

With the feast of St. Francis of Assisi right around the corner now, I found myself thinking back to the fall when my son was four. Halloween that year fell on a Sunday and College Church– wishing to avoid a deluge of frightening costumes that might thrill some little ones and terrify others—suggested that the children come dressed up as saints. Micah (whose middle name is Francisco) consented to put aside his Pokemon Squirtle costume for the morning to come as St. Francis of Assisi. We took one of my husband’s brown tee shirts, tied it with a rope around the middle and … ta-da: St.