My Search for Church, Continued...

Dear followers of my search for church,

As most of you know, for me, the most difficult transition to the Pacific northwest has been looking for my church home.  Many people tried to warn me that Catholic in northern California is not Catholic in Oregon and Washington but I didn't truly understand that until recently.  I have tried out almost every parish in Vancouver and northeast Portland.  In the process I  have learned things about Catholicism that have come as a bit of a surprise.  While on  this search, many factors came into play that I never had to consider in San Jose.  How far am I willing to drive for a good homily?  How do I become part of a community that is 15-20 miles away?  Can I become part of a community living out the letter of the law vs the spirit of the law? I thought I had come to terms with all of this at Christmas and joined my local parish.  That did not work out as I had predicted.  I almost joined another parish before I started looking outside the Catholic church.  That move didn't fare very well either.  All the while this was going on, I was attending a few events and services at my sister's Presbyterian church and meeting some pretty admirable people.  I'm sure you now know where this story is going...  This week I swore to deny evil and serve Jesus back in the religion in which I was baptized and confirmed many decades ago.  On Easter Sunday, I will be publicly introduced as a member of the community.  I know that in my heart, part of me will remain Catholic but First Presbyterian definitely meets my current needs of spiritual formation and serving the poor.  I have learned not to say this is the end of my religion quandary here in the northwest but it is where the Holy Spirit has led me thus far.  I deeply appreciate all your prayers and conversations about this topic.  Now, on with the journey...

Baking Bread

Retirement has become synonymous with finding my creativity.  I have never thought of myself as creative, in fact quite the opposite.  But it seems that all the things I love to do result in a product that I can touch and feel and say, "I did that.  I made that.  I grew that.  I wrote that."  Baking bread has become one of my all time favorite things to do.  I always liked making bread when the kids were young.  It was simply the right thing to do for my family.  No preservatives.  I controlled everything that went into it.  Then the kids got older and life got faster and I could buy "good" bread and tell myself that it was almost the same thing as homemade.  But now that life has taken on a slower pace, I can appreciate the other things that are wonderful about baking bread.  The smell, and I don't mean the baking part, I mean the yeast.  It is alive and once you add the warm water there is no doubt.  The musky, bitter odor tells you it is here and must be dealt with.  You are required to be a part of the bread.  You touch it, feel it, knead it and gently put it to rest.  This is not a platonic relationship.  You are involved from beginning to end.  You begin to know it by its texture.  Is it too sticky, too dry?  I am grateful for the years of watching my mom make bread.  It is the only way I would recognize the proper elasticity of bread dough and when I'm finally done kneading.  Bread is on its own time table.  It is affected by temperature and humidity just as we are; it is a living thing and what you do or fail to do will determine its quality of life.  Be mindful of this precious time you are given together.  As it bakes, it shares its gifts with the entire house.  There is never a doubt when bread is in the oven.  The aroma lasts for hours as a reminder of what has gone on here. 

Happy Birthday, Grandpa

March 2nd; this day for me will always be equivalent with love and putting feelings to paper.  Four years ago I wrote my last letter to my grandfather.  It was his final birthday on this earth.  The letters started innocently enough.  What could you buy an 80 year old for his birthday or a 90 year old for that matter; you get the picture.  The letters became a beautiful tradition and an integral part of his birthday celebration.  For me, it was the rare opportunity to somehow give a small token back to one of your elders for all that he had given to you. 

My grandfather was then and will forever be a living embodiment of love.  He loved me deeply through all my faults, all my mistakes of the teen years, and those that came after.  I knew that I could tell him anything and there was no judgment and that he would never bring it up again.  What a beautiful model of understanding and forgiveness that I could only hope to emulate with my own grandchildren. 

Although, he has been gone for several years, I still feel his presence in ways I cannot understand or explain.  I hear his voice, I see his gentle smile and I feel him walking beside me on the journey.  He will always be the reminder of integrity and honesty that the rest of the world is so sadly lacking.  I "do the right thing" because I was taught by the master.  He lived at a time when your word was a promise and what you said and did mattered to the future of your family.  I make the most of every day because I watched him do that, up to and including his last.   Even in his final years, he got up every day and did what needed to be done.  If something was broken he fixed it, if it was dirty, he cleaned it.  He  took care of himself, his family, his house and his garden to the very best of his ability all the days of his life. 

This picture remains my personal favorite of all that have been taken.  His face says it all -  that smile without pretense, he hasn't a care in the world.  He is happy and content with who he is and his place in the world.  For me, memories, sights, and sounds come swirling back with a simple glance at it.  Father's Day with Paul and Arma Jo, and Grandpa.  Dinner at Joe Tess's place in Omaha, Nebraska because when asked what he wanted for dinner, he said catfish.  I can smell the fish, feel his arms around me, and hear that little laugh of his.  It is one of the many memories that I carry forward from a lifetime spent with this amazing man.  I have been blessed, truly blessed, to have had a grandfather so wise and wonderful, so loving and understanding.  I continue to give thanks that he was with us for so long and that my memories of him remain so vivid.  Lucky me!

The Slowness of Time

On several occasions I have said how much I enjoy the length of the seasons here in the northwest.  Today as I was hiking through the woods, noticing the tiniest of buds and blooms, I realized that it's not the length of the season, it's the pace.  In California spring approaches and then you are drenched in it.  Here it is all in slow motion.  The season approaches, enters slowly, decides it can stay for a while and then slowly, ever so slowly takes it leave.  

As we begin our farewell to winter, we see spring in the doorway and we open the door a little wider.  The extra light from sunrise to sunset warms the earth and the greening moves from the bottom up.  The mosses and grasses fill in the brown patches of the ground and the trees burst forth in color first and then leaf out.  And as if by some miracle, we wake up and shout out, "It's spring."  

The Fight for Spring

The temperatures had warmed and spring was in the air.  Up sprang the crocus, followed in suit by the daffodils, hyacinths, and tulips.  The trees were budding as the sunlight hours gradually increased.  Everyone felt lighter and there was a new-found energy in the smallest of things.  But winter was not giving up so easily.  The mid-February chill descended on the valley and the snow fell.  This last burst of winter will soon give way to spring.  The journey cannot be changed.  The days will grow longer and the temperatures will rise.  Our spring flowers will soon reign over the earth.  All in due time...

My Blessing

There are so many blessings in my life but these people top the list.  I was blessed to have my grandfather on this earth for 60 of my years.  We laughed together in ways that I never did with anyone else.  I learned incredible things from his example.  But here I am, weighing in at my 64th year and am lucky enough to have both of my parents still with me.  I have never lost sight of how unusual that is and the older I get, the more deeper I feel this gratitude for them just being here.  This year has been a hard one for them both but they continue to greet each day with all that it may hold, good or bad, and find joy in the smallest of gifts.  In the stories they tell, my life takes on a deeper meaning.  I stand on their shoulders and see more clearly how I am connected to my elders as well as the earth.  I give thanks for every minute that I can spend in their presence.  I know that those minutes are now finite and that every time I say good-bye to them could very well be the last.  I honor the lives they have lived and give thanks for the life they have given to me.  I am truly blessed.

The Cons and Pros or Raising Hens

We went from one day having the challenge of a hen on the roof to the next day receiving our first egg.  This is the thing I like best about raising these crazy birds.  You never know what will happen next.  They are fun to watch, frustrating to manage but they make some delicious food!

The Gift of Nice

I knew before I moved to the Pacific Northwest that there is a nice factor in the people that live here.  I have been coming to the Portland area for almost 40 years and the little acts of friendliness would always take me by surprise.  Part of that could be said about any place outside of Silicon Valley.  San Jose and its inhabitants are just simply to busy to take time to say Hi.  The Safeway clerks would always ask "How's your day going?" but you knew that was in their job description.  Everyone there is in a hurry.  A hurry to get to work, to do the work, to get home from work.  There was rarely a moment for eye contact or a nod, let alone a conversation.  But here it is the complete opposite.  The hello and how are you doing is authentic and built into the work.  At first it was a conscience effort for me to engage in it.  I did it as a call/response.  When someone started a conversation, I felt obliged to join in.  But the longer I am  here, the more I feel it becoming part of my being.  Every encounter is an opportunity to slow down, to be nice to one another.  There is a gentleness, a feeling of kindness that pervades the environment here.  The relaxed nature that people have stems from the genuine concern they have for one another.  At this time of upheaval in the rest of society, the gift of nice is such a soft place to land.

Grey, the Light Neutral

As I left mass this morning, I was taken with the sky.  Yes, it was grey (and yes, it was raining) but there was a brightness to it that struck me in a new way.  As my transition to the northwest continues, I do not tire of the rain and see beauty around me in ways which the natives do not.  This morning I was struck with the neutrality of the sky and I am a big fan of neutrals.  The clouds come and go and with their movement, the color palette changes.  As the white clouds come in, the sky brightens and with the darker ones, it simply deepens the tones.  I have never been a lover of grey or attracted to it in any way.  But as I move through my first winter, the challenge for me is the absence of light.  These grey skies bring light in ways that the blue skies of California do not.  They are broad and expansive and ever changing.  They encompass the land from east to west across the entire horizon.  As your eyes move about, you realize that there is so much to discover within the grey.  

A Final (for now) Update on Finding a Spiritual Home

I have done it.  I have finally registered at a Catholic Church.  It feels like the great compromise.  But it is also the Holy Spirit at work.  It is not in Portland.  It is not Jesuit.  But it is right.  I have deliberated over this for the entire 6 months I have lived here.  The parishes in Portland felt like a much better fit in terms of diversity, liberal/conservative spectrum, and adult formation.  But I knew that making the 30-40 minute drive every week would keep me from becoming a fully participating member of the community.  And today, in this moment, what I need more than anything else is the sense of community.  I made several visits to the finalists - Holy Redeemer and St. Joseph's in Vancouver and St. Andrew's and St. Ignatius in Portland.  I prayed and prayed and prayed about it.  I talked to anyone who would listen.  I even went to Reconciliation to repent my sin of pride.  And that was probably the final straw.  The priest told me everything I already knew - just do it!  So with the new year came my signature on the dotted line for Holy Redeemer - close enough to walk to which I did this morning.  Yesterday came the affirmation of that decision.  I attended an orientation for St. Vincent de Paul volunteers and was surrounded by my new friends from HR.  They were open and welcoming and even suggested a few groups for me to try out.  So for everyone who told me that I wouldn't find here what I had in San Jose, I say you were right.  There is no SC Mission or St. Martin's or Sacred Heart of Jesus.  But there is a place for me to renew my faith and to continue growing in the love of Jesus.  I open the door to the dawn of what is to be and say Welcome!

A Look Inside

If you could look inside my brain, I fear for what you might see.  I have gone from an extremely organized person to one who just seems to do whatever comes across her mind.  I still struggle to find a methodical path through my days.  While I am aware that a few pieces are in place, I am not where I thought I would be as I approach the six month mark of this new life.  As I anticipated retirement, I saw it as an opportunity to renew my hobbies - reading, gardening, writing, and sewing.  I thought I would be subbing because I really did not think I was ready to leave the classroom.  SURPRISE!   It seems that I was more than ready.  Subbing is the last thing on my mind.

Reading
I feel like the reading is in place.  I set aside about an hour a day to read fiction balanced with the newspaper and whatever comes my way on the internet. 

Gardening
I did do a little gardening until this season of fall/winter set in.  Now, it would be the last thing to cross my mind.  But spring will come and reawaken that desire for dirt again. 

Writing
This is one that I have had the most difficulty with (as I can plainly see from the list of postings on this blog).  The struggle has been over whether I want to write about my teaching career and if I do what will I do with it.  Last week, I finally came to the decision to write and then figure out as I go along.  I got as far as researching some apps to use in the process.  The app is still open on my computer but I haven't made the move to purchase it.  Completing one step of the process appears to be such a challenge. 

Sewing
A few weeks ago, I remembered about sewing and finally had an idea of what to do.  A week ago, I bought the fabric and it took me another week before I thought about it again.  I finally washed it today and laid it out.  And there it lays. 

I have no idea if any of this is "normal."  No one I know has been in a position to plan out a retirement the way I am attempting to do.  But I do know that it doesn't feel very normal for me.  As I observe my thought process, I feel very much like someone who is ADD.  There is no follow through on any thoughts that cross my mind.  It is more like, "Hey, you know what.  I think I will do blank tomorrow."  And that is exactly what happens.  My brain is bombarded by questions and thoughts throughout the day and I address each one of them as it occurs to me. 

I have put some things in place:
Daily reading of the paper
Daily crossword puzzle
Daily walk
Weekly volunteering at Nativity and a second day to volunteer at St. Vincent de Paul on the horizon
So I am hopeful that somehow in the next six months some questions about retirement will be answered. 

Will this brain ever return to some form of structure?
How much sewing do I really want to do?  Is it really still a hobby of mine?
Where will this writing take me?
How long can I really be content with all this puttering?  Forever?
Do I actually have to have a plan?

Thankful

I am constantly giving thanks on my daily walks. Here is today’s list.

My continued good health
My family everywhere
My home
Sunshine
Songbirds
New friends
My inquisitive mind - when a creek or river freezes, what happens to the fish? Do they die or do they know it’s coming and find deeper water?
Advent and the feeling of hope it brings

Losing Home

In the process of creating this new home in the beautiful northwest I never considered the opposite side of the coin of losing the definition of home in San Jose.  During my last visit, it was clear that the past vision of home is slowing fading into distant memories.  As we flew from Cancun to SFO, we cruised right over SJC.  It was an odd feeling to see the place I called home for 40 years as such a small thing.  The high rises seemed odd pinnacles lying between two sets of hills.  The streets I walked in downtown for the last two years of my life there were simply dashes in the distance. Later in the week, I realized I had lost my sense of direction in the valley.  The streets I could negotiate mindlessly have now become a great puzzle.  With each visit back, I lose a bit more of that comfort that I once had in the bay area.  Home in Vancouver and the need to be here has now taken over what was home in San Jose.

The Passage of Time

Tick Tock.  Time goes by and we are completely unaware without something to mark it.  As a mother, it was in the accomplishments of my children, when she/he walked, talked, rode a bike or a roller coaster.  We become aware of it by major events - graduations, retirements, or cultural life changing ordeals - JFK, 9/11, and now too numerous to recall.  In San Jose it was droughts, rains, or earthquakes.  I was well aware during my 41 years in the south bay of the perfection of my living conditions.  Beautiful blue skies with only slight fluctuations in the temperature as time passes from January to April to June to September.  So there was no awareness of it.  You just slowly floated from one week, month, year to the next without stopping to look up.  Now that I am in my winter of life, I want to notice everything, especially the passage of time.  There seems no better place to do that than here in the northwest.  I arrived with summer and green trees, blooming flowers and heat.  The September transition made me aware of a change in the air but everything was still beautiful.  Little did I know that those green trees would soon become florescent in the weeks of October.  And now there is no mistaking fall as the leaves make their departure for winter.  Yesterday I returned from 6 days in San Jose and in that time the tree I walk under each morning went from its glorious red to bare and the view out my window has gone from green to yellow and tinges of brown.  It is the reminder that everything has a finite lifespan - flowers, trees, pets and people too.  In this glorious time of slowing down I enjoy the view of each day.  I appreciate everything it has to offer and especially the change it provides. 

Wednesday Wandering Through the Gorge

 

 

There is such beauty in all things and it is easy for us to define it in bright colors alone.  The fall foliage here in Washington is something that I knew would astound me but the biggest surprise is that it happens every day - day after day after day.  I know that soon the fading will begin and that I will work to hold on to what is left, but for now, I am simply astonished.  I have put off driving the Columbia Gorge because I just didn't think I was ready to take in the devastation from this summer's fire.  But I didn't want to deny myself this gift of the Gorge in the fall for fear of hurting or being sad.  The leaves may be challenged to hold on through the storm that's coming so it could be now or never.  The rain had already begun so I knew I wouldn't see much beyond the colored leaves and I was fine with that.  So I headed down the Washington side of the Gorge and was not disappointed.  There were amazing sights but you won't see them here because there was just no place to pull over and take the pictures.  But I was surprised by the beauty I also found in the gray of the clouds.  With their movement it could reveal and hide the size and stature of the mountains behind them.  I was mesmerized by the beauty in what was hidden.  How many things in life do we only allow ourselves to see what is revealed or on the surface and forget about what may be buried and behind the clouds.  I also found some new hiking spots to put on my Adventure List.  I made a few stops along the way and noted where I wanted to return.  It was time to head over to the Oregon side.   The only thing better than the Washington side of the Gorge is the Oregon side.   I made a stop in Hood River and promised myself to come back when there was more time.  As I continued westward the signs of the fire came into view and the sadness overtook me.  The damage to entire cliffs were difficult to take in and the tears came.  But this too shall pass.  The moss will come this winter and through its depth and volume with help the rocks hold on until the undergrowth begins to rebuild the forest.  Time is all it needs.  In our rush to get through life, we often the forget the importance of long stretches of time.  All things come to those who wait.  

Where Am I Going?

Where does the time go?  This is a refrain from the aging and elderly.   But I am beginning to understand it.  There is a rhythm to my days but there is also freedom.  The weekends are as they have always been.  It is the time to spend with family who are entrenched in the work world schedule and the social calendar of the community.  Things happen on Saturdays and Sundays.  At times they can be exhausting because I have adjusted so quickly to this slower pace of life.  As the week begins, I tend to plot out a few things I want to do or goals I have for the week.  From there it just flows.  I really don't know what I may plan to do or accomplish in any given day.  But by the end of the week, the goals and plans are met and my agenda is once again clear.  And I am free to once again think and read and putter.  For the first time in my life I am not overthinking what I'm doing or where I am going.  I am just letting it be.  I know that God is guiding me through this part of the journey because I am not invested in any one particular thing.

As I let go, I feel myself being swept away from education.  Subbing is not teaching so I am able to look at the system with new eyes.  The more I see, the less I envision myself in the midst of it.  It is no longer feeding my spirit, it is just something to be done.  Conversely, as I get more connected to the land and waterways of this place, the more I feel drawn in.  I have no idea what I will be doing a month from now, a year from now or 5 years from now.  And I'm letting that be.  The world will claim me for what it needs.  It will take my gifts of teaching and use them in this new version of who I am becoming.  

Defining Retirement

I am now well into my 3rd month of retirement and things are beginning to sort themselves out. I had a general idea when I tossed in the towel what this might look like but the vision is becoming more clear with each passing week. I have moved through the feeling of being completely untethered and the need to create a schedule. I still find myself thinking my way through each day as in, first I will do this, then I will do that, etc. It has been a bit of a mind shift to go from my highly scheduled work day of 7AM to 6PM to this void of commitments. There is nothing bad or hard about it, it is just a big change.

In my plans, I figured I would be subbing a couple days a week, volunteering a day at Nativity and spending the other 3 days on me; running errands and traveling around the area. Surprise. There have been no sub jobs so I began to think about what I had to offer and how I wanted to spend this time. The longer I'm here the more taken I am with the beauty and feel somewhat called to that piece of life. I have long been a proponent of preserving our natural resources and now find myself in a place where I can act on it.

So here is the result of this time and thought process up to this point. When given the opportunity, I will sub as I want to stay active and keep a little income to pay for my travels. In the meantime, I will volunteer at my local elementary school. It's been too long since I had the pleasure of working with the 6 and 7 year old crowd and I have missed that unbounded joy of life and love of learning. I also want to volunteer at St. Andrew's, the Nativity school in Portland. The mission is so important!

I have signed up to become a Stream Steward for Clark County. I'm excited to go back to the other side of the desk and learn more about my home. This will be 7 weeks of classes twice a week and then I will be able to volunteer on water and plant projects in the area.

The final piece is recreational. I have begun a short introductory golf class. I never ever thought about playing golf before. But what could be better than being outside and walking the trails of beauty in the Pacific Northwest?

So, here is where I find myself at this point in time. Happy, thrilled to be able to make decisions about my future, and looking forward to what comes next.

Everything is Relative

This phrase has been on  my mind in the last few weeks.  Life has plodded along on this thing called retirement.  Each day is this gift that I unwrap with love and remain present to everything it holds in store for me.  As I recover from the stress of my work life and struggle to fight off the guilt of all this freedom, I find joy in the smallest of things.  Flowers and time with them take on this amazing beauty.  I open myself up to answer the question of what I want to be now.  I love spending time with my northwest family and friends despite the pain of missing my California loves.  I work to make connections in this new home and fight off the pangs of missing "my people."  And then suddenly my world tips on its head.  My internal vision is deadened as I worry about my family in Houston while they endure Hurricane Harvey.  I mourn the beauty that I missed as the Columbia Gorge is lit on fire.  I struggle with my parents' decision to remain during Hurricane Irma.  As I hung up the phone on Monday, I thought once again, this could be the last time I hear my fathers voice.  And just like that, my life and questions about life come to a halt.  All I can think of is the danger that my family and first responders are in.  Everything, every thing is relative.  You go through your day to day life without a thought of dangers that may lurk out there.  And suddenly you are face to face with them.  Again and again and again.  Slowly, ever so slowly you relax back into the normalcy of life.  You don't forget the dangers, but you find a place to keep them so that you can once again function without watching the news or the weather 24/7.  And once again you return to the questions that lie in front of you.  Who are you?  Who do you want to be now that the time to be is yours?  But all the while you keep your family and friends uppermost in your heart and mind.  Everything is relative.

The Search For Church

This has been on my mind for weeks and soon to be months.  I've shared the struggle with several people.  I've prayed about it.  But there appear to be no answers on the horizon.  Here is the dilemma.

I want more than anything to connect with my community - as in neighborhood or town - but my belief system or perhaps my experience with the Catholic church does not mesh with that of Vancouver's.

I go to mass to deepen my relationship with each person of the Holy Trinity.  I want to get closer to Jesus, God and let the Holy Spirit guide me.  I go to mass to learn from the priest.  It's all about the homily and the Eucharist for me.

As I made the rounds of the Catholic churches in Vancouver, I struggled to find evidence that we are a "risen people.  In my  mind I go back to the risen Christ that takes center stage at St. Martin's.  There is still a lot of bell ringing, kneeling and head covering here.  In some parishes the old responses are still in effect.  I struggled long and hard over those changes and do not want to go back and have to relearn the old ones.

So I finally admitted defeat with Vancouver and their desire to save souls and stop abortions and made my way south to Portland.  What I have found is something different in every parish.  While I'm there, I'm trying with all my heart and soul to make it work for me because I know it's so much better than what I have found at home.  As I enter each church I step outside of my head and sometimes almost laugh out loud at the conversation that is going on.  I start off pretty negative or extremely positive depending on the location, and by the time the hour is up, I've gone from No to Yes to Maybe or from Yes to No to Maybe.  The end result remains the same.  I am still without a church home.

Here are my reflections
St. Edwards - Connected to Nativity School.  I like that.  Traditional setting, still doing the old responses.  I like seeing middle school art in the church.  Very friendly group, so friendly that no one noticed I was visiting.  I don't want to be fussed over but if your parish is doing the work of Christ, you would know that a visitor was in your midst.
St. Francis - Doing the mission work of downtown Portland but I felt a little unsafe.  Once again, the photos in the church reflect the mission they are about.  The responses are updated but they have added their own touch of St. Francis to the mix.  It is also a church in transition.  There is no real leader of the parish and there is a lot on their plate.  It may be one that I want to wait and see...
St. Ignatius - I like the Jesuit feel.  This was definitely in a better part of town than the rest.  Is that what I want - comfort?  But the missing pieces were there.  It was the first time that I could relax into the liturgy because I knew what was coming.  I guess if there was a negative, it was that the community seemed a little disconnected from each other.  It had the colder (proper) feel of a Silicon Valley parish.
St. Charles - a recommendation from my sister's boss.  I actually didn't even know there was a St. Charles.  Evidently he dedicated his life to Christ at the age of 12 and his mother was in the Medici family.  How did I miss this guy?  Anyway.  St. Charles was an OK fit - except that the priest didn't do the gospel or the homily.  It was done by the parish administrator.  Good homily but unsettling.   I've come away with a question of what role does the priest play in the Northwest?

So as I reflect on all of this, it seems that these 4 parishes combined are taking the place of my previous work and worship.  St. Francis and St. Edwards together take the place of my 10-11 hour a day work life at Nativity.  The school of St. Edwards and soup kitchen of St. Francis combined fulfill that sense of mission of feeding and educating the poor.  St. Ignatius is that comfortable place that I had at mass in Mission Santa Clara.  It definitely does not have the beauty of the mission but other pieces are there.  And maybe St. Charles is the community that I am searching for.  Part of me wants to make the rounds again just to see what the second viewing brings into focus.  But I am desperate to find "home."  I want to once again be fed by my faith.  I want to walk out of church feeling the joy that was everywhere in San Jose.  I want to leave a little bit wiser and more compassionate than when I walked in.

While some pieces of my transition to Washington have been so much easier than expected, this one still stymies me.  And this is a piece that really matters to that definition of HOME.  I know that it will come in time and that the time put into this will be worth it in the end.  The Spirit tells me to be patient and that it will come.

September 3, 2017
Just a quick addendum.  I returned to St. Ignatius this week and confirmed that this is home.  Jesuits and I have always been a match.  The homilies are good.  The music is comfortable.  It is all familiar and for now that is what I need in my spiritual life.

The Calendar

As summer transitions to back-to-school and then to fall, the events on my social calendar are slowing to a trickle.  I am now in a position of creating where and how I spend my time.  When I retired I said that I wanted to read and walk and they have both become a priority.  I joined a walking group on Saturday and a library book club on Monday.  Next on the list is a membership at the community center to get in some physical fitness goals.  My Google calendar has gone from a weekly view to a monthly format.  If there is any concrete symbol of going from administration to this more restful stage of life, it is that.  Two months ago, just looking at my calendar on a Monday morning would raise my heart rate.  And now I can see the ebbs and flows of life.  This is a much better perspective.