Seeking Wisdom

Wonder on the Ninth Day of Christmas

“I wonder as I wander out under the sky why Jesus our Savior has come for to die for poor orn’ry people like you and like I; I wonder as I wander out under the sky.” John Jacob Niles

The Appalachian folksong, “I Wonder as I Wander,” has enchanted me since I was a young teenager. A Dominican sister who taught English once sang it at our high school assembly before Christmas break. Sr. Caitlin was a witty, wise-cracking young woman, full of mirth and practical jokes. When she stepped up to the microphone, no one expected the emotional rendition that emanated from her powerful voice and beautiful soul. She forever changed my perception of wonder that day.

I generally do not make resolutions for the new year anymore. In the olden days, I would take my three daughters to the beach and we would each write a list of prayer requests rather than resolutions. I would tuck the list into my bible until the following New Year’s Day. We were always filled with wonder when we opened the list again to see the soccer wins, aced tests, resolved squabbles with friends, and miraculous healings of sick dogs and cats. Amazingly, many prayers were answered, and it was a good lesson about trust in the abundance of grace.

Although we no longer participate in this exact ritual, (they are all mothers with children of their own) I still ruminate with wonder over the events of the past twelve months. This is easy because each year, I keep a daily planning calendar of events, comments on books I have read, quotes from friends, quirky words I have learned, and random thoughts about life. Scribbling down a few ideas each day anchors time and creates a treasure chest of subjects to write more about in my journal or blog. Besides filling me with wonder (as in awe), these events also make me ponder so many unanswered questions.

I wonder why some prayers get answered while others remain suspended. I wonder why human beings are so cruel to one another; why we do not share resources so everyone can have good food and clean water. I wonder why we want to fight over images of God, about who is and who is not in heaven; why we quibble about doctrines and words to creeds. I wonder why we allow ideologies and politics to rob us of our joy. The list goes on.

But then I also wonder over the beauty of nature, the perfection of a child’s face, the random acts of kindness that spill out of ordinary circumstances. I am awed when I think of the loving and supportive family and friends who have graced my life for decades; of the deep faith that sustained me in many dark nights and still strengthens my convictions. I am amazed that I have lived twenty-five years into the new millennium and can still feel transformed by so many wonderful things.

May your year be filled with awe and may you bask in the wonder of it all!

Soul Collage on the Seventh and Eighth Days of Christmas

For over a decade, every December 31st morning, I have entered into a reflective prayer process called “Soul Collage.” For several hours, sometimes alone and sometimes with a group, I sit down with print images that I have collected and create an icon of my inner state. This year, two days are devoted to this creative endeavor. Engrossing and contemplative, the process taps my right brain to record and chronicle the soul’s quest for meaning.

I began making collages out of magazine photos when I was very young, and used the finished products as greeting cards, journal entries, and scrapbook pages. Resources were tight in those days and this was an inexpensive way to express myself. Many years later, after having completed the certification for the Art of Spiritual Direction, I was thoroughly delighted to meet Seena Frost, author of Soul Collage: Evolving an Intuitive Collage Process For Self-Discovery and Community, who introduced me to an expansive way to collage for spiritual growth. Since then, I have facilitated the creation of these unique soul expressions on retreats and small group gatherings. The group process doubles the pleasure and galvanizes the creative process, especially on New Year’s Eve, a perfect time to reflect.

This year, the subject of my soul collages is “The Mystic’s Journey” because I am presently guiding a study group on mystical theology. It is a work in progress as I play with the many photos collected over the past few months. Look carefully–there are over twenty images incorporated into these collages and I am not yet finished. More ideas are rising to the surface by the minute and I am riding on the wings of the Spirit into this new year!

I wish you every happiness! May your souls soar into 2025 with hope, resolve, and a tidal wave of love.

Heirlooms on the Sixth Day of Christmas

“All that I come from, all that I live for, and all that I’m going to be, My precious family/Savior/Jesus is more than an heirloom to me.”(“Heirlooms” by Amy Grant)

“Your house is like a museum,” remark folks who first step over the threshold. I never know how to take that statement these days when the minimalist movement reigns supreme. Usually, I just smile and usher people into my home, full to the brim with antiques, old photographs, books, and family heirlooms. Unabashedly sentimental, I am the keeper of family memories and ours is a house of carefully curated collections. Following Marie Condo’s advice, I only keep what I love, and I love a multitude of beautiful things, especially my Christmas heirlooms.

Each ornament has a story; the Nativity figures are the carriers of childhood memories, and each Christmas book unlocks new insights that echo across time with every reading. (A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, and The Birds Christmas Carol by Kate Douglas Wiggen, are two of my all-time favorites.) My old Christmas teapot, cups and saucers, and dinnerware, some full of nicks and scratches, have graced decades of family and friends’ dinners. I offer a Christmas blessing from my favorite poinsettia wine glasses, hand-painted by my daughter many years ago. All are sacramental to me, containers of food and drink that nourish the mind, body, and spirit.

Like the proverbial broken record, I remind my grandchildren that the stories behind the heirlooms are what matters. They bind us together in a faith that looks through the trappings of possessions, prestige, and power. This is not about material things at all, but about what they represent: a tradition focused on connections, deeper meanings, and the hidden inner light emanating from every corner of life.

I hope my grandchildren will want some of the heirlooms I have saved for them. However, what I hope the most is that they know their worth is far more precious to me than anything I own. Love is the only heirloom to pass on to future generations.

Music on the Fifth Day of Christmas

“For we need a little music, need a little laughter
Need a little singing ringing through the rafter
And we need a little snappy, happy ever after
We need a little Christmas now. . .” (from “Mame” by Jerry Herman)

The Christmas music that blasted from every store since before Thanksgiving has now ceased. Corny and annoying as many carols are, I miss them. More accurately, I miss the anticipation and childlike wonder, the mood that these seasonal favorites provide when they suddenly disappear for a year. But then, I need a little music, not just at Christmas time, but every day.

Don’t get me wrong–attempts to be more comfortable with silence have been a constant preoccupation. However, after nearly forty years of sitting quietly in daily meditation, I must also turn on Mahler, Joni Mitchell, Native American flute music, or whatever matches my mood, to stir me into action each day. As I write this, I listen to KUSC, my favorite classical station for “Mozart in the Morning,” which provides a rich background for my daily tasks. Music takes me to an enchanted inner silence where I do not feel alone and distracts me from the worries that often plague me when the darkness of winter becomes too oppressive.

Having been silenced too many times for being a woman, small in stature with a curious mind, a gift for speaking up and singing spontaneously, I was often told (verbally and nonverbally) that I was too loud, too forceful, too intimidating. Frequently scolded to “tone it down,” when I was young, I learned to go silent when I wanted to yell out; to swallow anger, dismay, questions, and loud belly laughs that might disturb anyone. Many years of inner work helped to relinquish these engrained early messages. Empowered by music, I was lifted out of the old patterns of restraint and permitted to be myself. I have come to know music as the voice of God who repeats “I love you” in the notes, stanzas, crescendos, and lyrics of countless composers and musicians.

It is the end of December. The doldrums of the Christmas season have perhaps set in at your house. I feel it in the air. Many people want to move on and be done with all the false merriment. Resist the urge. Put on some music you love today. Sit down, cover up with a blanket, and listen mindfully to one great piece or favorite album, a forever gift flowing over the soundwaves of time.

Hope on the Fourth Day of Christmas

“Let your heart be light. . .from now on our troubles will be out of sight. . .”

The Winter Solstice, the year’s darkest day, has now passed. Each day henceforth, the sunlight increases, which is precisely why celebrating the Incarnation on December 25^th is so meaningful in the northern hemisphere. The Light of the World came to dispel the darkness forever. Mirrored in the landscape of Earth and sky, hope shines most brightly during the Christmas Season.

In 1969, more than 475,000 U.S. military personnel were stationed in Vietnam. There were 11,780 American soldiers dead that year, and countless more Vietnamese. In June, I had just returned from doing a USO tour of the east-west Mediterranean, entertaining the troops stationed to protect our NATO allies, most having already served tours in Vietnam. I was deeply affected by the casualties of war, having seen the desperate look in the eyes of so many young men and women. That December, I was asked to sing a solo at a Christmas party for a large department store in my hometown. I chose to perform “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”(written by Hugh Martin) because I wanted to uplift the hearts of the families of active service and veterans who were hanging onto hope that “our troubles will be out of sight,” as this emotionally-packed song lyrics crescendo. I recall becoming choked up in the middle of singing as tears welled up in the eyes of many. Afterward, I was reassured that the audience benefitted from feeling the emotions of communal hope.

Fifty years have passed since that experience, but the need for hope-filled moments has not. Throughout several more wars, a worldwide pandemic, and political unrest, hope has waxed and waned like the cycles of the moon. We feel this most acutely when pessimism creeps into our daily lives due to loss and sadness. Although some may be more resilient than others, no one escapes suffering regardless of how much money or successes are amassed. The cross comes to everyone, which is why the Incarnation and the Paschal Mystery remain so meaningful to Christians. Our God-made-flesh knows what it means to be human, has experienced both joy and sorrow, loss and gain. “Hope springs eternal,” a proverb I live by, remains written indelibly in the human heart.

On this fourth day of Christmas, may we allow the resilience of the human spirit to rise again. May hope warm and inspire us to embrace life in all its complexity!

Beauty on the Third Day of Christmas

“Sleighbells in the air; beauty everywhere. . . “

Today, when I took my morning stroll with my aging Golden Retriever, happily listening to Christmas carols, I passed by a couple in their front yard busily taking down their lights and decorations. “No, no, no!” I wanted to yell out at them. Christmastime has only just begun! I resisted the urge and said nothing but quickly walked to the other side of the street.

Why are people so anxious to let go of the beauty of this season? My irritation was rising as well as my judgment. Maybe they are going on a trip and want this task done before they leave, suggested my better self. Still, a feeling of melancholy engulfed me. Then the song, “Christmas Time Is Here,” sung by Sarah McLachlan came up on my playlist. If you haven’t heard her version, I highly recommend it. It’s a moody song and hers is a very moody, jazzy version but it seemed to fit the circumstances.

As I rounded the corner and headed up my street’s steep hill, I came face-to-face with an enormous holly hedge, complete with crimson berries. I stood transfixed before it. I always forget that holly grows in California. Somehow, it seemed incongruous, as if snowflakes should be decorating its branches. Wait, were those sleighbells I just heard in my imagination? I felt my spirits rising like incense at this precious gift, a Christmas decoration that cannot be taken down at a whim. I said a prayer of thanks for this Christmasy testament, evergreen and stalwart, right on my street, all year long.

The song is right—”Christmas time is here. . .and beauty is everywhere.”

Calm and Bright on the Second Day of Christmas

“All is calm, all is bright. . .”

I love the Christmas carol “Silent Night.” Granted, I am more sentimental than most, but the words really get to me and tears often moisturize my dry skin when I hear “all is calm, all is bright” softly sung. What would it be like to luxuriate in bright calmness all the time? Is that the meaning of “heaven” or “enlightenment”?

Lately, I have been guiding a study group on the theology of mysticism. The discussion of paradox has both enlightened and perplexed us. Mystics write about how darkness is full of bright light and the highest form of knowledge is “unknowing.” Death leads to new life, turmoil purgates and liberates, and renunciation of possessions equals untold spiritual wealth where all is calm, all is bright. Examples abound in the Scriptures of all world religions.

Perhaps this explains why the Nativity story captivates us. For centuries, folks from all cultures, ethnicities, economic and educational backgrounds, have gazed at manger scenes and pondered the mystery of a calm and bright night in a stable in Bethlehem. “The story never grows old,” wrote Carl Sandburg. Indeed. When we get humble and childlike enough, we fall in love with the humility of our God who wanted to know firsthand what it was like to be human. “God is a foolish lover,” wrote one of the mystics.

Today, I begin a pilgrimage to visit Nativity scenes in nearby churches. My mother did this with us when we were kids. “Let’s pay a visit,” she suggested in the days after Christmas, as if we were dropping in for tea at my aunt’s house. Off we went into snowy afternoons whether we wanted to or not. I remember returning home feeling calmer and brighter. With “Silent Night” playing through my Airpods while gazing at the Nativity scenes, I hope to sink into that wonderment again.

Joy on the First Day of Christmas

“Let every heart prepare him room. . .And heaven and nature sing. . .While fields and floods, rocks, hills, and plains repeat the sounding joy. . .”

It is Christmas! Time to celebrate JOY, no matter what the news tells us, no matter what burdens we are carrying, no matter how many injustices remain in our world. The Incarnation of Jesus, the second “big bang” that happened on Earth, infused a light that can never be extinguished. But we must open our eyes to see it, open our hearts to experience it.

Perhaps because I was born on Christmas Day, my soul is inured with a deep primordial joy when the season rolls around. Lovely childhood memories of Christmases in Minnesota, when my parents were in charge, rise from my daily meditations. We were not rich by any stretch, but we always had a tree, gifts (extras for me, the birthday girl), a special meal and a birthday cake. My heart still expands when I recall soft snow falling at night, the sound of familiar carols during midnight mass in our ancient stone church, my mother wishing me a happy birthday when mass was over.

The Christmases I have lived in California, when I was in charge of the celebrations, are also filled with joy unspeakable. Determined to make every year better, I conjure up the mystical and magical as I prepare during Advent for the big celebration. I bake traditional cookies, prepare sacramental meals, and plan spiritual rituals for friends and family who grace my dinner tables. Everyone must get involved and partake of the food that nourishes both body and soul.

On this first day of Christmas 2024, the joy of our candle-lighting ritual before dinner always elates me. Little white candles in gold candle holders are clipped to every plate. As we light each others’ candles, each person pronounces a blessing. This year, we had nineteen people at the table (I have nine grandchildren)! They blessed family, aging relatives and friends, new births, and those in war-torn countries. More nourishing than the meal itself, there are no words to describe moments like these. Tears of joy spilled into my glass of wine as we toasted to another glorious Christmas day.

Twelve Days to Celebrate!

It’s Christmas Eve—the most “filled-with-anticipation” day of the year for excited children and harried parents busy making memories and dreams come true. I breathe in deeply and smile because after four weeks of Advent, the longing is over. It’s time for an almost two-week celebration of JOY! Well, at least for some of us!

Every year, beginning on December 25, it has been my tradition to fully celebrate all twelve days of Christmas. No gifts of partridges in pear trees (although I do like to ponder the symbolism of that song), rather, a grateful response for the many gifts of that light that blaze from even the most quotidian of places.

Simply put, I love this designated time to celebrate the Incarnation, the infusion of the Divine into every order corner of my life. At year’s end, this practice steadies and fortifies me for whatever the coming twelve months will bring. I think of this as an indulgent gift, not only to myself but to all who strive for wisdom and seek more meaning out of life than our consumer culture can ever provide. Rather than feeling let down the day after Christmas (as so many children often experience), or a sense of “good riddance” (as so many adults experience), the elation increases each day and encourages me to stay in the “Christmas frame of mind” through Epiphany on January 6^th.

For years, I have written and shared these reflections with family and friends, in person and online, and many of you have accompanied me on this little sojourn. So once again, I invite you to take this twelve-day journey with me. Resist the urge to take down the tree and put away the decorations early! Linger for a while in the glow, linger in the light, and feel rightfully energized when the first week of 2025 unfolds.

O Epic Epistoler!

O Epic Epistoler!

You write letters by the thousands on our hearts:

Salutations of peace be with you

Fear not

REJOICE, REJOICE!

I am EMMANUEL, GOD WITH YOU in every moment

I am WISDOM from on high who guides your path

I am the ROOT OF JESSE’S TREE

who rescues you from death

I am DAVID’S KEY

who opens wide the door of heaven’s home

I am your bright and MORNING STAR

who turns darkness into light

I am your PRINCE OF PEACE who ceases all sad divisions

O come, O come EMMANUEL!

Our lonely exile is over!

Bid us to open our full mailboxes

Re-read your daily invitations

shared in the postscripts of history

signed with the ink of eternity

and RSVP by our witness of service

to a world still in need