Fourth Tuesday of Advent: Something Beautiful, Something Good from What We Keep

 Prayer Card, December 2025

 

The antique French prayer card reads: "Je suis l'Immaculée Conception." In English,  "I am the Immaculate Conception."

A Catholic prayer card falls out of an old family Bible that belonged to my husband's grandmother. A surprising find considering she was Methodist. Maybe it was a gift or something from an earlier time in her life.  All the same, lovely. It sits on my prayer altar now with other tokens that have found their way to me. 

That's how it seems to go. Special objects and tokens find their way to us - carrying messages of divine presence and encouragement - pointing us to a view of life more beautiful and expansive. The prayer card reminds me that I treasure Mary as part of my extended family of faith. I see the card and connect to her story once again. 

Look around. What tokens or reminders have found their way to you? What have you discovered or chosen to keep? What makes them special? And what messages do they carry?

Our treasures old and new. They are something beautiful, something good.

Third Wednesday of Advent: Something Beautiful, Something Good from Simplicity

 

Chapel Nativity, December 2025

A simple nativity. Spare. Minimal. And still recognizable for exactly who they are - Mary, Joseph, Jesus.

I'm drawn to their simplicity and the idea of simplicity itself. But the truth is, their situation wasn't simple at all. And neither is mine.

My guess is that for many of us the arrival of Advent brings stormy weather across the landscape of relationships, health, expectations, and a world in chaos. Here we are on the last page of the 2025 calendar.  I come face to face with all the ways I thought, hoped, prayed that some things would go differently this year. Not simple by a longshot. 

And yet, when I sit quietly, I can revisit all the times when I knew the presence of goodness. I remember the simple truth that Love has permeated all my days - and all of yours. Maybe that's the Advent invitation for today. Seek and trust the presence of Love in all things. 

Third Sunday of Advent: Something Beautiful, Something Good from Taking Photos

Afternoon Walk, Fall 2025
Pecos Benedictine Monastery

Many years ago I was on a youth retreat with about 100 teenagers. I wasn't just on the retreat, I was leading the retreat. We were walking from breakfast to morning worship and I noticed a cluster of red flowers on the side of our walking path. Later that afternoon I spotted lavender water lilies at the lake where we canoed. And checking out at the end of the weekend, there were bright pink roses outside of the camp office. Even without a camera, my mind was starting to snap photos. A strong enough urge that I'm remembering it more than 20 years later. 

I knew someone who took beautiful photos. His advice was "the best way to take a good photo is to take lots of photos." Another friend said casually, "It's all about the light." Their words have stayed with me and returned at just the right time. 

This photo above is from an afternoon walk at the monastery. Nothing exceptional stood out as I was crossing the tall grass, but the way the light shined through the leaves reminded me - "it's all about the light" - and I took out my phone for a few photos. 

You know what I would like?

I would like to learn to see the way light shines through people the way I can see light shining through leaves. I would like to be able to see the way the light falls uniquely on a person - or the way it encircles someone - the way it illumines them from within. Wouldn't that be something? Let's practice. 

 

Second Thursday of Advent: Something Beautiful, Something Good from the Lazarus Window

The Lazarus Window, December 2025
A&M UMC, College Station, Texas

A&M United Methodist Church commissioned a new sanctuary window on Sunday. They are installing new stained glass, working their way around the sanctuary and we were there for the first Sunday after the "Lazarus Window" was installed. Each section depicts God's presence in a perilous time, calling forth life. 

To consider the Lazarus story during Advent, is to consider places of grief, loss and peril. Like Mary and Martha, we may wonder where exactly is Jesus in this or that situation. Especially when we find that sorrow and joy are sitting at the same soul table - under the same soul roof. 

In God's way, and in God's timing - life is called forth. Like Lazarus, we are called forth by name. And it is enough. As it has been written, "nothing is impossible for God." 

 

Second Wednesday of Advent: Something Beautiful, Something Good from Listening Again

Celosia, December 2025

A pastor friend hosts a mid-week prayer and communion service each Wednesday. 

Today we practiced lectio divina with the Annunciation passage from Luke 1:26-38. I listened as she read the passage three times; listening deeply for God's invitation. Where is the story of Gabriel and Mary intersecting with my real, everyday life? In this season of life?

Gabriel carried a message to Mary. Could it be that Gabriel has a message for me? and for you?

In the Sacred Space Prayerbook, the Jesuits ask it this way, 

    

    "If God were trying to tell me something, would I know? If God were reassuring me or challenging         me, would I notice? I ask God for the grace to be free of my own preoccupations and open to what        God may be saying to me."

Here's to cultivating freedom and openness of heart so we might listen again to the old, old story.

Second Monday of Advent: Something Beautiful, Something Good from Wild Apples

Wild Apple Tree, Fall 2025
Pecos Benedictine Monastery

Out for an afternoon walk. 

I'm walking a familiar path and glance up to see a slender apple tree, loaded with ripening fruit just a short distance away. 

All morning I've been listening to birdsong and the sound of the river. I've been refreshed by the cold air and the joy of stepping out for a wandering walk. And now, an apple tree. 

I imagine the deer and the other creatures who rely on wild apples - they already know where this exact tree is. The scent has led them here. 

May there always be wild apples for the deer.

May unexpected sources of nourishment be within reach for each of of us.

May we follow something beautiful, something good, more deeply into life.

 

Second Sunday of Advent: Something Beautiful, Something Good from Unexpected Invitations

 

"Annunciation" by Gocha Kakabadze (Republic of Georgia)

I am a collector at heart. 

Paintings and photos illustrating the Annunciation always catch my eye. My gathered collection is growing. Today I added this one from Gocha Kakabadze. 

It appears to me that the angel is almost walking across the ceiling - it makes me smile. Perhaps Gabriel is hinting at the upside-down nature of God's kingdom. 

Barbara Brown Taylor once said, "If I claim one guiding principle for my life, it is to say yes to unusual propositions and see what happens." 

I've been paying attention to invitations that have come my way recently. Risk taking doesn't come naturally to me, but every now and then I get a flutter in my chest that says, "Say yes." 

Let's give thanks for Mary's brave yes. 

Let's give thanks for angels and invitations.

Let's give thanks for the upside-down kingdom.

Let's see what happens.

First Saturday of Advent: Something Beautiful, Something Good from Soft Light

Highway 59 outside of El Campo, December 2025

 

A winter sky over South Texas. 

The clouds are washed in silver over fields that are resting from growing and harvest season. The colors cast a soft light over everything. The light becomes my companion on the drive. I love how it shifts every few minutes as sunset approaches. 

Some moments come wrapped in their own diffused softness. Moments when the most important thing is to simply be present. To witness. To tend to what is right in front of us. 

I'm grateful for the quiet joy that finds us along the way. It is something beautiful, something good. 

First Friday of Advent: Something Beautiful, Something Good from Around the Bend

Driving through the River from Laity Lodge, Fall 2025
Leakey, Texas

 

I know a place where the drive in and out takes me through the Frio river. 

On the way in, my heart knows the feeling of coming home. And on the way out, just around the bend, my heart knows the feeling of beginning the drive back to my home city of Houston. I always say, "It's good to go - and good to come home." 

Here's a secret: I carry the river in my heart. I can visit whenever I want. I carry the river down Gessner Drive and to the grocery store. I carry the river when I'm on zoom or making dinner or out for a walk. I carry the river on gray days. Sometimes I forget, but then I remember.

That's how it is once you've found a sacred place, a thin place - it becomes part of you. The places we carry in our hearts are something beautiful and something good. 

First Thursday of Advent: Something Beautiful, Something Good from the Rose

Roses at the Benedictine Monastery, Fall 2025
Pecos, New Mexico

It was the first day of a silent retreat. I've been at the monastery before. At an altitude of almost 7,000 feet I've learned to take it easy the first day or so. 

I've stepped out on the back porch and cannot miss the bright red roses. I've never seen them in bloom before. It's exhilarating. On previous trips, I suspected that spiky plant was a rosebush. There's no denying it today. The roses are striking against the adobe building, the wide blue sky, and the golden green colors of fall. 

There's a blessing in seeing something come into bloom. And a blessing in seeing someone come into bloom. 

I'm remembering words from Georgia O'Keefe, "Still, in a way -- nobody sees a flower -- really -- it is so small -- we haven't the time -- and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time." 

May we take the time.

May we take the time to see.

May we take the time to see what is coming into bloom. 

May we take the time to see who is coming into bloom. 

May we take the time.

First Wednesday of Advent: Something Beautiful, Something Good from Blackbirds

Backyard Grackles, Fall 2025

 There hasn't been enough rain in my hometown of Corpus Christi, Texas. Hardly any. 

So when my mother empties her watering can into the birdbath, birds gather and spend several moments getting a drink. Just that small amount makes all the difference. 

No one needs to remind birds to drink when they are thirsty. They don't forget and they don't put it off. They don't try to get one more thing accomplished. Backyard birds are good teachers in that way. 

May we learn to recognize our thirst, our true thirst.

May we discover small pools of refreshment.

May we see that there is enough to share.

First Tuesday of Advent: Something Beautiful, Something Good from Seeds

Hyacinth Beans, December 2025

Another afternoon walk.

I came to a stop in front of a neighbor's garden when my eye caught the bright purple of hyacinth bean seed pods. They stand out against the shades of green and soft pink sweetheart roses. 

I ponder the seeds - the promise they contain for something new that might come to life. 

I remember other occasions when I pocketed seeds from trees and flowers. Over the years, I've collected some from an orchid tree in Costa Rica, a mystery plant in Colorado, coral vine from my Mother's garden, something bright orange from the hill country, purple trumpet from a friend.

Last summer, I went through my collection to see what might grow. I lined up the tiny starter pots on the back porch table in hopes they would germinate, take root and grow. Some of them did. Others were overcome by the heat and not enough diligent care. 

Why did I collect them and keep them? What took me such a long time to plant them? Why does my gaze land on seeds wherever they are found? How is it that they make my heart feel as if a window has been raised and fresh air blown in?

Something in me must want very much to cultivate life and beauty. Something in me hopes to participate in nurture and growth. Something in me is flat out curious about what will happen with a spade full of dirt and a string of sunny days. Something in me is delighted by what comes from a tiny and humble beginning. Something is me is enamored by possibility. 

The gift of pondering seeds - something beautiful, something good. 

 

First Monday of Advent: Something Beautiful, Something Good from a Neighborhood Hawk

Neighborhood Hawk, November 2025

 

May you know the blessing of an unhurried walk on a cloudy afternoon.

May you know the blessing of meeting someone face to face, eye to eye and unafraid.

May you know the blessing of perfect stillness that comes before perfect flight.

May you know the blessing of wonder in your own neighborhood.

May you know the blessing of watching and waiting together.

First Sunday of Advent: Something Beautiful, Something Good from the Psalms

Favorite Psalm Books, November 2025

It's the first Sunday of Advent. 

The last few days words from an old worship song have been floating up in my mind, "Something beautiful, something good." I am challenging myself to think of one good and beautiful thing each day leading up to Christmas. 

The subject of Psalm reading has been on my mind for a few weeks; specifically reading and praying the Psalms with others. 

My earliest experiences reading the Psalms responsively were in worship with my parents or my grandmother. We picked up the United Methodist Hymnal and there was a moment when the only sound was the turning of pages all the way to the back where the Psalms were. Once the pages stilled, the pastor knew almost everyone had found their place and we began the back and forth reading between "leader" and "people." As a young reader, I can remember being proud that I was learning the words and could read along with the grown-ups. I admit the words of the Psalms didn't hold a lot of meaning to me as a young child, but there was something about reading them together. 

Many years later, I learned that many monastic communities read the Psalms chorally - in a back and forth style. Even now, I am comforted to know that there are communities who read the Psalms in prayer several times a day. I have heard it said that the world is held together by the prayers of the faithful who are devoted to keeping the hours of prayer. Alone or with others, when I pray the Psalms, I am joining them - and we are holding the world together.

When we read Psalms with others, it takes a few rounds to find our rhythm. The leader may begin the pace, but as we go along, the words of the Psalms find their own pace. As I pray the Psalms, the words come to life as they are spoken aloud. It seems to me that the words want to be released into the air and into the world. Some Psalms are difficult to pray - I aspire to pray them honestly. Some Psalms are familiar, joyful and comforting. Some give me permission to give voice to illusive sorrow and suffering. Others help me make the journey from my heart, into the world, and back again. There are times when the phrasing lands in surprising places and I get to speak a phrase that feels like it was addressed to me.

These days, retreats are where I most often get to pray the Psalms with others. Hearing them read by a pastor or leader can be a gift to sit quietly and simple receive the words. But more often I find that joining our voices and filling the room with the sound of all of us together is uniquely powerful. It's something beautiful, something good. 

Advent, Day 17: My Name is...

My Name is..., December 2024

 One day a week, I volunteer at a local food pantry. 

Today was a holiday event where we served 324 families. I was stationed in the parking lot with a clipboard and the food bank software program loaded on my phone. 

It was warm outside. Every now and then a breeze would come though and it was a welcome moment of refreshment. The software was slow and glitchy, so I resorted to taking down names and account numbers on notebook paper, then entering them when I could. The shift was non-stop for about 4 hours. 

I was giving a lot of attention to the list on my clip board and working with the software. We tried to work quickly so that people could get their groceries and head home. I wondered if I was making the kind of human connections that I value - the kind where people feel seen.

Then, Diana Hernandez Perez (not her real name) came through. I wrote her name on my clipboard and she said, "Thank you for writing my whole name." I felt her words in my chest and looked up. She continued, "A lot of people only write Diana Perez or Diana Hernandez, but you wrote both of my names. Thank you." 

Her words stayed with me for the rest of the afternoon. It was such a small thing to include her full name. Even though I could have taken a short cut. Without knowing it, writing her full name was a small way of seeing her and honoring her. 

Such small actions often escape my notice, but in the moment those small actions can be everything. I've spent the afternoon recalling people who know me and call me by my "full name." I am recalling the smallest of moments where someone has let me know that they see me. Best of all, I know in my heart of hearts that God knows our "full names" - each and every one of us. 

Advent, Day 13: More than just the one

Zinnia, December 2024

My sights focused on

the one bloom, but believe me - 

there were many more

* I took a quick photo of this lush zinnia just as I was meeting a friend for lunch.  When I saw it again tonight, I remembered there were lots of other blooms in the same patch - lantana, rosemary, and turk's cap among them. Even though I focused in on the one flower, there were so many more all around . It reminds me that none of us bloom on our own. If we are paying attention, we'll see that we are in the company many others coming into their own fullness and beauty. Lord, give us eyes to see.

 

Advent, Day 2: Sticks

Sticks, December 2024

 I've been thinking about sticks. 

When I was little, my brother and I would go out in the yard and pick up sticks before my dad cut the grass. He didn't want to run over them and damage the mower. So we canvased the yard for small branches that got shaken from the trees by wind and squirrels. They went into a pile that was eventually bundled up and hauled away.

Yesterday I took an afternoon walk and picked up a stick to carry with me for a couple of miles. It fit well into my hand. I noticed others as I walked - one floating in the water, several piled against the fences of my neighbors, others scattered here and there. 

Some weeks ago, someone asked me to consider what shape my feelings take on. 

Some of my feelings are like sticks.  Specifically, my grief takes on the shape of a stick. Grief and sticks can be sharp and poke or scratch. They snap easily. Grief and sticks can get lodged or hung up and block the moving flow. Grief and sticks are what I walk along with - when I spot the first one, I began to see them scattered here and there. 

I imagine gathering sticks. Not to collect and keep them all, but also not to leave them laying around. I imagine gathering my grief with the same motion as picking up sticks - to make them an offering - to give them into God's care. 

For what? What good is a stick? Sticks become kindling at the beginning of a fire. Sticks become hospitality for bugs to burrow. A good stick trellises a young vine. Those are my hopes for grief too. That my grief becomes kindling, or shelter or unexpected strength for something (or someone) young and growing. 

This Advent, I'll be picking up sticks - to remember and to hope. 

 

Entrusted

Seedlings, September 2024

 

A new beginning

from seeds collected, at last

entrusted to earth

* Over the years, I have collected seeds from many places. Two weeks ago, I finally decided to plant to containers of each one. The first sprouts are appearing. I am seeing seedlings from pods collected in Colorado and Costa Rica - and a mystery seed that wasn't labeled. They have all been on the laundry room shelf for awhile and now is the time to see what they will become. 

My clay heart

Clay Heart, August 2024

                    My heart is imperfect, but it's mine; 

                        there is not another like it.

                    

                    My heart has fissures and fault lines around the edges

                        signs of years lived and brokenness too

                        yet, it is being healed from within.

                    

                    My heart is asymmetrical

                        and holds all my joys 

                        and sorrows in balance. 

                    

                    My heart was fashioned in love

                        and made for love. 

                    

 

The Wisdom of Redwoods: Reflections from a Silent Retreat

Watercolor Trees, August 2024

                     Oh Lord, 
                    

                    You are the dreaming tree

                          I have fixed my hopes 

                          and prayers to branches 

                          who shelter birds 

                          and barefoot children

                    You are the scent of 

                        magnolia and orange

                        You are the taste of crushed mulberries

                        that tell my mother 

                        where I've been

                    You are bright 

                        with the yellow 

                        of paloverde and huisache 

                        the pink of rosebud, 

                        tulip and rain tree

                    You are fixed with a rope swing

                        we dare each other to climb 

                        and catch hold

                        taking a freefall of delight 

                        under your blessed canopy

* Last Saturday, I attended a silent retreat gathered around the redwoods and trees as images for the spiritual journey. I recalled particular trees that had been part of my childhood, especially at my home and the homes of my grandparents. The prayer poem comes out of my reflections.