2025

Dear Friends,

Once again, our ongoing “conversation” inspires my newest Glimmer on this quiet November day. I hope you are well, safe and cared for. Each of you remain in my prayer as Fall invites our hearts into the deepening darkness that surrounds us. What are we called to as our inner life slows us down?

I received a gift recently, a nuanced encounter with my little-girl-self that I’ve spent a lifetime protecting. The trauma that she survived created deep wounds that influenced my personality, relationships, and talents. She has made herself known to me, and sometimes others, through reactions and behaviors. Since my contemplative path invites deep looks and patient wonderings, I pay attention. Perhaps you can relate to the moments where hidden memories and feelings show up in the midst of daily activities and relationships.

Fortunately, I am committed to regular supervision in my spiritual direction ministry. This is an honest look at what comes up for me as I sit with those I’m accompanying. This professional practice allows me to devote my full attention to my directee, knowing I will later attend to human feelings that may appear. This is where she showed up. In the safe company of my peers, that little one made herself known and I listened to her. She often comes with tears, the story she lived was filled with loss and abandonment. Sometimes, I cry right along with her as I experience the invitation to self-compassion. And lately, I find my capacity to trust her, my self and my loving God has gently increased.

Her name is Hope. She survived these 70 years and, praise God, remains at the core of who I am.  She is part of these Glimmers, my ministry and part of my faith journey. Advent begins on Sunday and I’ve asked her to join me in the sacred preparation for Christmas. Each day I will carry her light, as she carries mine, into the mystery of Christ’s arrival. Together, we will face the challenges of life – together, we will reverence the joy of life. Together, we will hope.

peace to you, dear Friends, Lisa

Dear Friends,

Light – dark – light-dark…light, light, light, daaaark – light – dark……

When they were young, my sons and I created our own response to the rhythms found while driving tree-shaded roads on sunny days. It was fun, and often challenging, to keep up with the pattern as it unfolded in real time; our voices chanting as the light quickly changed. Have you ever played with adding sound to the staccato of a drive’s light and dark experience? For me, it adds a feeling of aliveness to the moment. We not only see the “back and forth,” the “in and out” of the change around us, we become a part of it.

As I reflect on that memory, I wonder if I can add that engaged perspective to moments of change that surround me: my body feeling good one day and presented a debilitating shoulder ache the next, noisy construction in the neighborhood in the afternoon followed by the haunting quiet of night, a news story of human kindness after a report of violence or injustice. Day after day, hour after hour, life calls for adjustment – emotionally, physically, intellectually. I wonder, how am I doing?

Can I make a game of my experience as I did with my sons in the car? Or, is it possible that our “call and response” laid a seed in us for managing, even trusting, the inevitability of change?  Going further, can I, in my maturing years, accept a slower rhythm in the movement of change? In the case of my body, for example, my heating-pad-enwrapped shoulder sings “ahhhhh” during this moment of comfort. Later, I expect, another sound may come out, but I am noticing the ease of this moment and it’s place in my relationship with my body.

Things will likely change, but if I’m able to just be in this moment of respite, instead of sitting on the edge of my chair, I am gifted with an awareness of presence. Some may call it prayer, or a contemplative moment, or grace. Continuing my prayer in the Land of Change, I offer Joseph Campbell’s wisdom,

“We must be willing to let go of the life we planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.”

Friends, I invite you to listen to this piece of music as you reflect on Campbell’s words. Click hear and breathe… I first heard “Gabriel’s Oboe,” written by Ennio Morricine, while praying the Ignatian Spiritual Exercises, I offer it to support you’re awareness of presence, prayer, contemplative moments or encounters with grace.

…And I thank you, once again, for allowing me to share my journey with you – with full and grateful awareness of your stories, journeys, hearts and hurts. Thank you for your willingness to be human as we sort out the paths before us. Thank you for being receptive as we open our hearts to Divine Presence. Blessings, dear friends, Lisa

Dear Friends,

I recently heard from a fellow seeker who was confronting the “ambivalence” in her life these days. and described her frustration with being “wishy-washy,” as she looked ahead. I suspect that many of us have these feelings at one point or another. Can you relate to that confusing space of uncertainty as it wraps around your life?

Crisis… age… grace … all have a part in the invitations we receive on our path of maturing consciousness. With time and presence, we may appreciate the unscheduled/undefined moments, we may trust the call to sit in wonder. Wendell Berry’s words speak to this awareness, I’m thinking they might be helpful.

It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come to our real work,
and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.
The mind that is not baffled is not employed.
The impeded stream is the one that sings. 

Berry invites us to live in the question mark, to trust the unknown. Oh, how hard this is! From the simple choices of healthy eating to living with the overwhelming changes in our country – could it be that we are invited to a layer of trust that is new to us? I wonder. But I like image of a singing stream, whose melody is created by whatever rocks, extra water or sticks that have landed on its path. I like the idea of the unknown becoming audible, just as it is.

Just like the stream, listen here for a reminder, we share a song that is shaped by the what has come before. Just like the stream, we sing of life in its fullness, rooted in our own journey, our own experiences. The invitations will continue, may we have “eyes to see” and “ears to hear” the wisdom that awaits us.

Peace to you, Lisa

Dear Friends,

August always carries reminders of change in New England. The air has a “coolness” even on a day with full sun. Here and there, I see a single red leaf as I look down on my morning walk. At the lake, activity has quieted…ski boats, jet skis and skiers are still here, but with less intensity. Canoe, kayak, pontoons and paddle boards quietly claim the added space, so that we humans can savor the peaceful mood that comes at the end of Summer.

As a perpetual student, this passage into September is a time of new beginning for me. Fall brings a return to certain activities and an opportunity to review – what is important to me after the season of play and respite? How do I want to use these precious days as they get shorter and shorter? How do you?

I was recently introduced to these particular words of Howard Thurman, a philosopher, author, mystic, and spiritual teacher of the 20th century, a voice I’ve valued in the past. In this piece he prays, “Open Unto Me,” and I find myself hearing a prayer for this particular season in my life and for our shared human experience. Thurman names the challenges that we face, with their antidote penned right alongside. He repeats, and in doing so, enables, a clear invitation – an exchange between me and my God. Open unto me, O God, trust in the midst of uncertainty, this is how I want to live these coming days.

(Friends, to enhance your experience of the prayer, please enjoy this music video. My membership gvies you access, if you add your email. Offered with love. https://www.theworkofthepeople.com/premieres/3443)

Blessings, Lisa

Lord, Lord, Open Unto Me

Open unto me, light for my darkness

Open unto me, courage for my fear

Open unto me, hope for my despair

Open unto me, peace for my turmoil

Open unto me, joy for my sorrow

Open unto me, strength for my weakness

Open unto me, wisdom for my confusion

Open unto me, forgiveness for my sins

Open unto me, tenderness for my toughness

Open unto me, love for my hates

Open unto me, Thy Self for myself

Lord, Lord, open unto me!

Dear Friends,

My friend, Vicki, was a potter. Today, I pulled out the mug she gave me, for my morning tea. Tears come to my eyes as I remember a moment. We had been looking at some of her work, she wanted me to pick some favorites to take home with me. I had watched her evolve as a potter over the years, learning, growing and delighting in her craft. She became an artist before she died. But on this day, I was aware of my dearest friend sharing her legacy with me, as she prepared me to say goodbye.

The remaining pieces in her studio did not include a mug, though I found an amazing vase and a bowl that is both lovely and was a template in her work. That felt like a deeper connection, I knew these choices were meant to sustain our friendship across the unknown chasm of loss. She encouraged me to look through the kitchen cabinet filled with mugs of all sorts. In the moment, I felt self-conscious. She sat on the couch with her bald head covered. We had just had a sweet early morning visit, I kept her company while her husband set up a tray for breakfast in bed.  This was real. They were living their lives until her life ended.

So, I kept looking through the cupboard and found the right mug. I’m glad I did. I love my morning tea. It grounds me into the new day, warms my heart with memories, slows me down to listen… to myself, the morning birds, to the Holy One. I’m so glad I trusted that moment so I could hold this mug, Vicki’s mug, in gratitude for our 60 years of affection and love. She knew me and loved me. We became women, wives and moms together, in spite of a 3,000 mile distance. We shared our joy and fears, learned to “agree to disagree” and shared the deep losses of our lives.

And now, as I enter this next chapter of my life remembering her, I’m graced to know she is here. Her laughter, her kindness, her creativity and her love. Friends, I gratefully share this memory with you, it brings her back to me as I write. And I hope my words stir up images of those that you love, here or passed on, these connections are blessings. These connections, and this wonderful piece of music from Michael Gott, affirm our capacity to love, to be human, to share hope.

With love and hope, Lisa

Dear Friends,

I write to you from my desk at Beseck Lake. Home.

Familiar sights and sounds welcome me, my husband’s patient love sustains me, and memories from Iona come into my heart and dreams. I’m not sure where this pilgrimage experience will lead me, ultimately. Like you, my life is filled with responsibilities and with choices. I seek invitations in the morning quiet or the unexpected moments along the trail. I rest in wonder and hold gratitude for gifts yet to come.

I had planned that this Glimmer would complete my Iona reflections and I would return to my monthly outreach to you. But as I continue to process my experience in Scotland, I’m letting go of such planning. Instead, I’m called to listen more deeply and trust more fully. Today the morning’s light fog is a white curtain from sky to water’s edge. Our patch of green is enclosed, and all the creatures, plants and I are safely held in the clean, white presence that surrounds us. My heart rests in this space as I think of you, my companions on this journey.

I return home with a new-found layer of self respect, of wonder at my bravery to meet so many challenges at this stage of my life. In prayer, I scoop up my littlest-self with love and gratitude. Challenges were everywhere in her young life and she kept going, she survived. Today, she and I watch the protective white layer of fog thin out and the expanse of the lake come into view. My trust deepens in this moment and I remember Julian of Norwich…

“All shall be well and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”

Friends, perhaps a pilgrimage – or a crisis, life-change, encounter – offers opportunity for such clarity. Perhaps, when our hearts are available to God’s invitations, we’re offered glimpses of the Holy…through another, through an ocean wave, through ourselves…and we can hear the words “Welcome Home.”

With deep gratitude for your participation in my pilgrimage, Lisa

Dear Friends,

Thank you for your support and interest for this adventure of mine. The last two days (though on Iona it feels like two weeks) have been full of highs, lows and glorious beauty. I open my bedroom window this morning to hear the sea, winds and the birds of a new land (check out the Corn Crake’s call). Inside, I’m moving slowly, yesterday was a huge hike for me, up and down a steep hill with boggy patches and unsteady footing. My body aches as I recall the arrival to St Columba’s Bay, unique in its gift of rocks, large and small, and the stories of a man and his spiritual path.

I am here on my own spiritual journey and continue to be grateful that you are there, willing to hear my reflections. Over the years, we have shared many life-gifts and challenges. Today I’m so far away from my life in the US, but when the Abbey of Iona’s prayers include places of concern in the world: Gaza, Ukraine, Los Angeles? my heart falls… my prayer deepens for us all.

While listening to the waves and wind at Columba’s Bay, I lifted you in prayer. Surrounded by the sacred grounds and sea – your intentions, your pain, your joys and unnamed needs, resting in the dark – all held by loving Presence. I experienced a swelling of feelings and wanted to cry. You know that sensation of “filling up” with a movement toward weeping? On the lighter side, I kept that feeling on pause because my nose had been “running” during the intense hiking and I didn’t have enough tissues to add tears!  But here with you, in the quiet of the birds and my thoughts, I open myself to the call from within.

“Let nothing disturb you, let nothing frighten you. Everything changes, I alone remain. Hold patience, for nothing is wasted. Presence in all things, I’m with you in all things.” Teresa of Avila

Please click here to listen to Simon de Voil’s musical setting of this simple message of truth. Holding you close today, dear friends, our God is near.

With love, Lisa

Dear Friends,

Before I landed on these shores, people asked “What are you excited about on Iona, Lisa?” My response was, “I’m just trying to stay available.”

My hope was not to impose expectations on this experience, other than stand on a windy precipice and present your prayers to God. For myself, though, I sought to remain open, take the experience as it comes and trust the unfolding. This my second full day on Iona. My fellow pilgrims are faithful, poncho-covered gifts to me – listening and sharing, witnessing their own experience. The land is raw and beautiful, daylight lasting 17.5 hours, some sun and some rain, (as I write this, LOTS of cold, windy rain) with demanding hills and passageways. The sea and sky surrounds us, holds us in a cocoon of the wonder. Celtic crosses stand tall, I open my hands and say, yes, as best I can.

One of the draws of Iona, for me, is the idea of being in a “thin place.” I understand that as a place where the veil is lifted a bit between our human experience and an encounter with the Divine. I’m also taken by the ancient history here, of peoples seeking and living with the Holy as they manage daily lives for thousands of years. As believers, aren’t we invited to cultivate the sacred connection, transcending time and space, nourished by and in relationship with God?

Today, my sense of availability is dependent upon hurt ankles, knees, hips, back and an occasional pounding heart.  My sense of wonder is shaped by the cold rain and my desire to avoid it. And I ask, “O God, I know there is more to this experience, and my life, than the effort to survive it. Please help me find my way.”

A text comes from a good friend, and tears come to my eyes…ah yes, love…there you are, stay with me here, especially in this vulnerable place….

“In the silence of sleep and the dreams of the night, we watch for the shining of your presence.” JPN

With hope, Lisa

Dear Friends,

Good morning from Glasgow! The pilgrims are gathering in this hard-working city, the train station looked like an “industrial cathedral” to me. I am taking in the sights and sounds around me.  And tastes too, I tried haggis last night!

I am so grateful for your supportive response to my last Glimmer, thank you so much. I am not alone here, but carry you, your intentions and prayer with me. As I read a morning prayer from John Philip Newell, our pilgrimage leader on Iona, I remember the invitation to solitude and nature’s beauty in Celtic spirituality and see the giant difference from Glasgow’s (or any city’s) noise, hustle and intensity. My awareness is heightened, listening and looking, wondering, but mostly staying present to what is before me. How blessed am I, are all of us, to be alive and to experience what comes before us. I hope my observations and reflections nourish you, wherever you are this day. Let us share in this morning prayer from John Philip:

In the gift of this new day, in the gift of this present moment, in the gift of time and eternity intertwined,

Let us be grateful, let us be attentive, let us be open to what has never happened before,

In the gift of this new day, in the gift of this present moment, in the gift of time and eternity intertwined…

With my affection, Lisa

“We are not being called to become like another. We are being called to become ourselves

and live from the divine depths of our being.” John Philip Newell

Dear Friends,

Ahhh, the grand invitation to discover and become who we are truly meant to be….

Much of our lives is spent pursuing paths and identities that are leftover from childhood, expectations that capture our imagination (or burden us with unfinished business) but may be “out of sync” with our fundamental nature. We land, then, in the second half of life… this becomes a time of deepening, of refining, of celebrating “who we are and whose we are,” as Sr Thea Bowman described it. To live, as John Philip Newell states, “from the divine depths of our being.”

For years, I have sought to support you through the transition and transformation that loss and grief demand. These moments, out of our control, can plunge us into life-changing questions of identity and call. Dependent on circumstances, we respond, learn, even grow, as we adjust to a new world without our loved one or with a Change that non-death loss creates. My story includes multiple early losses thrust upon me, exacting adjustment beyond my very young comprehension. My story also includes a legacy of Presence and Healing that brings me here, to this new day in May, to you my Little Light friends.

I embrace John Philip’s invitation to become myself and live from the divine depths of my being. I claimed that language as my call even when I didn’t have the capacity to say it for myself. I claimed that call within my ministry these past 40 years. It’s been a privilege to walk with you in your sacred journeys, to support Presence and Healing, as you become yourself and live from your divine depths.

On June 3, I travel to Scotland to experience a pilgrimage to Iona. The first 4 days in Edinburgh and Glasgow, I’ll make connections, become accustomed to Scottish accents and gather with the other pilgrims before setting out. The next week will be spent on the tiny, wind-swept island of Iona on west coast of Scotland. I have explored the idea of pilgrimage before, while traveling through my homeland of Washington. I understand it as a surrender to something bigger than myself. I trust that a foreign land with a deep narrative of Mystery will welcome my pilgrim’s soul and offer moments of wisdom. Or moments of motion sickness and physical challenge. Either way, I may write more often than you’re used to. Dear Friends, I will bring you with me to the isle of Iona, I will carry your prayer and intentions with me as I stand in the wind and listen.

In peace, Lisa