2026

Dear Friends,

In the Catholic/Christian world, today is Holy Saturday. (Except for our sisters and brothers in the Orthodox tradition, whose calendar aligns with the Jewish observance of the moon’s cycle.) Holy Saturday sits between Good Friday, a vivid reminder of Christ’s crucifixion, and Easter Sunday, the joyous celebration of the resurrection. Holy Saturday is a place of limbo, of paradox, of waiting.

While this mysterious liturgical experience only comes once a year, I would suggest that we humans are often thrust into places of limbo, of paradox, of waiting. You might be in-between a medical test and the outcome, cultivating hope but holding your breath at the same time. You might be seeking a connection with family or friend, yet tenderly hold back to respect the rhythms of their life. You might be gratefully breathing in the potential of Spring, while keeping hat and mittens nearby…just in case.

I bring that human pattern to my prayer today, living in the in-between, the both/and of life. But, for me, during this year’s Holy Week, the stakes seem much higher. I have journeyed with Jesus, embraced his lessons of love and forgiveness, even experienced surrender and sacrifice in my small world. But this year’s time of limbo seems to have no end. The sacrifices that are demanded of human beings around the world multiply – injustice, brutality, murder, deceit, abuse, violence. During Good Friday’s prayer, it felt like Love, itself, is being attacked.

Tomorrow is Easter, and I wonder, am I simply celebrating this foundational truth in my faith tradition? Or am I standing up for the teachings of Jesus Christ in a world of pain and, yes, sin. Is it our shared belief system that creates the Kingdom of God on Earth? Or are we part of, and witnessing, a mystery of Love that is far beyond our comprehension?

As a student of non-dual thinking, I say, yes, yes, yes and yes. As a human being, I allow my tears to fall and my heart to open. As a Christian, I see Love in every speck of life around me and, with Hope, I join the Dance of New Life! Will you dance with me?

With love, Lisa

Dear Friends,

Greetings on this new day, I hope my Glimmer finds you well and ready to receive the promise of Spring. After a challenging Winter, my heart is smiling at the sight of moving water alongside the expanse of ice on the lake. Our intense winter pushed my “survival” buttons –  energy changes as our attention is riveted on cancellations, traffic concerns, shoveling demands, isolation and last-minute supplies. Someone recently called it “snow anxiety,” and I confess! At this stage of life, anxiety increases as we attend to these real-life needs and adjustments. I find myself with an increased feeling of vulnerability, heightened by my own story of survival.

But here I am, we made it! Safe and sound on Beseck Lake. We have all we could ever need, with dear family and friends to help if more is needed. Here I am, watching for the subtle shift of color across the tree tops, listening for bird song celebrating the return of warmer weather. Here I am, trusting a body that works on my human journey. Here I am, grateful for our home, filled with love and memories of our life. John O’Donohue speaks to me as I transition out of winter-survival-mode. Instead, I welcome a time of promise. Join me in his lovely imagery and invitation.

“A home is not simply a building; it is the shelter around the intimacy of a life. Coming in from the outside world and its rasp of force and usage, you relax and allow yourself to be who you are. The inner walls of a home are threaded with the textures of one’s soul, a subtle weave of presences. If you could see your home through the lens of the soul, you would be surprised at the beauty concealed in the memory your home holds…. Where love has lived, a house still holds the warmth.”

I offer John’s poetic language, dear friends, as you face whatever transition has come your way. I pray that you claim the shelter that surrounds your sacred and intimate lives. Your home, that survived snow drifts and windstorms, your body that endures treatments and discomfort, your spirit that seeks integrity in a time of injustice, your heart that knows love – and chooses love over and over again. May we rest in our “homes,” tangible and spiritual, with gratitude and hope.

peace to you, Lisa

Dear Friends,

The continuing freeze of this winter in New England has seeped into the walls and attitudes in our house. I find myself getting tense and rigid in response to the cold that does not stop. That will not stop! I know we all have different tolerances of temperatures, so I try to stir up some self-compassion and “just keep going.” I try to accept myself, as I pull out the heating pad and extra blanket when we watch TV. “Everything is going to be OK, here you go sweetie.”

Life in 2026, personally and communally, seems to need extra reassurance – heating pads and blankets are just a start. I find myself making an extra phone call or text. The connections give me comfort and, I’m thinking, offer that to others. At the same time, it feels like I’m hibernating. I’m experimenting with soups, wearing comfortable clothes and allow naps when they come calling. Again, this is, for me, a form of self-compassion – choosing ease, slowing down and adding a dash of creativity!

I cannot write of my life without an awareness of our shared life in America. The extreme demands on our minds and hearts, to make sense of current events, are overwhelming and heart breaking. There is no sense to be made. Yet, I’m still alive and aware. How do I navigate the massive change in my experience as an American? I return to self-compassion. I return to feeling good about putting the dishes away and feeling acceptance when I put it off for a day. I’m doing the best I can. I return to hope, “hope not made of wishes but of substance,” as Jan Richardson describes it. I close, dear friends, with her Blessing of Hope. May we be nourished by her images and words, may hope be a part of who we are on this new day, every day. Peace, Lisa

So may we know
the hope
that is not just
for someday
but for this day—
here, now,
in this moment
that opens to us:

hope not made
of wishes
but of substance,

hope made of sinew
and muscle
and bone,

hope that has breath
and a beating heart,

hope that will not
keep quiet
and be polite,

hope that knows
how to holler
when it is called for,

hope that knows
how to sing
when there seems
little cause,

hope that raises us
from the dead—

not someday
but this day,
every day,
again and
again and
again.

—Jan Richardson
from The Cure for Sorrow: A Book of Blessings for Times of Grief

Dear Friends,

Years ago, when our young family created new traditions for Advent and Christmas in the Berkshire winter, we added a sweet moment for Epiphany. Our little guys, wrapped in navy blue bathrobes with Burger King crowns on their heads, processed down the hall from bedroom to living room. Each carried a toy to donate for another and, together, we all sang “We Three Kings.” Instinctively, their hands held these gifts out before them as the melody unfolded: Star of wonder, Star of night, Star with royal beauty bright. Westward leading, still proceeding, guide us to thy perfect light”

This year’s Epiphany finds us still in New England, Beseck Lake is frozen and covered with snow – an expanse of white and stillness before me. I wonder, what gifts do I carry to the Christ child? How do I find the Star in my sky? Where is it leading me? My invitation to our sons to reenact the Wise Men’s pilgrimage was an innocent desire to share the mystery of Christian tradition and today, decades later, I return.

And I remember… their long journey from far away lands revealed the powerful reach of the Light of Christ. These travelers crossed boundaries and expectations, made choices and exceptions to open their hearts before this Light, to kneel in reverence and protect the truth. In doing so, the revelation  of Infinite Love was made available to all traditions and cultures, to all hearts, traveling through all doubts and tending to all wounds.

The celebration of these early manifestations of Christ date back to early 2nd and 3rd centuries, January 6 was established in 336 AD by the early church. For these hundreds and hundreds of years, cultures around the world created rituals to live out this understanding, this Epiphany. My contribution is to honor the journey inward, and to answer the questions, “By what name, do I call the Star in the sky?” “What do I receive as I kneel before the Christ?” “How am I called to share Light in this world?” How are you, dear friends? How are you being called on this journey of Wonder?

In peace, Lisa