Glimmers

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

Dear Friends,

The invitation to rest in Hope continues for me, I’m trusting this call as my Advent prayer this year. I reach out this sacred season with some encouragement or inspiration, offering a balance, perhaps, to Christmas busyness and world troubles. Cynthia Bourgeault’s understanding of Hope has become a valuable starting point for me:

“Hope fills us with the strength to stay present, to abide in the flow of  Mercy no matter what outer storms assail us. It is entered always and only through surrender; that is, through the willingness to let go of everything we are presently clinging to. And yet when we enter it, it enters us and fills us with its own life — a quiet strength beyond anything we have ever known.”

“And yet when we enter it, it enters us and fills us with its own life….” I’m drawn to the mutuality of that idea. I hear Cynthia suggesting that when we choose Hope, step into that mindset/heartset, we open ourselves to an ongoing relationship. When we enter the field of Hope, this life-filled energy enters us! This is not passive wishful thinking. Instead, its a “lived in” value system with spiritual and emotional nourishment alongside.

You might have noticed the key to a life-giving relationship with Hope in Cynthia’s explanation: “It is entered always and only through surrender; that is, through the willingness to let go of everything we are presently clinging to.” Ahhhh, this is definitely not a passive choice! Surrender requires conscious, and sometimes painful, letting go. Through surrender, we invite an inner unfolding….surrender of expectation or control makes room for Hope in one’s heart….  desire to live in Hope rests on one’s capacity to Trust. 

I leave these thoughts and images with you. Perhaps Hope has more substance in this way of thinking. For me, I find myself relaxing into my relationship with Hope…so very grateful to know her in my most tender places, trust her in my most frightened places, hold her close as we reassure one another.

Blessed Advent dear Friends, Lisa

I’ve recently been introduced to “Interfaith Alignment”, a rich resource of Hope in Philadelphia with a strong connection to Iona. They offer a daily meditation, Calendar of Light 2025. Just click on this link to find it.

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