Glimmers

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

Dear Friends,

A story for you as we enter the sacred mystery of Easter….

In 1979, when I was 3 months pregnant with our first child, I joined the Vineyard Community in Lenox, MA to rehearse and perform William Gibson’s play, “The Body and the Wheel.” Drawn from the Gospels, the play adds depth and creativity to the retelling of Jesus’ presence, teaching and passion. Bill Gibson was a member of the community and directed us, as well. This was not my first “encounter” with Mr Gibson, 11 years earlier during my Senior year in High School, I played Annie Sullivan in his remarkable telling of Helen Keller’s story in “The Miracle Worker.” I have fond memories of my mother’s experienced hand, helping Ginny Roberts and I rehearse important scenes between Helen and Annie.

I was new to the Vineyard Community, though had seen their production the year before. To this day, I remember Jesus’ call to “follow me” deeply touching  my heart, calling to me. I was cast as the Narrator and slipped between explanations and pronouncements to move the scenes forward. The man playing Jesus, Spencer Trova, had such talent and grace in the role.

The final scene of the play starts on the stage, the cast whispering in wonder to each other, “He is risen, as he said!” Bodies engaging and turning, speaking over and over “He is risen, as he said!” The moment filled with both disbelief and awe. We walked into the audience, telling the people excitedly, “He is risen, as he said!” “He is risen, as he said!”  Over and over we whispered to our companions in the Mystery, as we shared the Good News. Our voices got louder the farther up the aisles we traveled until, all gathered in the back, we were shouting, “HE IS RISEN, AS HE SAID!!”

My heart responded throughout this experience: saying “yes” to the call, entering the wonder, eager to share the news, filled with joy, moved to tears, part of a community of witnesses to the miracle of Love. I pass this image onto you, friends, as this year’s Easter unfolds in your hearts. We may not see or experience the miracle of Jesus’ actual resurrection, but every moment offers the potential of new life…a relationship reconciled, loss transformed through a grieving heart, evidence of human kindness, patience where once there was intolerance. The “dying of self” that Jesus taught us leads us to our own resurrection through rebirth, transformation and hope in its most fundamental form.

Easter Blessings dear Friends, Lisa

Dear Friends,

The short month of February has flown by and you have not heard from me. My apologies. I have missed our connection and gratefully return to you on this new day, March 1, 2025. This day is important in my world, it’s my father’s birthday. James Theodore Mitchell, known as Ted, died at 36 years old, I was 11. Grief was woven unto my childhood, though I did not have the words to understand my emotions. In my early teens, my mother shared that Dylan Thomas’s poem, “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night,” was one of Dad’s favorites. I grew up carrying his resistance toward dying at such a young age. I held on to pictures, his drafting supplies, an old pajama top as sacred reminders of his brief presence in my life.

In my 50s, starting a new position as a hospital chaplain, I was sitting in my new office on March 1 of that year. I had this memory in the back of my head, but couldn’t place it…March 1, what happened on that day? What is the significance of that day? “I know it’s important.”  I kept asking, the mists parted… ahhh my father’s birthday. A flood of feelings followed, bittersweet love filled my heart. Yes, he’s gone, gone so long. At the same time, this reminder was Gift. I felt his presence and love.

Today, I can claim that I was loved by a good man. A good man who helped me learn to walk, who answered my many questions with regard and kindness, who smiled while watching me play the piano. Today, I transfer the grace of those years into my life today. I have lived twice his age – perhaps fulfilling his desire for a long life. Today, March 1, I sit in prayer and know that my Dad is with me, that the woman I’m becoming carries his smile and dignity. 

I close with this message from Rumi and with gratitude that I can share my stories and trust they will support you and your stories. Together, we heal.

In peace, Lisa

In every moment, in every event of your life

Wisdom is whispering to you exactly what you need to hear and know.

Who can ever explain this miracle?

It simply is.

Listen and you will discover it every passing moment.

Listen and your whole life will become a conversation in thought and act between you and Wisdom,

directly, wordlessly,

now,

and always.

Dear Friends,

I write this message to you on Martin Luther King Day, a day of remembering a man that spoke of love as a fundamental quality of our humanity. I am grateful to have lived in his lifetime and seek to carry the lessons of justice, that he lived and died for, in my heart. This quote from “Strength to Love,” challenges me to renew my commitment to love on a daily, even hourly, basis, especially when challenging circumstances arise. May we all choose love on this day.

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.”

January’s cold still surrounds us in New England and I wanted to offer another Glimmer to share news about my schedule. As you know, in addition to Spiritual Direction and writing, my ministry has included retreats, day-long programs and talks. This March 2025 will bring 2 opportunities in my grief ministry, which will be followed by a pause, on that topic, as I explore other invitations and places of growth. If you, or someone you know, have been curious about the healing work I offer, please take advantage of these upcoming grief retreats.

• March 7-9, Notre Dame Spirituality Center in Ipswich, MA: A two-night retreat “Tending to One’s Grieving Heart – listening for healing words” that incorporates writing, quiet, community and prayer as resources for healing. More information by clicking here.
• March 29, Holy Family Passionist Retreat Center in West Hartford, CT: A day program “Tending to a Grieving Heart” that offers a safe space to learn and touch into key elements of grief’s healing process. More information by clicking here.

I so appreciate our connection over the years and across the miles, thank you for your responses and thoughts shared. I’ve a couple other ministry moments coming up that you might consider attending. Please keep me and my call in your prayer, as I hold each of you tenderly in mine.

• March 19, Diocese of Norwich, Keynote Speaker for the Women’s Conference in Waterford, CT “How are we the image of Christ?” that includes dinner and conversation with women engaged in church ministry. More information by clicking here.
• July 13-20, Mercy by the Sea, Directed Retreat in Madison, CT that offers an opportunity to withdraw from the busyness of life and enter more deeply into relationship with God. Registration starts January 21, 2025, more information by clicking here.

To close, another quote from Martin, our brother on this path of life. Peace to you friends, and love, Lisa

“We must use time creatively, in the knowledge that the time is always ripe to do right.”

Dear Friends,

As the New Year begins, and we encounter 2025’s movement in our lives, I find myself returning to a childhood memory. I used to sit close, with my teddy bear and blanket, while my mother played her piano. The melodies, harmonies and rhythms filled the room, they filled my body. I didn’t understand it at the time, but the pulses and vibrations of musical energy touched me and nourished me. Even now, I find myself brought to an inner stillness when I hear the piano’s voice.

Recently, I received a message from one of my favorite teachers, Simon de Voil, an online musician, preacher, wisdom figure. As you can read and hear from this youtube video, he is sharing the birthing of this new instrument. The playing is just 1 1/2 minutes, it leaves me wanting more. It was as if my heart heard its own song in the dark of the early morning. There are no lyrics to direct my thoughts, no other images besides hands moving across piano keys, just a quiet, tender melody that brought me home.

And thus my prayer began.

Oh, I fall into the prayer of longing, of asking why. And, fortunately, I practice the prayer of gratitude, as I look at scenes in my life and say “thank you.” But this prayer of coming home, of resting in silence as the final notes are played, changes me. It places me right into the arms of God where “all shall be well” and I am safe, loved and whole. In that grace-filled place of quiet, my heart opens to Nan Merrill’s translation of Psalm 78, that I offer to you here:

“Listen long in the Silence that the Word may be heard,

that decisions arise from the depths of your Inner Being where Wisdom dwells.

For the Spirit of Truth is written upon gentle and open hearts….

With steadfast love will the Counselor guide you.”

Blessings on your new year, friends, may we each find a prayer that leads us home and surrounds us with Love.

You are a blessing to me, Lisa

Dear Friends,

These tender days of Advent are a gift to me. I watch the local birds peck at their feeders, the Canadian geese stop by the lake on their way south, and a brief snowfall cleans things up, just enough, to enjoy a peaceful presence. Quiet and wonder are here, and at the same time my heart is full of anticipation for a special family Christmas in our home state of Washington. My last Christmas there, I carried our 3 month old son. This year, he carries his 1 year old daughter.

Another gift in my world is the community choir, Accidental Harmony. Led by a beloved musician and teacher, we rehearsed 9 weeks and performed one night with piano, flute, guitar, brass quintet and jingle bells sharing the joyful sound. My heart melted when the harmonies hit their perfect combination and we created magic. We sang of angels giving glory to the newborn king, of “this time of year when the world falls in love,” even the simple beauty of a snowy day. These individual links are from other choirs that helped us learn our parts…please, take some time to listen and enjoy.

Toward the end of the concert, we sang a lovely piece, “We Toast the Days” by Linda Kachelmeier, that offers an image of hope.

“While the night is long and the bitter cold has come, we lengthen our embrace

to sustain us as we mourn our regrets and the fear of days unknown.

With assurance of the courage we will find and the hope that leads us on,

We toast the days…..”

More and more, I am learning the depth of hope that we are called to, especially in these times. Hope that is not in the future, but right here in the present. We bring hope with us into conversation and into quiet, a resource and a strength honed through life experience and the sacred path of our humanity. Our access to hope might change, as we change, but the fundamental quality of hope does not. As Cynthia Bourgeault teaches us. “Hope fills us with the strength to stay present, to abide in the flow of Mercy no matter what outer storms assail us.” Dear friends, I join you in that place where we walk through this holy season of Advent. Together, let us stay present, to abide in the flow of Mercy, to sing our songs in harmony and hope.

With love, Lisa