Love in This Time

In the November 5, 2026 post from the Center for Action and Contemplation, Father Ron Rolheiser, a Canadian author and theologian, shared the following:

"In one of his last books, Our Greatest Gift: A Meditation on Dying and Caring, Henri Nouwen says that at a certain point in our lives, the question is no longer “What can I still do so that my life makes a contribution?” Rather, it becomes “How can I live now so that my death will be an optimal blessing to my family, the church, and the world?” and the central question should not be “How much time still remains?” but rather “How can I prepare now so that my dying will be a new way for me to leave a warm, nurturing, and blessing spirit behind for those who have loved me and whom I have loved?”    

As I read about the young people who turned out not only to vote, but also to step up, run for office, and be willing to serve, I know only deep gratitude. Yet, I think it was in this moment of time that I really began to take in the fact that I am no longer young. It is certainly time for a change in our nation, and who better to lead us than the young? We need their exuberance, intelligence, and passion. So, in the light of the vote, Father Rolheiser's post touched me deeply. Yesterday I shared it with a small group of women with whom I meet on Zoom once a month. In that group, health issues are beginning to make themselves known, reminding us again that we are no longer young. Truthfully, we are still rather surprised by that.

I have never read this particular book of Nouwen's. I did, however, read his book, Aging, the Fulfillment of Life years ago. In that book Nouwen was not yet an elder, and of course, years ago I was not either. As I peruse it this morning, I realize that the book, while very good, lacks the immediacy that the above passage holds for me today.  Yet, in the book, Nouwen asks a very pertinent question about learning to care for the elderly (and I must add this includes learning to care for ourselves): "Quite often our concern to preach, teach, or cure prevents us from perceiving and receiving what those we care about have to offer. Does not healing, first of all, take place by the restoration of a sense of self-worth? But how can that take place unless there is someone able to discover the beauty of the other and willing to receive it as a precious gift?"*   

For the first couple of years of my time with SpiritCare Ministry to Seniors, I felt uncomfortable sharing the stories of Jesus healing those who came to him. I worried that someone might be disappointed that they could not simply get up and walk. Yet, when I began to understand that what Jesus did was heal people into the very lives that they had, the stories began to have deep meaning for me. He saw with compassion those who gathered with him. He did not reject them, but he knew they deserved to be treated with respect and care. He saw them as whole. Their faith and his presence allowed them to be hopeful, and it is our faith that can allow us to live fully into who we are today. I believe that then we can leave a legacy of love and wisdom, which are so needed in this world.

   

*Aging, the Fulfillment of Life, page 101, copyright 1996. First edition copyright 1974.      

     

    

image: Lake Ewauna, 2026

Just a Reminder

I think I should read more of Derek Mahon's poetry (born 1941 in Belfast, died in 2020 in Cork). My gratitude to Sister Joan Chittister for including this poem in her newsletter.  

This morning's view of the sunrise was a blessing, and a beautiful way to begin the day - with beauty, awe, and gratitude.  

"Everything is Going to be All Right"

How should I not be glad to contemplate
the clouds clearing beyond the dormer window
and a high tide reflected on the ceiling?
There will be dying, there will be dying,
but there is no need to go into that.
The poems flow from the hand unbidden
and the hidden source is the watchful heart.
The sun rises in spite of everything
and the far cities are beautiful and bright.
I lie here in a riot of sunlight
watching the day break and the clouds flying.
Everything is going to be all right.

Derek Mahon, from Selected Poems   

 

     

              

image: Not the view out my window, but rather First Congregational Church, Martinez 

To the Library and Beyond

 Yesterday on my way to the dentist, I stopped by the library to donate a bag of books to The Friends of the Library. I was still a little early for my dental appointment, so I decided to peruse the library stacks. The main library is quite close to where we live, but I have managed to completely underuse it all these years. 

As I wandered among the shelves, I felt gratitude for libraries that offer people a safe place to meander, rest, and yes, even read if they want. In my wanderings I was excited to  come across Belden C. Lane's book: Backpacking with the Saints, Wilderness Hiking as Spiritual Practice. It looks to be as good a read as his The Solace of Fierce Landscapes: Exploring Desert and Mountain Spirituality which I read last year and loved.  

The following passage Lane attributes to Chellis Glendinning, "a twentieth-century ecopsychologist living in the high desert of New Mexico":

 

"I had been eating a simple dinner of brown rice and greens on the roof when I felt something occur in my body, something like a door swinging open. Wide open. A golden sun was just setting behind the Jemez Mountains: bursts of orange and pink were shooting like streamers through the fading sky. To my surprise, I was sensing the full-bodied aliveness of every juniper and rock and hawk on the Earth. By the front door to my house I saw, really saw, the tall pinon that I ordinarily brushed by; its needles and cones were bursting with presence, its branches and trunk with consciousness. I had never before communicated directly with it, nor with any other wild being. I saw how foolish I had been. My recovery from western civilization was underway." 

 While I am not familiar with her work and this is my first introduction to the term ecopsychologist, I can certainly imagine this vivid scene. 

Lane considers his solo backpacking trips to be a spiritual practice. While I doubt I would ever go on a solo wilderness trip, and I have no intention of going on our roof to dine, I think I understand something of the healing that our outdoors can give us. Our wild areas, and even our gardens have much to reveal. As do our libraries. Let us re-discover them all.  

    

Image is not of pinon trees, which are native to the Southwest, but rather Central Oregon ponderosas.

A Late Fall Walk

Yesterday, Tyler and I went for a walk at Coyote Point Regional Park in Fremont.  A friend of mine once mentioned to me that the park looks different in every season. I agree. Yesterday, the marsh was almost completely dry, but there were still wet places where birds could gather. Tyler posted that we saw "a bald Eagle, a few thousand ducks and coots, egrets, bushtits, yellow rumped warblers, sparrows, marsh wrens.... so many birds!"  A pretty festive place, but we have yet to see a coyote. Turkeys hang out at the nature center, where people picnic. Their size and shiny plumage leads me to believe they are skilled foragers and engaging guests at a picnic. 

 

As beautiful as the land appeared, and watching the birds go about simply being birds was fascinating, my eyes kept being drawn to the sky by the light and beautiful clouds. I was reminded of the need to keep looking up and beyond. And I need to do that often. I seem to need a sense of horizon. There I find hope.  

   

"The Presence protects us.  

I was brought low, 

and the Presence was there.  

 

Return my soul; 

rest in the embrace of Infinite care.

 

You have delivered my soul from numbing despair, 

my eyes from  weeping, 

my feet from stumbling.   

   

I  will walk in the presence of the One in the lands of life.

I will be faithful." 

    

from Psalm 116

Psalms Ancient Songs for These Times

Rabbi Yael Levy      

  

In her beautiful book of translations and interpretations of the Psalms, Rabbi  Levy writes that her book was arranged as a collage. I find that to be a thoughtful image. She reminds me that God's sacred Presence and Mystery continue to unfold. So, I walk, in faith, in the lands of life, moving to the horizon, looking at the sky, the clouds, the stars, the moon. Do I stumble? Alas, yes. But so far, I have never once fallen out of this beautiful collage. 

      

    

      

       

    

  

Minding the Lakes

In May of 2025, Tyler and I visited Lake Pillsbury, a reservoir in the Mendocino National Forest. When I arrived home, I wrote about meeting a man at the shore of the lake. He was unloading his canoe, but paused to talk to us. He said that he and his wife had been coming to the lake for many years. In the telling he became quiet for a moment and then added that she could no longer join him, but he kept visiting the lake. He suggested that we go see the elk that lived across the lake, and that we did.

In September of this year, we were surprised to discover the beautiful Lake Ewauna in Klamath Falls, OR as we passed through. On our return trip, we stopped at a campsite at Lake Orr. There I talked to a man who said that he had been camping at the lake many times. He assured me that the sites were first come, first served, and that there were no fees because the sites had no water. That is usually not an issue for us because we carry our own. We found our spot and settled in.

That evening Tyler played his Native American flute by the lake. The man, whose name is Jerry, came over to listen. He smiled and said that at first he thought perhaps someone was playing to the lake to call the catfish. He remembered the time when one could fish on the lake, but it is now covered with lilies and other plants. As I mentioned in a previous post, the ducks seemed quite happy with the lake as it is now.

We decided to stay an extra day at the lake.The view of Mt. Shasta was beautiful, and our campsite was very peaceful. Jerry, his wife, and their dog were the only ones in this small campground that was well tended to by the forest service. Even the pit toilets were so clean they seemed luxurious (Camping does alter one's thinking about such things.)

I think of those who come to know the lakes through the years and in various seasons. Their presence gives me hope that the rhythm of the seasons of going and returning can become our own once more, rather than viewing every bit of land as a potential spot for real estate development. In her book, The Serviceberry, Abundance and Reciprocity in the Natural World, Robin Wall Kimmerer writes:

"Many Indigenous Peoples including my Anishinabe relatives and my Haudenosaunee neighbors inherit what is known as 'a culture of gratitude,' where lifeways are organized around recognition and responsibility for earthly gifts, both ceremonial and pragmatic. Our oldest teaching stories remind us that failure to show gratitude dishonors the gift and brings serious consequences. If you dishonor the Beavers by taking too many of them they will leave. If you waste the Corn, you'll go hungry...Recognizing 'enoughness' is a radical act in an economy that is always urging us to consume more."

May we be able to pause and simply gaze upon a mountain, a river, a lake, a tree or whatever bit of nature might be in our view. In that pause, let us give thanks, and include a prayer for those who are tending to, and trying to be mindful of such places. Let us take part in the radical act of unlearning greed and becoming vessels of gratitude. There we will find peace. A peace not just for ourselves, but for all of life.

    

image: "Gathering Around Mt. Shasta", September 2026

Looking and Laughing Beyond

Today I spent about half an hour or so visiting a beloved elder. She is over 100 years old. Every time I see her, she asks the question in one way or another, "Why am I still here?" She and I really can not come up with any solid idea other than she is loved, and she loves, and that love has taught her resilience. She has been practicing resilience her whole long life.

Her stories are often repeated. Her hearing is not great. But today, we just laughed. When she told one of her stories that I have many times, she smiled and then laughed. And I laughed.

This afternoon as I reflect on our time together, I wonder if perhaps her soul is here to teach us all to laugh at old age. Not to mock the elders, but to laugh with them as we turn together and learn to face eternity laughing.     

      

image: Lake Orr, September 2026

Hope

 I woke yesterday morning with this photograph on my mind. It was taken on the shore of Lake Orr in September of this year. I titled it  "Hope" because as soon as I saw the scene from the back of our camper that morning, the word came to mind. I felt then, as I do now, that the gold color just beyond the dark trees beckons us with a promise of warmth and light as the day began. Here, I feel that same beckoning many mornings as I watch the sun rise among pink and salmon colored clouds that move across the eastern sky. The changing light reminds me that the earth is still rotating on its axis. While gravity and I are periodically at odds, it feels good to simply stand in awe at the window. 

I cherish such times of awe. Without those moments of silence and wonder, it is difficult to experience both hope and gratitude. While the following quote is about simplicity, I believe it shows us a path to hope. It is from a book of daily devotions written by Brother Victor-Antoine d'Avila-Latourrette. I have turned to this book many times during the past two decades. He tended to his monastery's kitchen, gardens, and the sheep. He also wrote several books, including cookbooks. He loved to cook soup and to bake bread. He probably did much more while he lived in the monastery. I just read that he passed in in February 2023. He was a monk who paid close attention to each season. It makes sense that he would pass in winter. I am certain he passed in peace.

This book is entitled Blessings of the Daily, a Monastic Book of Days and was published in 2002.  His entry for October 20, "Simplicity Finds a Home in the Daily"  begins with this quote attributed to Jack Kornfield and Christina Feldman: "Simplicity, letting go of opinions and cravings is an act of compassion for ourselves. When we let go of yearnings for the future, preoccupations with the past, and strategies to protect the present,  there is nowhere left to go but where we are. To connect with the present moment is to begin to appreciate the beauty of simplicity."  In other words, when the mind becomes quiet.

I do have to smile now. While in the middle of writing this, I received a text from one of my credit card companies asking if I had made a certain charge. I had not. Yes, that flustered me. I think all is in good order now, but, fraud and theft are frustrating, disappointing, and worrisome. Yet, the warmth of hope still beckons. The present moment offers us much, if we can pause long enough to live into it. Sometimes that takes courage. 

Blessings on your daily comings and goings. Let us continue moving towards hope, watching for the signposts of awe along the way.

A gentle rain is falling this morning. The land has been thirsty, so I am grateful. May all drink deeply and thrive.