My first day on Whidbey Island included praying Evensong with two Benedictine monks from nearby monastery of The Brothers of Saint John the Evangelist and a few members of the congregation. While waiting for the service to begin, I read the small prayer booklet's introduction: "Vespers is the ancient evening prayer of the Church in which we look back on the graces of the day just passed and are grateful. Thanksgiving is the theme of this Office."
I had much to be thankful for: Kathryn's friendship that called me to the Northwest from Ohio. Her husband's welcoming hospitality. Breathtaking views of Puget Sound and woods of towering Douglas firs, hemlocks, and cedars. Birds I have never seen or heard. And, not the least, blessedly cool, almost cold temperatures that had already provided respite from the scorching temperatures and humidity in the Midwest this summer.
"Give praise to the Father Almighty, to his Son, Jesus Christ the Lord, to the Spirit who dwells in our hearts, both now and forever, Amen."I made a slight bow as these words fell from my lips,remembering the Benedictine monks at Saint John's Abbey in Collegeville, with whom I have shared so many evenings of prayer, and whom I held in my heart that night.
Thanksgiving not only for the day past, but also for the promise of the days that stretched ahead. The end of one day, the beginning of a week. Prayers shared with friends. Thanks be. Amen.
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THE SCALLOP: Reflections on the Journey
Evensong Thanksgiving
July 30, 2012
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Missing Mom
November 25, 2010
PHOTOS:Mary van Balen
I live in the house where she and dad raised my four silblings and me. I sit on their couch, launder clothes in the washer she'd used for years and gaze out the dining room window, watching squirrels scamper up and down the grand pin oak in the front yard. Just like mom did, and her mother before her. Over the past two years since she died, many things remind me of her and I miss her face, her hugs, her love.
Thanksgiving preparations put an ache in my heart, a deep-down "missing mom" that lingered over dinner and remained as I fell into bed.
I used her rolling pin to make pie crusts.
"There's nothing to making a pie crust," she always said. Her mother, Becky, who lived with us, had said the same thing. I believed them and have made my own pastry since I could reach the counter. With every handful of flour, every pass of the rolling pin over the dough, I thought of her and tried to put as much love as she had done into each pie.
"Mom," I said, "I could use one of your smiles, or comments that everything will be fine. Read More
I live in the house where she and dad raised my four silblings and me. I sit on their couch, launder clothes in the washer she'd used for years and gaze out the dining room window, watching squirrels scamper up and down the grand pin oak in the front yard. Just like mom did, and her mother before her. Over the past two years since she died, many things remind me of her and I miss her face, her hugs, her love.Thanksgiving preparations put an ache in my heart, a deep-down "missing mom" that lingered over dinner and remained as I fell into bed.
I used her rolling pin to make pie crusts.
"There's nothing to making a pie crust," she always said. Her mother, Becky, who lived with us, had said the same thing. I believed them and have made my own pastry since I could reach the counter. With every handful of flour, every pass of the rolling pin over the dough, I thought of her and tried to put as much love as she had done into each pie.
"Mom," I said, "I could use one of your smiles, or comments that everything will be fine. Read More
Giving Thanks for Roots and Wings
November 26, 2009
Happy Thanksgiving! When Abraham Lincoln first declared Thanksgiving a national holiday in 1863, it served as a means of healing the divisions that existed in the country as well as a time set aside to thank God for the many gifts each one knew in his or her life. The holiday is one of my favorites having escaped the gross commercialism and consumerism that engulfs Christmas. Thanksgiving remains a time to share a meal with family and friends and to recognize the good that graces us. It is also a time to pray for the world and those who are suffering in it.
In the midst of busy lives that take us in different geographic directions, my daughters and I enjoyed dinner and conversation last night. We spent today with my father, polishing off a pie for breakfast, watching the parade, and eating a turkey dinner. Later, joined by a good friend, we played cards and "Apples to Apples," laughing until we could barely catch our breath. It felt good.
The future is an unknown; at the moment it includes graduate school for my daughters, maybe for me. Decisions loom ahead. But today, I am savoring rootedness. I am sitting in the living room where I spent twenty-some years celebrating holidays with my family. I am working in the kitchen where I baked pies and basted turkeys with my mother and her mother.
In this house I celebrated God with Us first in the love of family and then with friends, in holydays, and in sacrament. This big, old house is a good place to be as I discern direction for my future. My daughters and I will soak up the security of rootedness, of a place where we are embraced and loved unconditionally, and then we will resume our journeys confident of the love that gives wings as well as roots. Read More
In the midst of busy lives that take us in different geographic directions, my daughters and I enjoyed dinner and conversation last night. We spent today with my father, polishing off a pie for breakfast, watching the parade, and eating a turkey dinner. Later, joined by a good friend, we played cards and "Apples to Apples," laughing until we could barely catch our breath. It felt good.
The future is an unknown; at the moment it includes graduate school for my daughters, maybe for me. Decisions loom ahead. But today, I am savoring rootedness. I am sitting in the living room where I spent twenty-some years celebrating holidays with my family. I am working in the kitchen where I baked pies and basted turkeys with my mother and her mother.
In this house I celebrated God with Us first in the love of family and then with friends, in holydays, and in sacrament. This big, old house is a good place to be as I discern direction for my future. My daughters and I will soak up the security of rootedness, of a place where we are embraced and loved unconditionally, and then we will resume our journeys confident of the love that gives wings as well as roots. Read More