Author: Dwelling in Presence

Striving to live in the present where Spirit is found, I get (t)here most often by writing. It keeps me grounded in both the silence and in my senses. So, welcome to my journal. With a home on mid coast Maine, I have recently retired from 18 years as copastor of The First Church in Belfast, United Church of Christ, with my spouse, Joel Krueger. My spiritual formation has been nurtured by the sensual and sacramental faith of the Roman Catholic church, the heady intellectualism of Yale Divinity School and doctoral studies at Northwestern University, and the justice activism of the United Church of Christ in which I am ordained. Yale Divinity gave me the opportunity to study with pastoral theologian Henri Nouwen who I continue to think of as spiritual mentor these many years later. I have begun this blog to be certain to reach out in a time of great transition and chaos. We are suffering a worldwide pandemic, a global climate crisis, a war-damaged world and great upheaval in the church. With these reflections, I want to share what gives me joy and that which gives me pause. I look forward to hearing yours comments.

First of September

A soft breeze is blowing on this first day of September and the birds are celebrating. There has been a veritable feast of bird behavior in the last half hour as I’ve been quietly observing from my screen tent. My Merlin app is engaged on the phone. In the last half hour, nineteen varieties have made themselves heard. Not a record, I’ve had more than thirty in that amount of time before, but a respectable showing.

The feisty hummingbirds are still with us. For the first time, I saw a little female divebomb a sparrow that got too close to the phlox that she was trying to take a drink from. It’s hard to imagine there would be much nectar in the little phlox flower, but that neon pink color may be too hard to ignore. She would get a much more satisfying drink from the brightly blooming zinneas, but then she’d have to share with the various visiting butterflies and bumblebees.

Many of the birds seem to be coming in pairs today. As I was watching two house finches vying for the small birdbath on the deck railing, I heard a sound to my left. A downy woodpecker had landed on the screen next to me! I’ve never seen one from this angle before. He was holding on and pecking at what seemed to be a tiny hummingbird feather caught there. Perhaps he thought it was an insect. I was thrilled by his proximity. In any case, I greeted him and he soon flew away.

It is one of those days that I can’t help but bring to mind Mary Oliver’s rule of life. “Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.” Paying attention in my own backyard astonishes me constantly. I think I could add a fourth instruction: “Know you are blessed.” For I do.

Beyond the Wilderness

(Note: Since I rarely write a post on the weeks I’ve been asked to preach in an area church, Joel suggested I put it on my blog. What do you think? This is a message I gave in Bar Harbor, Maine, this past Sunday. The readings were Exodus 3:1-15; Romans 12:9-21; Matthew 16:21-26.)

Rarely, almost never, do I put a title on a Sunday message prior to writing it. I believe it is a Spirit-led endeavor and I never know where she is going to take me. Today’s is the rare exception. After writing out the lengthy readings weeks ago, three words tucked into them started to haunt me. It may have been the Spirit totally upending my process. As soon as I read: “He [Moses] led his flock beyond the wilderness, and came to Horeb, the mountain of God,” I wanted to know where that was, beyond the wilderness. And I wanted to be there!

Scripture works in mysterious ways. The most inconspicuous words might take hold in your subconscious and show up behind your eyelids before you go to sleep or in morning meditation. God can be tricky that way! Then you can’t ignore them, and weeks later when you begin to write, they show right up as a title on the first page. Well, I decided to go with it.

“Moses led his flocks beyond the wilderness, and came to Horeb, the mountain of God.” How do you get there, beyond the wilderness? I would like to know. I feel that we have all been wandering in a kind of wilderness together these days. For me, the wilderness has always connoted an unsettling place of the unknown. I have four siblings and all five of us live in different states. Lately I start my day checking the weather in their respective home states. How hot will it be for my sister KC, her kids and grandkids, in Georgia; are there tornadoes headed for my brother John in Missouri; are floods forecast for Susan as they recently inundated the Albany, New York, area; are there any sharks off the beach where Maureen swims and rescues seals in Rhode Island? We’re usually okay here in Maine unless the smoke from the Canadian fires threaten anyone’s health. And possible sharks! I had none of these fears before. This is a stressful and unfamiliar territory. A wilderness of sorts.

But that is not the only disconcerting region we wander through in our times. No matter what place we hold on the political spectrum, we cannot escape the discomfort of living in a time and place of deep antipathy. Hostility reigns in many of our once tranquil communities as rage and fear of violence grows. We live in a wilderness of animosity in our towns, our school districts, our families, and even within marriages and long-term friendships. We are living in a tinder box with the constant potential of a match thrown in. Clearly torches have already been hurled into places like the Middle East, central Africa, Eastern Europe, with the west and others setting the fuses.

But you know all of this. Must I rehash the woes of our time in a place we often come to for peace? I’m afraid I do, if only to ask what is the purpose of the church in this wilderness? Is there a way for the church to lead beyond and away from all the chaos? Beyond the wilderness? It is clear that the church needs to respond to our time as it is, not as it used to be, or even as we wish it to be. This is what Jesus was getting at when Peter tried to soften the teacher’s message, denying the great danger he is in. Jesus tells him to “Get behind me, Satan.” Basically, what is happening today and what is soon to happen is what we have to deal with. We must face it, all the way to the cross. We cannot deny the times we are in and where we are headed and still serve God. Jesus said, “If you want to follow me, you must pick up your own cross.” We cannot get beyond the wilderness in any other way.

But first, let’s take a look at the biblical concept of wilderness. Times in the wilderness, the Israelites for forty years after being freed from Egypt and before entering the Promised Land, and Jesus for forty days and nights immediately after his baptism, were about more than uncertainty, unfamiliarity, and fear. There was purpose in the wilderness. It cannot be rushed right on through.

When I was wrestling with those three words, beyond the wilderness, I googled them to see if anything would pop up. Lo and behold, I found a little book by Rev. Thom Gardner with that very title. The subtitle is “Rediscovering Opportunity in Crisis.”. It presents wilderness as an essential period of self-discovery and preparation, a time spent with a God Gardner describes as a “repurposing God who turns trauma into triumph, failure into freedom, and pain into power.” (p.15) Perhaps we are not just lost in a wilderness, we are being “repurposed”.

Gardner claims that “wilderness may mean separation from what is familiar, but also separation to God and not from God.” (p 22) He notes that solitude, which Henri Nouwen describes as a “furnace of transformation” is an element of the wilderness experience. Without solitude, Nouwen wrote, “we remain victims of our society and continue to be entangled in the illusions of false self.” I think our current wilderness experience is already beginning to disabuse us of our illusions. Think about it…what have you learned about these United State of America in this extended wilderness time? About yourself?

Another essential question: Has the church been living in an extended wilderness time? I suspect it has as people still long for “the good old days” when Sunday School was bursting at the seams, every church could call a full-time pastor, and the church was a center of social and familial life, a role now held by schools and civic organizations. It is worth noting that those were the times when mainline Protestant churches seemed to walk hand-in-hand with American culture and norms. Not so anymore. And I say “Thank God!” For would we truly be an authentic church if we celebrated the values that our current culture celebrates? It does feel like God is repurposing us! And we are deep in the process.

Let’s go back to Moses for a minute. What happens just as he finds himself “beyond the wilderness?” He has a powerful spiritual experience. He sees a bush on fire, but not being consumed. When he turns to look at it, God calls out to him. The time Moses has spent in the wilderness has prepared him to hear and recognize the voice of God when he is called and to answer despite his fears and sense of inadequacy. His time has readied him to be repurposed. It is the same for us.

We have been readied to be a faithful church of Jesus Christ for our particular time and place. We will not try to become the premier church lording it over a broken culture, which may define the White Christian Nationalist movement. There is nothing “Christian” about it. If we are to be authentic followers of Jesus, we must serve and protect the lives of all people. Every creed, every color, and persuasion. Particularly the poor and the marginal. The oppressed and the refugee. The homeless and imprisoned. The indigenous and immigrant. The church is being repurposed in this American culture which has left many of its ideals behind.

I add a little P.S. at the end here: More than ever before it is clear that neither can we be a true church of Jesus without each other. Without the support of a kind and hospitable community in which love is genuine and all have a strong sense of belonging. I included the Pauline reading today because Paul’s advice is excellent! “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”

Secondly, it is clear we cannot do what we need to do without, like Peter, letting go or our denial and sharing our individual fears about what is happening. Don’t rush the wilderness, take time in solitude and prayer to deepen your connection with the Spirit who not only calls to you, but is in you. Keep your eyes wide open to perceive your burning sign and receive your particular mission. Be reassured that your feet are standing on holy ground. For God will always be our sure foundation. Amen

Simple Thoughts

August 5, 2026

Rev. Kate Winters

Hummingbird chatter and the flapping of wings of all kinds encircle me. It is an active morning in the garden. If I wasn’t sitting in the screen tent, I’d have to be ducking the zooming little hummers as they chase each other toward and away from the sugar water. Just now, a song sparrow nearly collides with one of these flying torpedoes. It’s a traffic danger zone out here.

The sun is gaining strength and we are in for a few hot days. Hot for the coast of Maine anyway, on either side of ninety. A purple finch splashes in one of Joel’s birdbaths while the water is still cool. In a few hours, I’ll have to retreat inside where the blessings come not in feathers, but in heat pumps. I am beginning to appreciate the summer, now that I have a way to retreat from the heat and humidity.

As a pileated woodpecker flies overhead, I give thanks for all this life around me as I’ve been having a few rough years. People have assumed its because of all my hospitalizations and surgeries, three in three years. That may be part of it, but thanks to Joel’s loving care I’ve dealt with those pretty well. Leaving The First Church in Belfast after nearly two decades was not easy, so much of my life’s energy and love were spent there. But honestly, I was ready for a slower pace. Fortunately, I could bring the favorite part of my ministry with me – Joel and I continue preach and lead services when requested around the state. We still make a lively team, and in this challenging time in our country, I am grateful that I can still have a voice.

The difficulty has been about not really having a focus for my life. My first thought was to do research through life stories on the spiritual formation and development of elders. And yes, that idea still engages me, but without a plan or structure, or way to engage the population, I seem to flounder. Now, I know I could create all this, but I also admit I fear getting in over my head. I so love these quiet mornings with my avian friends. Do I really want to become a public person again? At this point, no one is looking for or trying to contact me. What peace! When I was very young, my most joyful moments were spent sitting alone where I spent summers on a stone outcropping in the woods next to the babbling brook just breathing in the spirit. Solitude has always fed my peace and helped me to feel at home.

My childhood dream in Brooklyn was to grow up to become a nun. Part of it was about my love for God, but I think I was most attracted to the idea of a semi-cloistered life. I would have my simple room, my books, my desk and bed, hopefully a window, and as much silence as I wanted. I could pray, read, think, and study, to my heart’s content. I didn’t feel guilty about that then as I often do now.

Of course, if I cloistered myself now, it would have to be with Joel. He would probably never be home, he is invested and involved in so many things. All in all, we balance each other out well. A question, have any of you written a “rule of life” for yourself? If so, would you share it? I think that needs to be the next step on this journey of mine.

New Start

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters

It has been a while since I’ve written these reflections. I stopped blogging a while ago, but after our trip to Wisconsin and conversations with dear friends, I decided it’s time for a new beginning. Just because I’m not sure I am “doing enough,” doesn’t mean that I should stop doing what I love. And I love to write.

June 26, 2026

The rain is falling gently this morning. My soul is quiet inside. I’m being visited by numerous songbirds and am happy to let them do all the singing. Once in a while, a devious bluejay lets out a squawk waking me out of my reverie. S/he doesn’t want me to get too comfortable.

Sometimes I think that the birds partner me in my work of the morning. For is not the divine spark inside them as well? As if to answer, two vivid red birds appear on the feeder outside my window. Who else but God could have mixed that color? The lady cardinal follows. Softer in shade, she is my favorite. She and the lovely little chickadee who will occasionally allow me to feed her from my hand.

When the tiny feet of the chickadee grasp hold of my finger, it is like nothing I’ve ever felt. It is a magnificent act of trust and I am so honored to have it bestowed upon me. It doesn’t happen that often lately, so it doesn’t get old. In fact, I am finding it a fruitful practice of contemplative meditation. I fill my hand with sunflower seed, still my thoughts, open my heart, and make myself available for whatever, whoever, lights upon me. It helps to rest the open hand on a stable surface such as a porch railing, lest the body lack the stamina to persist.

My grandfather, my Popa, taught me this, although he placed the seed right on top of his stark white crewcut. There they stood out perfectly, and the chickadees seemed to trust his head immediately! I’m sure it had to do with his gentle spirit and love of nature. The vibrations coming from him must have been most inviting. Having grown up in the city, I am still a little timid where nature is concerned. The birds, however, are winning me over. The birds and the fireflies. More on them to come later…

LAST POST: A TOUCH OF HEAVEN

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” February 9, 2024

A shooting star greeted me as I opened the back door to the deck this very early morning. First, I took in a quick breath of surprise and wonder. Taken unawares, I experienced beauty and blessing. Second, when my brain started to engage, I realized that in that flash of a moment with the tiny trail of light, I actually accomplished what makes me, and all of us, most human. Out of this random encounter, I made meaning.

Think about it. I don’t know where the light came from or what it actually was. It could have been a tiny speck flung from a meteor across the galaxy. It could also have been a piece of space junk falling down to earth, entering our atmosphere. But what do we commonly call these things? Falling stars, shooting stars, signs of good luck. Some of us make wishes on them, feeling an unusual power in the sighting. Some simply stare in awe, waiting for another touch of heaven to descend. In any case, this is an event that does not go unnoticed and unmarked, but somehow changes us at the same time that we make our own meaning of it.

As for me, I felt my heart fill with light and gratitude. It was a sign of something that I’ve learned more surely as I have written this blog in my first year of retirement. Staying present, or “dwelling in presence,” brings not only meaning, but joy to our nights and days, dawns and twilights. To know blessing, we must be ready to receive it, open and aware, even in the midst of triple bypasses and pain. Every bit of life is precious. In every second is meaning to be found. We only need to open doors to the darkness, feel the cold air on our skin, and catch the falling star. Amen.

Note: This is the last post for “Dwelling in Presence.” I will seek another way to connect with myself and you! Thank you for taking this year-long journey with me.

UN-CENTERING PRAYER

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” February 8, 2024

Why is it that I feel free to write almost anything personal, sensitive, and embarrasing about most things except when it comes to my spiritual life? Why do I think that somehow that must be kept secret? As if somehow I am violating God or myself if I go there? But, wait a minute, my hope is that my spiritual life spills out all over the page whenever I write!. It certainly is not separate from my everyday world. Everything I experience is shaped by that wide and deep horizon.

So what do I keep to myself? Uh oh…here I go…challenging myself, so here it is. It is about my prayer life, or to be more specific, my attempts at a Centering Prayer life. For those who don’t know, centering prayer is a Christian version of meditation meant to lead to contemplation written extensively about by Father Thomas Keating, Cynthia Bourgeault, and Martin Laird among others in contemporary times. I say Christian version because every recognized major religion has a practice that is meant to lead to some kind of union with what is understood as ultimate reality. And honestly, I haven’t gotten there.

Yes, I have tried different methods of meditation, and I might even make a passable Buddhist. But at the moment, I am following the sage advice of the Dalai Lama who advises that instead of jumping from one path to another trying to find what “works” for you, it is best to return to one’s own tradition and commit deeply to it. There is already some kind of foundation for one there. I remember my beloved New Testament professor at Yale Divinity School, Luke Timothy Johnson, saying close to the same thing adding. ”We all meet at the same center.” And I trust these two implicitly. So for about eight months I have returned (I admit I’ve been here before) to the practice of Centering Prayer.

Let me tell you what I think the problem is. I have the quiet, the open time, and the supportive environment to delve into the silence. My phone provides the timer, complete with Tibetan bells, to get me started. But then I am tripped up in the very simple, one would think simple, centering prayer word. The practice teaches us to choose a word or a brief phrase to return to if your mind cannot quiet down and gives you too many thoughts or images to truly center oneself in silence.

Many choose the Jesus prayer (“Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me”) or the simple name, “Jesus”, or another word like “grace” or even “help.” The word itself is less important than its function as a way to return oneself to the silence. I would hate to tell you how many words and phrases I have chosen to help me silence my mind. It can take only ten seconds into my twenty minute session when my mind starts questioning, then fighting, with my prayer word.

I am supposed to simply note my thoughts, but not engage or converse with them, and let them go. Return to the prayer word. Use it to keep my mind busy until the silence returns. But as soon as I return to the prayer word itself, the cycle continues… ”Why this word? It doesn’t feel right. I can’t synchronize it with my breath. Is there a better word for me?” I can see Father Keating shaking his head from beyond! Certainly I settle down in the session, but decide to try a different word, or phrase, next time.

I know there are people who use the same word for years and years. Cynthia Bourgeault said she does in one of her books on Centering Prayer. I have wondered if there are others like me who struggle with it. Perhaps it has to do with my life-long love of words and the desire to use the right one at the right time. I’ve considered asking someone else to just give me a word. But who am I kidding? The same process would begin and I would berate myself again. What does all this tell me about myself? That I do not trust the practice? That I am a self-defeating perfectionist or a control freak? That I might want to go back to the breath or substitute an image, a candle flame for example, for the word? But I seem to do best with my eyes closed. See, I am fighting already!

Okay, if anyone can relate, I’d love to hear from you. As for now, I will just let my embarrassment be. I am still longing deeply for God. It is what and who I am. That’s got to count for something, doesn’t it? By the way, near the end of today’s meditation, I somehow tripped over a word. I don’t know where it came from. It could be heaven sent, for with it, my mind went silent. Have I found my word? Please pray for me tomorrow!

ROOTS AND BRANCHES

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” January 30, 2024

The half moon gives a gentle luminessence to the snow outside my window this morning. As it flows through the branches of the crab apple tree, it appears to etch dark roots on the ground. The tree appears whole to my eyes – roots, trunk, branches. I think moonlight is good for seeing things whole, helping me to remember that my life is grounded in so much more than I can see in the moment. My own shadow in the moonlight always takes me unawares, as do some of my most deeply buried memories. In the moonlight, they appear as roots.

Today I am grateful for these roots, my mother Ann and my father Jack, whose spirits run through me as sure as their blood. My mother’s surfaces as joy, humor, and heart; my father’s as achievement, responsibility, and soul. How I would love to have this conversation with them, but perhaps in this mystical moonlight, I am.

As I go now to make another cup of coffee, I am reminded that I share many of these root spirits with my sisters, coffee lovers all. Sue even made up a great little song she sings to us sometimes – “Oh yes, it’s coffee time! It’s really coffee time!” (Think “Ta ra ra Boom de ay!) I’m not the only song writer!

Other roots spring to mind. My earliest childhood friends: Marie, with whom I wanted to become a nun and enter the convent, Ernie, my first boyfriend who started my trend away from that idea, and Katherine, who lived two doors down, but whose home was like my own. I see Stella, her mother’s face, in my mind, and feel the love shining from it. I was a happy, if somewhat serious child. Then there was Sister Joseph from Holy Family School, who I was fortunate to have as teacher in both second and fifth grades, the First Communion and Confirmation years. I can still feel the warmth of her habit as she wrapped her cloak around me against the cold at a church festival. I felt special and blessed.

The Catholic church was really a tale of opposite environments for me. One of exclusion and rejection as a girl/woman, one of affirmation and encouragement as a student/child of faith. It awakened in me both a passionate love and a deep despair. Kind of similar, I surmise, to an abusive marriage relationship. I understand why wounded women don’t get out sooner. Such a mix of emotions. As far as the church is concerned, it took me just over forty years.

While the institution was such a conundrum for me, a root that both fed me and withheld its nourishment, some of my most healthy connections were with people I encountered whose roots were planted within it as well. Father Richard Schoenherr who after one of the sermons I preached in Madison just looked into my eyes and said “You are priest,” and his wife, Judith, said “You are friend.” Both had a powerful healing effect on my soul.

Father Henri Nouwen, renowned spiritual teacher and writer, both helped me find my vocation when I read his Out of Solitude as a junior in college and continued to inspire me as teacher at Yale Divinity School, but also confirmed for me in subtle ways that it would not be as a Catholic yearning for approval as a spiritual woman. In hindsight, I think he was struggling with demands on his time as well as his sexual identity (which he has since written about) which I took as a discomfort with women, meaning me, and was hurt by it. However, I will always be grateful for the fire he lit inside me for ministry and solitude. One of my deepest roots for sure, he died in 1996, but I still can hear his wonderful Dutch accent when I read his work!

I am also grateful to Henri because thanks to my strugle with him, I had some wonderful encounters with my advisor at the seminiary, Sr. Dr. Margaret Farley, RSM. She helped me through some tumultuous feelings as well as giving me a vision of what women could become even in the Catholic church if they trusted their gifts. She was the most brilliant woman I had ever met as well as one of the most loving. An Ethicist by calling, Margaret was instrumental in helping me dismantle the male God in my head, the one I had projected onto certain flesh and blood men in my life. She planted in me the desire to facilitate that for other women.

Well, this is enough for today. I know I will write again soon because as of February 11th this blog will cease to be. I cannot sustain it on our retirement income. But I am going to try to find another way to connect, perhaps a Facebook page. This blog has gotten me through a pretty challenging year and I’m grateful for it. One of the branches springing from the roots!

SILENCE AS HOME

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” January 26, 2024

Tiny snowflakes are flying gently by on this Friday morning. They are almost too small to see. But they are a harbinger of more to come, at least according to the forecast. I begin the day with a sense of deep peace. This is my favorite kind of day. Nothing on my calendar and a lovely snowfall to enjoy outside my window as I burrow under blankets with books to read and time to write. And there’s Joel in the next room getting ready to feed his birds. I hope he keeps on his big brown hooded terry robe. It suggests that our St. Francis statue in the garden has come to life. Sometimes Joel does seem like St. Francis reincarnated. That is until he watches a Green Bay Packers game. Then we both allow ourselves to get a little loud and crazy. But not today. Today is a day for joyful silence.

It may have been a blessing that I was unable to begin my retirement with three months of silence as I had planned. Imposed silence (even if by myself) might have skewed my relationship with it. As it is now, on a day like today the silence feels like my true home. It doesn’t have to be continuous. In fact, there is something delicious about being able to return to it after a day has been too scheduled and noisy. Then I feel embraced by the silence, even as I am challenged to learn the mysteries and the wisdom within it. There is just an endless depth to silence that I am constantly drawn to. I’m learning more and more what Meister Eckhart meant when he claimed that nothing is “so much like God as silence.”

I wonder if this romance began in my childhood when I would go alone into our big city church and the heavy wooden doors closed behind me. Space and time were transfigured as wax, incense smells, and filtered light combined with the sudden hush from the traffic outside to create a truly mystical sanctuary. I’m sure I didn’t know the word “mystical” then, but I knew the experience. In that space, I felt an inexplicable presence that I could rest in.

I know a lot of people have rejected the Roman Catholocism they were born into. But I know I was also given great gifts by that tradition. It truly nurtured in me a “felt” sense of God. I grew up with a bodily sense of the holy, a sacramental view of life and creation, and all the joy it conferred over my lifetime. And, of course, it nurtured my love for silence. I am finding that silence loves me back.

“WANING” (?)

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” January 6, 2024

A pretty quarter moon hovers over me as I write this morning. It is a waning moon, raising the question: What things are waning in my life these days? When I write this blog, I tend to focus on growth and addition, not contraction and diminishment. Perhaps that word, diminishment, is part of the problem. It hints at a lessening, a negative event, when maybe there are many ways that our lives enhanced by becoming somehow less, smaller, more circumscribed.

I am finding that growing older is an experience of waning, at least for me. The most obvious evidence of this is in comparing my appointment calendar of 2022 to the one of 2023. Now the first year of retirement is bound to have fewer engagements than the one before, having little to do with the reality of aging. Also, having major surgery in a year is bound to slow one down. But I did spend whole weeks without seeing anyone at all, except Joel of course. To be honest, that slower pace, having many periods of wide open days, seemed to suit me. It may be that growing older is allowing me to settle into my introverted nature a bit more, withhout an ounce of guilt! I could have been more actively engaged with others, but chose not to.

Accompanying the longer stretches of solitude, came more mindfulness in conversation, and thus the waning of idle chatter, perhaps a more judicious use of words. I have experienced conversation to be more intentional, with a larger purpose than just “talk”. It may be as we age we are less likely to want to stay on the surface with people. Teenage gabfests with friends were very enjoyable as were grad school “debates” about anything, but I really have no interest in repeating them. I feel a deeper urgency to get to the heart of things, to the heart of myself and others, and this seems to require less verbiage and more silences. Does this mean my social self is waning while something else is waxing? I don’t really know.

What else is waning thse days? I wish I could say it is my need to “please” people, but sady that seems to be hanging on. All wrapped up with caring about what others think of me, I’m afraid these will be two of my last ego traits to fall! But the good news is the more I can observe my thought patterns in the silence and solitude, the more I recognize it when these habits take over. I can, if I will it, stop!

One thing that has surprised me as I turn sixty-eight this week is that I have lost none of my drive to grow and perhaps have even increased in my ability to make personal changes. I am learning that the older I become, the less adamant I am to hold on to the old ways I used to think. Growing up I heard a lot about old people supposedly “stuck in their ways.” In my pastoral work I have found this to be more true of the young and the middle-aged than it is of their elders. Now, I am ready to learn new ways of being and thinking, my insistence on former ways is waning. Growing older is much more exciting than I thought!

MOON WHISPERS

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” January 2, 2024

We have skylights in our house, two in the dining room and one in the kitchen. Aside from the brightness they add, my favorite thing about them is walking in the darkness before dawn into the the kitchen when my eyes are suddenly flooded with moonlight. I didn’t know how powerful the light of the moon was until it came laser-like through the ceiling the first night I slept in this house. That time it was a full moon taking me totally off-guard. This morning it is a half moon shining in the window of my hermitage room bright enough to help me write in my journal.

Dwelling in presence as I am wont to do, especially in the early morning hours, the world outside tends to whisper to me. Sometimes it is just the whisper of silence. I bow to 16th century priest and mystic John of the Cross who said that “Silence is God’s first language.” It is deep, unfathomable, and full of mystery. It can also be soft, comforting, and full of peace. On days of inner turmoil, silence seems to cover me like a calming blanket.

This morning, the winter birds break that silence with familiar voices. First it was the cardinals, who seem to get up almost as early as I do. Now it is the doves, the finches, and chickadees. Often the crows arrive by about now, but they must be sleeping in. That’s okay with me for their whispers are not nearly as pleasant, often sounding like a big rambunctious family in the middle of a squabble.

Then there is the distinct whisper of the air. No matter how cold it is, I always crack my window open to meet the day. It makes me feel closer to my outdoor kin, even though my right shoulder freezes a little bit. Sometimes the air blows in with a “whoosh” and other times it creeps in silently, caressing me with the lightest of touches. It feels like a quiet blessing, that silent God speaking.

The moonlight has just been overtaken by the sun rising on the opposite side of the house. With it, the squirrels have come to pester the birds on the apple tree feeder. The mourning doves, nine of them in all, are unmoved and continue their breakfast activity beneath. I notice that with the sun, there is a different quantity and quality of sound outside. Two seagulls are flying over calling to one another and the doves just took off as one with their particular noisy flap of feathers. Less whisper now. Ah, and here come the crows!

I had a thought this morning that I don’t fully understand. As I read and reflect more about aging these days, I am feeling a stronger connection with the moon. Something about being struck by the moonlight on the way to morning coffee feels different than being jarred awake by the sun. Aging has a very different kind of radiance than the growing up years. If anyone has any thoughts about this, I’d love to read them. Until then I’ll be writing every morning in my journal by the moon, listening to creation’s whispers.