Category: Uncategorized

INFUSING JOY

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” November 18, 2023

An alarm was sounding in another part of the brightly lit room as I was settling into the leather chair in my cubicle. On my first visit here, the piercing beeps alarmed me as I never saw anyone run to attend to them. “Someone needs help,” I thought. But this was my fourth visit here and I’ve learned that alarms get answered with the same kind of gentle ease with which people are welcomed in at the infusion center. Urgency is not the mood of this place. Competent and compassionate care is. Anyway, I’ve learned that the alarm generally means that medication bags are empty and need to be switched for a patient or another is done and is ready to go home. The alarms are loud for hearing purposes only, not to declare an emergency.

I’m beginning to relax in this place that at first I was anxious about. The first time I arrived I got lost looking for this ground floor department in the local hospital, reached most easily by parking behind the building. Perhaps it is the desire to guard people’s privacy that makes it so hard to find. For this is where individuals with cancer come to receive their chemo treatments and vitamin supplement shots. The room where I sit is one long, large space, divided by curtains to shield patients from one another. People snooze or read or even eat their lunches as they receive treatment. I was pleasantly surprised when I was presented with a hospital menu yesterday and was told I could have anything I wanted! A free meal! I only wanted coffee, but this was just another sign of the hospitality that is given in this place.

On my first visit I admit that dread overtook me when I entered the office labeled “Oncology” and “Hematology”. I expected sadness and fear to fill the reception room. Many here were receiving that dreaded “cancer” diagnosis, and others to be treated wth medicines that often made them very ill. I was grateful that I was only dealing with anemia at this point and needed an iron infusion. My dread immediately lifted in the waiting room. The atmosphere was one of peace, made possible, I think, by the welcome and kindness of the staff. The infusion room where everyone is hooked up to machines or about to be stuck for an intravenous line is filled with light conversation and even laughter. Not only are the care staff, nurses, aides, and receptionists, good at what they do, but they are good at being people. I did not see a single person who was not being gracefully supported by someone.

I felt rather privileged to receive some of that support myself while observing a slice of life I hadn’t experienced before. My nurse yesterday, Steven, is one of the first who could find a good vein with just one stick! He also seemed sincerely interested in what was required for my care. One of the things I will definitely be grateful for this Thanksgiving.

Actually, there are a lot of things I’m grateful for – the heart beating in my chest, those who returned it to health, the time I have now for reflecting, writing, reading, and keeping silence as I move into a new phase of life, this incredibly cozy nest Joel has built for me which surrounds me with his love every time I burrow in here, my relationship with him that only seems to have grown stronger after these difficult months and fills me with hope for the future, the sound of bird wings just now passing by my window which remind me of the blessings of the earth, my beloved friends here in Maine and in Wisconsin, my extended family all over the place!

There was a time when I would berate myself for feeling joy in a world in which such suffering abounds. But now, I think it is our responsibility to feel all the joy and gratitude that we can, using it to infuse the world with the kind of medicine that it needs to heal, beginning right where we are and flowing out in great rivers of love.

RETURNING TO HEART

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” November 14, 2023

I have about an hour before I’m off to cardiac rehab. Why I ever chose the early morning session is beyond me, except that I’ve always thought of myself as a morning person. And that is true, however good mornings are for writing, reading, praying, not, I have learned, for sweating on the stepper and the elliptical followed by stretching. I know this is good for me, but I now think it would be just as good at 3 p.m. as at 7:15 a.m. I have been very faithful to rehab, but I must admit some frustration. I have not felt the surge of energy everyone told me I would get following surgery and exercise. I am tired much of the time. Fortunately (I think), it has been discovered that I have some kind of chronic anemia. No explanation for it yet. But I am getting iron infusions and that seems to help.

I am doing what I can to stay awake and hopeful. Recently I decided to begin a meditation practice I have engaged in occasionally on and off for many years. I’d been drawn by the Centering Prayer method made accessible some time ago by the late Fr. Thomas Keating. He advised two twenty minute silent sessions a day, aided by a “sacred word” to keep one from fully engaging in the thoughts that incessantly pop up when unbidden. Honestly, I’ve never been very good at it. I find that I have a penchant for arguing with the sacred word, never mind the unending thoughts! If I could only find the right one that doesn’t rile me in some way!

You may ask, why not try something else? After all, there are many fine methods of meditation drawn from Eastern and Western spiritual traditions. The thing is, I would probably bring the same arugumentative me into any single one of them! This time I want to try patience, and to learn something about the person who in the midst of silent prayer finds herself arguing with sacred words! Another form might have me questioning an image or analyzing the breath instead of surrendering to the process. I’ve never been one to accept things as given. So, why go back to this meditation thing at all?

There are a few things I know. Silence reveals. Silence grasps and teaches me all the time. Silence brings me directly into the present moment which is a vast and spacious place. I’ve had the suspicion lately that silence will lead me straight to my heart which is longing for something right now.

So. I am going back to meditation to encounter the silence. As I do, I am rereading Cynthia Bourgeault’s book The Heart of Centering Prayer: Nondual Christianity in Theory and Practice. Perhaps if I wrestle with the words while reading, I will experience more space inside the meditation. I am kind of excited to learn once again (only now it feels more real to me) that when Cynthia is writing about the heart of centering prayer, she is talking about the actual physical organ, the one that has gone through so much in my body this past year. I know I will be reading and meditating with a new depth of perception. A new modicum of stillness.

MOVING FORWARD

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” November 10, 2023

My partner, Joel, has not had good hearing ever since I’ve known him. It is a great sadness for the one who loves to hear the birds but usually can’t, and loves to sing with a group but isn’t always sure what the piano is doing. But sometimes, I admit, there is some humor in it. He usually does his computer work downstairs in our raised ranch while I putter around upstairs. At least once a day, I will call down “I love you down there!” This morning his response was “Okay!” “Okay?” No ones tells their beloved they love them wanting to hear just “Okay.” But I have to admit, the answer amused me, so I decide to try it on him sometime. When someone tells me that we seem so good together, I tell them that we make each other laugh every day. Laughter is an essential mark of a strong marriage!

Joel always brings a little levity to my November melancholy. Another bit of light yesterday was the tiny flurry of snow we had. Not enough to cover the ground but enough to be a promise of things to come. As a child, I used to pray for snow days. As an adult, I treasure the days of wood burning in the stove, wind singing outside, the snow dancing every which way as something good is cooking on the stove. If the lights go out, candles are lit and the wood stove can keep the pot warm and the coffee hot. If all else fails, we have a good excuse to pile on the blankets and go to bed early. Knowing how fortunate I am to have all of this available to me makes winter an opportunity for deep gratitude.

This morning I am grateful for something else entirely. When I last posted, I was getting ready to deal with the boxes of books piled up in my crowded room. In the last few days, I have found this process to be excruciating. I felt like a failure as too many went back up on my new shelves. The novels are easiest to let go, but only about one percent are novels. Poetry is probably the easiest to gift someone, but only about two percent are poetry. And even then, I have to go through the book to find the poem I know I just can’t dispose of! When I get to history and theology, I always find a chapter I definitely want to read again. The books on liturgy make me wonder if I am truly finished with teaching this favorite subject. And then the titles concerning Spiritual Formation just make we want to keep them close to my heart! Help!

Well, help did come in the form of an idea. I went out and bought some see-through plastic containers to box things up in by subject. Since I had no idea what I was going to put in the large cabinets Joel built alongside my windowseat, I can place those in there. These will allow me to go through the piles faster because I don’t have to agonize over each tome and will allow friends to visit and easily see what is available in case they would like to take any. Yes, I know this does put the final sorting on hold, but it will ready my hermitage with less trauma. Besides I really don’t know what the future holds for me vocationally. I don’t want to regret the total purge of my books.

So, I plan to start the process again today. The first book to go into a container is entitled Aging as a Spiritual Practice: A Contemplative Guide to Growing Older and Wiser by Lewish Richmond. Although to be honest, I think the secret to this subject is not in a book. It is to be present in every passing moment and to embrace what each day teaches. This is a spiritual practice for a lifetime.

NOVEMBER MELANCHOLY

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” November 5, 2023

It is November. I don’t need to look at the calendar to know this. I can feel this month coming from the inside of me. Maybe it is the loss of the vibrantly colored leaves or the hue of the sky and dwindling light, or perhaps it is a physical remembrance of a divorce that was finalized the Tuesday before Thanksgiving so many years ago, for many years this month has been a time of melancholy for me. Just as sounds and sights are revving up for holiday celebrations, inside I feel a kind of revving down, a desire to be silent and alone. At this point, I expect the sadness to sink in and stay for a while.

I used to run from it. I made lots of plans, keeping myself busy and connected. But I have learned over the years that this is just exhausting. It makes more sense and does more good to honor those feelings. Be with them. Now, to be sure, melancholy is not clinical depression. It does not bring me to a place of hopelessness and despair. It does not need to be treated. Neither should it be ignored. I have found that feelings, especially those with no immediate apparent cause, teach a good deal about life, our own lives in particular.

On Saturday, Joel and I were supposed to go to a Fall Sunrise Association meeting with other clergy and lay participants. But my November heart wasn’t in it. So after Joel left, I made up my nest next to the window. As a few leaves flew by, I felt in sync with the autumn scene outside. I too am in a phase of loss. I thought about going out, lying flat on the ground, and sharing this cyclical grief with the earth. But I confess my fear of late season tics kept me inside.

I wondered how I could facilitate whatever it was I was needing to let go. After an hour or so of silence, I knew what I had to do. I turned to the other side of the room and took in the piles of boxes and files full of papers, sermons, presentations, class preparations, retreat plans along with all the books I’ve collected in years of learning and teaching. It is a bit disturbing to see one’s whole life stuffed into cardboard containers. I knew that it was time to begin the sorting, the difficult and time-consuming process of deciding what goes back up on shelves, what can be given to others, and what needs to be donated somewhere or simply tossed.

This room, one half with its fine new shelves and window seat, represents the stage in my life following retirement. I can feel the other side totally weighing me down. It is certainly a major contributor to my melancholy, reminding me of a past I don’t want to forget, but I don’t want to be held back by. Besides, it is time to finishing painting the room, get rid of that “bagel” for “azurite blue”, decide what stays and what goes up on the walls, if anything. This is meant to be the simple hermitage that I’ve been longing for my whole life.

And so, let the emptying begin. I expect it will provide times of sadness as well as moments of great joy. Just a few posts ago, I was beginning a geographical life review on our trip from Maine to Wisconsin and back. Perhaps this will take me on an extended journey of my intellectual development. It helps to think of it that way because I know there is much more ahead, this time more focused on my heart. When I was about twelve, I remember saying that what I wanted to do was to “think more deeply into God than anyone else had ever done!” How is that for adolescent hubris? Well, all these years later, I’ve learned we don’t really “think” our way into God. All those academic programs taught me that. But we are all already in God. What I want to do in this phase of life is deepen that knowing and pass it on. For that I will need to keep preparing my soul and opening my heart. Perhaps November melancholy will transfigure into December joy.

GIFT OF THE VISIT

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” October 31, 2023

My journal was calling out to me in the dark, what used to be the middle of the night has become the beginning of my day. How many years have I wasted these precious, silent hours asleep? Here I sit under the window at 3:30 a.m., fully awake and fully aware of my breath flowing and my heart beating. I am alive. A car speeds by and breaks the quiet…but it quickly returns and I am thankfully alone with my thoughts again.

Today is Halloween, but yesterday was one of visitors and treats for me. It began grey and raining. I even asked Joel if I could put off some errands until the next day so I could stay in my pajamas. It just felt like that kind of day! But a happy text channged all that when friends Katelyn and Isaac said they were coming to town, could they stop by? Henry was coming to visit! The last time we saw him he was just a few weeks old. Now, about three months, he was going to be a very different baby! For him, I would get dressed.

Sitting with the family and Joel in our small living toom, I became aware of two things. First, the brilliant sheen of new parenthood had burnished into a deeper glow. Joel thought Isaac and Katelyn looked tired. Perhaps. I just saw two people deeply in love with their baby whose lives had been totally transformed by him. Breathless excitement had become a strong and deeper commitment to it all. Upon laying out all the baby paraphenalia and changing him in the middle of the floor, Katelyn commented “We barge in and take over, change everything!” Well, Katelyn, that is what has happened to you and Isaac, isn’t it? Henry just barged into your lives and nothing has been the same since. But what a precious interruption! Even if a bit demanding. I hope you never stop barging in on us to share him.

The second thing I realized is that there is no denying that I am aging. In the past, if anyone put a baby in my arms, I would hold onto that little one until someone pried him from my arms! I would list cradling a baby as one of the top joys of life. But yesterday, I had to hand him over to Joel! Henry was getting heavy! I couldn’t believe it. Now Joel, at first reticent, clearly enjoyed this. And, I must admit, there is something about seeing a baby in this man’s arms that makes me melt. But I have to finally admidt I am too old to raise babies anymore. I will still hold them, however, until my arms give out!

Beautiful Henry was only the first of two wondrous visitors yesterday. A couple of hours later, Joel called me to the hermitage window and I saw two large wings lifting off the lawn and landing in a border tree. The barred owl had granted us a visit. I immediately felt that existential tug – between running to get my camera to save the moment and risking her departure, or just communing with this remarkable bird, feeling the presence of my mother all the while. Joel solved my dilemma by bringing me my phone, but dusk was falling and it was hard to get a clear picture.

What was clear was the presence of the holy, for it brought me the sense of connection with the dead, the living, all of creation in all of its phases. My mother, baby Henry, his parents, Joel, me, and the owl. That which is holy bonds us all together, for the God of love does not forget any of us children, at whatever age, in whatever phase, in this life or the next. Whether we have the sheen of newness or the burnished glow of experience.

So on this Halloween, I am thankful for yesterday’s visitors. Perhaps today, I will become one, carrying the same gifts of love.

A SPLIT SCREEN

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, Dwelling in Presence, October 29, 2023

Dwelling in presence. It has been a while since I began a post in the way first intended. Right where I am, paying attention to this exact moment, feeling the cool morning air pouring through the window onto my right shoulder, hearing absolute silence outside, a rare occurrence, seeing the wax drip down one side of my autumn candle creating new shapes. It is a peaceful morning, at least on this side of the room, as I sit in my newly crafted window seat under the window to the garden, the woods, the quiet.

This room, which I am soon to call my hermitage, is right now a perfect representation of me. Split in two. One side, a gracious invitation to prayer, study, and writing; three pens and cup of coffee on the window sill, a candle burning in the way of my heart, with a glow that draws me inward. There is a warm blanket on my lap sent by my brother while I was recovering and a colorful quilt made by my sister-in-law and friend, Lisa. The shelves are still mostly empty, suggesting treasures to come. This side of the room is made for something new – new growth, new discovery, new dreams.

If I turn to the left, it is a different story. Basically I see piles of the past. Boxes of books, papers, sermons, who knows what, piled up in a haphazard mess. The wall in front of me speaks of it clearly, the side closest to the bookshelves are painted “Azurite blue,” a rich, calming color. Halfway across the wall the paint job stops, and the rest is a shade called “Bagel”. Yes, I picked out the color years ago. I don’t know why. I have hated it ever since it hit the walls! It is ready to be covered up and put out of its misery, just like the mountains of dust covered boxes are ready to be gone!

Why has it taken so long? Perhaps I fear not knowing what to do, who to be, when the past is let go or integrated into the present. At this point, I can still claim to be newly retired, a work definitely in progress. Like my hermitage. What I need to remember is that a lot of hard work and effort is represented in that pile of stuff, a lot of my heart is in there. I should not be afraid of facing and bringing it to some kind of present order.

To be honest, I can feel the next stage of my life calling. It is time to clear the path. And that blue has so much more hope in it than the stale bagel.

LIFE REVIEW ROAD TRIP ENDS

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” October 23, 2023

Before we leave tiny Haskins, Ohio, on this road trip life review something more must be said. I have lived in big cities much of my life, New York, Boston, Chicago, to name a few, but no place has had the powerful inpact in the short two years we lived there as that town. Two major events happened there. First, both Joel and I joined the small community church, a Federated American Baptist / United Church of Christ congregation. Both of us chose to enter the UCC denomination known for its strong stances on justice and inclusion and thanks to the many UCC clergy in Wisconsin who invited me to “come on over.” And it didn’t hurt that that denomination does not have any bishops!

That little church got to work doing its healing magic on us, inviting us to be fully a part of its faith life. By the end of those years, with the guidance of their wonderful pastor, the Rev. Dr. Mary Wood, they supported and encouraged my going on to seminary, which I did. A few years later, we returned and on September 17, 2000, I was ordained amidst these loving people and set on a new path. Gifted with the blessing of a quilt with squares for each member of the church, we were sent on to my first call as pastor. I will always be grateful to Haskins Federated Church for the lesson of how strongly the Spirit can work through a smal church. They healed and changed our lives.

My first call was actually our next stop on the road trip – Osseo, Wisconsin. I can always tell by the relaxation of Joel’s body when we cross the border into Wisconsin. It means we have gotten through the Chicago traffic unscathed and that he is truly in home territory. His family and most of his close friends live there as does a good part of his memory cache. It was in the area of Osseo, western part of the state, that I learned to love the colors and the textures of farmland through the seasons. Making pastoral calls would take me past bales of hay, herds of cows, and Amish farms. The land is not as flat as in Ohio and the sun shining on the hills often fell on deer playing at the edge of the fields. The land enchanted me.

I am grateful that Joel would make sure our first stop would be at our friend Julie’s for an extended stay. Here I would have my heart filled and my energy gathered to keep up with the hectic schedule Joel had planned for the last week. One of the last times we were here, we helped to plant Julie’s husband Brad’s ashes under the tree he had planted just for that purpose. It adds the final blessing to what is already holy ground. It was there that a deep friendship grew and where I first dared to truly mourn my mother, aided by the evening calls of the barred owl and the gentle presence of my dear friend. Here is where circles of women, friends, and family gather and are nourished in body and spirit. I still daydream occasionally about building a cabin on that land, but the way has never been clear.

I realized on this trip that once a work place, Wisconsin, has for me become a land of friends. We were lifted and fed by so many from the UCC church Joel and I served in Osseo, feeling closer to them than we did in 2004 when we left. Perhaps freedom from the role of “pastor” enables that closeness to further develop. Next we went to Steven’s Point, home to Joel’s brother Scott and his wife Lisa. Not only was I floored by Lisa’s beautiful quilts, but moved by the friendship that continues to develop between us. Then on to Joel’s cousin Sarah’s for a few nights, another friend within the family. A strong voice for justice, Sarah and Joel are more like brother and sister than cousins and take great interest in each other’s work and art. From here we got to have a pizza dinner with some of Joel’s childhood friends and singing buddies in Oshkosh.

Then on to Madison, another one of my city home bases. I’ve already writtten in a past post of the traumatic events encountered there, but now it is simply full of the peoplel who loved us through them. We enjoyed a Japanese meal with Marian and Greg, who stood up for us at our wedding. David and Alison took us in and fed us good Indian food ad good memories. Elsa and Margi arranged a reunion of friends over a Friday Fish Fry where Joel was finally able to have his most desired lake perch! I hadn’t seen some of these people for over 25 years, but the love and joy exchanged at the gathering was palpable. Sadly the rain kept us from a walk in the autumn hued Arboretum, but we closed down the Botanical Gardens instead. We enjoyed an anniversary lunch at a Cheesecake Factory (yummm) provided by Father Ken, beloved pastor, who went through a lot with us at St. Paul’s. Thank heavens our friendship remained unscathed.

Leaving Madison to begin our journey home, I was exhausted but my heart was full. Wisconsin is overflowing with friends! Good food! Stunning landscape! Grateful for a final evening with my sister Sue and family in upstate New York, my geographical life review comes to an end. The only question – where to from here?

THE RIDE (AND LIFE) CONTINUES

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” October 22, 2023

As I take my place in my window seat nook at 4 a.m., I hear one loud and haunting call through the open window. I don’t know if it is an owl or a coyote. I know we have both in the woods, but this one, and only one, sounded different. Perhaps it is a great horned instead of our usual barred owl. In any case, I used it instead of my usual meditation bell to start my silent practice. I began in silent wonder.

Besides the call, there is a steady sound of light rain this morning. A sweet blessing to begin the day. It brings me back to those scenes of healing that met me on the way out of anesthesia, brooks, streams, waves, flowing water on the hospital room television. The producers need not have added the music, the water sounds were more than adequate. Even now they bring me life. (Well, just heard the call again – I would guess it is a great horned owl. Great grey? It is loud and musical.)

I left off the last post recounting the trip Joel and I took to his home state of Wisconsin with the surprising realizatiton that my first home state of New York was still in my blood, wooing me as we drove. After bypassing Buffalo, we headed south through wine country, western New York, northeastern Pennsylivania, getting glimpses of Lake Erie. It was lovely, grape vines lined up for miles, but it did not have the same kind of tug on my heart. We drove through Cleveland, headquarters of our United Church of Christ national church and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. We did not stop until we reached Maumee, Ohio, south of Toledo where I taught a few years at Mercy College.

Northwest Ohio was a healing place for me. We went there after an amazing and somewhat traumatic time in Madison, Wisconsin. In the early to mid-nineties, I worked at St. Paul’s, the University Catholic Center, as the “Woman Chaplain.” This position gave me the opportunity to preach the Word and to co-preside worship servics as well as do programming for the students. As a Roman Catholic woman, I didn’ t think there was any other posititon in the country quite like it. I couldn’t believe it when I was getting calls from public media to ask what I though about the pope’s latest statement, usually on women in the church. I knew I was in a rare situation. It was a challenging job I loved, alongside a staff of priests and other lay people who I loved.

I had to leave there after six years because a new bishop was appointed to Madison who did not appreciate what St. Paul’s was doing there. I and the priest pastor were put in an untenable posititon which resulted in my beginning a panic disorder. But this is a story that needs to be told another time for it might take volumes.

In any case, Joel and I moved to Haskins, Ohio, a farm town with a population of 500, south of Toledo where I taught. I loved it. The sky was big and wide enough for me to breathe in while Madision seemed to close in on me. Although it wasn’t the best place for Joel. An ordained minister, he too was suffering a painful break with the United Methodist Church that treated him as poorly as the Madison bishop treated me, and it was hard for him to know where he belonged. My teaching religious studies and ethics to primarily nursing students at the college helped me to find new purpose.

When we drove through the Haskins area, the sky still enabled me to breathe deeply. All that was left was our drive through Chicago before we reached the state and our beloved people in Wisconsin. This is taking longer than I thought, but since I am sixty-seven, a geographical life-review might be expeced to take time. As does a drive from the coast of Maine to Wisconsin…

A NEW SPACE AND STAGE

Rev. Kate Winters, Ph.D., Dwelling in Presence, October 18, 2023

It’s been nearly a month since my last post. Joel and I just returned from driving out to Wisconsin to see family and friends and to celebrate our wedding anniversary. It was a good trip, lovely autumn colors both ways. The hours of driving helped us debrief from the hectic schedule we kept while there. As you may have surmised from this blog, Joel is as extraverted as I am introverted. The more visits the merrier! Luckily I love these people and so I survived even though I am a bit worn out.

How good it is to be home! This morning I broke in the new window seat that Joel built for me in the weeks before we left. I did not know he had these skills, and it is beautiful. My view out the window includes the cave shaped opening into the woods that speaks to me of secrets to be discovered! Mysteries to be revealed. Something tells me that my soul is going to be deepened in this place as I am surrounded by the love that built this little retreat space for me and the wonders of the earth outside. I sit here feeling blessed.

I can tell that I am in a new stage in life. The drive out was different than it ever was before. My dear friend Julie suggested that it was because I wasn’t preoccupied with work or the church. My mind was free and open to different thoughts and moods. The stops and scenery felt a bit like a life review.

Our first stop was at my niece Samantha’s and then my sister Sue’s in Delmar, New York. Sam was having an amazing Oktoberfest party. The time there was a bit like having a view of the road-not-taken with her daughters and other grandnieces there. The next day we attended one of my grandniece’s softball games. I could see the beauty of my siblings’ lives with children and grandchildren, highs and lows, lots of sports, overflowing with energy and love. I don’t expect their lives are easy, but it is clear that it is very rich. It felt good to be included with them. Not having had children, first by choice, then by chance, this will always be a defining aspect of my life. Just as I write this, my sister Susan sent a message about her school district being on lockdown because of a bomb threat. Amazing. Parenting these days is an act of courage as well as the most generous love. I pray that my love gets used up in other ways in this world.

After leaving Delmar, we drove through the Mohawk Valley in upstate New York. I had for the first time a visceral sense of being at home, as if I belonged there. I can’t explain it. I spent my first twelve years in New York city, only a small part of it upstate with my father’s parents and his brother’s family. We spent a week or two in the Adirondacks most summers. There was also my mother’s parents’ country place in which we spent the rest of my childhood summers in Putnam Valley. Those were idyllic times for a girl from Brooklyn. But I never had the landscape speak to me like this before, directly to my body. It felt a bit like falling in love. I wonder if it was the flowing waters of the Mohawk River calling to me, or if the rolling hills were bringing me into a more intense relationship with the earth.

Yes. I think this window seat is going to be a fertile plae for exploring life’s mysteries and surprises. More later…

ARRIVAL OF A NEW SEASON

Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” September 22, 2023

On the cusp of a new season, I open a new journal and begin to write. Why is it so hard to lay ink down on this page? It feels like having a chance for a new beginning and not wanting to mess it up. A new journal, a new season, a new stage of my life. Fall begins tomorrow. I have no doubt that it is ushering me into the autumn of my life.

Perhaps I have been here for a while now, but something has changed. I feel a new sense of acceptance. Certainly, I am no longer young, no hint of the eager star performer I was as a child. I have left behind the promising youthful scholar I was in graduate school. I only have fond memories of the gently radical Catholic minister and preacher I was in my late thirties and early forties called the “Woman Chaplain” at the University of Wisconsin Catholic Center. But I no longer have her stamina or the need to reform the entire Roman Catholic Church.

I continue to embrace my ordination in the United Church of Christ, but after twenty-three more years of pastoring local churches, I have retired from that role. I don’t think it is everything that I am any more. My gaze has simulteously become more inward and more cosmic in scope.

I am definitely moving into a new phase, with new priorities and more subtle energies. What I do know is that I will take all that I love into this new season. My incredible partner Joel, who continues to make every step of our journey together more joyous. A continuing desire to teach and to learn. A yearning for God which has always been the deepest thing about me, and the most honest. As I look up, a spectacular half moon surrounded by a soft mist is shining down on me. The journey into autumn is nothing without the holy mystery of it all. I am blessed.