World Labyrinth Day 2026

 Today is World Labyrinth Day.   It's celebrated the first Saturday of May.

For more on labyrinths, this website is full of information. 

Below is  a poem-like thing with some of my favorite pictures of labyrinths I have known and loved:

We have walked labyrinths
made of fabric, made in fields,
laid out in tiles
or offered by cathedrals.

We have relied
on the promises of the labyrinth:
one path in, no dead ends,
no false turns, not a maze.

We have trusted
that the path leads
to a center that can hold
us all in all our complexities.

Long Lasting Labyrinth Made of Braids

Yesterday, I posted this picture after we finished setting up the labyrinth at the chapel at Lutheridge:

Early on, the Create in Me retreat ended with closing worship and a labyrinth walk.  We have occasionally used the labyrinth that was created at the old tennis court, but it's not very accessible--and right now, it's still under downed trees.  So back in 2009, we created the braided strips that make the labyrinth.

How do I know that?  I went back to my blog and found this blog post that describes making the strips.  I also found this blog post which is a photo essay, and this post, which describes the experience of using the strips in words.

I have many reasons for why I continue to blog:  this ability to quickly find answers to the "what year was that?" or "how did this project go?" questions is one big reason why I keep blogging.

On the braided strips, we wrote prayers, along with gratitude and appreciation.  This morning, I thought about those prayers from 2009.  How many of them have been answered?  I thought about all of the people:  those of us we prayed for, those of us who did the praying.  Who is still alive?

I thought of all the ways we've used these long, braided strips:  for every Create in Me retreat since (almost 2 decades!).  Other retreats have used the braids, even non-Lutheridge retreats.  Other people have been inspired to try something similar.  I love that it's a budget friendly way to create a labyrinth.

It's a great metaphor for all the ways that our prayers and communities support us, even as the years and decades go on.  We braid our prayers together, in a variety of ways.  Those prayers braid us together, both immediately and through the years.  God, the master fabric artist, takes our offerings and weaves together our communities into an even more beautiful creation.

World Labyrinth Day 2024

Yesterday was World Labyrinth Day, a day when we were encouraged to walk our local labyrinths at 1 p.m. local time in hopes of unleashing a "a rolling wave of peaceful energy."  A few weeks ago, I thought about organizing something, but my various semester endings submerged me, and before I knew it, it was Saturday.  

So, even though it was too late to invite others to walk with me, it wasn't too late to walk it myself.  So up the hill I headed to the Lutheridge labyrinth, created on an old tennis court where my mother played tennis when she was a counselor in the 1950's.

I thought there might be others, but no, I was on my own.  But that was O.K. too.  It was cloudy, the kind of cloudy that means rain is coming soon.  But that, too, was O.K.  I walked, thinking about labyrinths I've walked, people who have walked them with me, and the times I've walked them alone.  

As I walked home, I thought about the first time I read about labyrinths and yearned to walk one.  It was probably 2000 or 2001.  One of the earliest books was Nora Gallagher's Things Seen and Unseen.  Back in the early years of this century, I wasn't able to find as many labyrinths; there was only one in Broward county, at the local U.U. church.  It was a beautiful outdoor labyrinth, but I didn't walk it much, because it took me over half an hour to drive there.

Now I have a labyrinth in my own neighborhood, and in the past year, yesterday was the first time I've walked it.  In the coming year, I'm going to walk it more often.  What a gift it is to have a local labyrinth!

A Cramped Labyrinth

 A week ago, my sister came to my seminary apartment to pick me up to go to Williamsburg.  My mom was part of a planning team for the St. Stephens Lutheran Church women's retreat, and she invited us to attend.  She also invited me to offer a workshop on labyrinths.

St. Stephens doesn't have a labyrinth, so before the week-end, we brainstormed.  My mom reached out to nearby Episcopalians who have a canvas labyrinth.  It's 30 feet--30 feet--in diameter, so when we were together in February, we went around the church building measuring.  We determined that there was no indoor space for that canvas labyrinth.

Happily, I know how to lay out a labyrinth outline.  One could do this with rope or yarn, or even masking tape on a floor.  I got the labyrinth outline that we use for the Create in Me retreat:

My mom got some ropey nylon in two shades of pink at an after-Valentine's Day sale at the Dollar Store.  This labyrinth would be very hard for me to lay out without two shades of border, so I was glad to have it.

We spent about an hour on Friday laying out the labyrinth in a space off the narthex in the church.  We really could have used several more feet on the sides, but the space is bordered by a wall on one side and a window on another, so we had to work with what we had.  We scootched lines over and shifted, and soon enough, we were done:

The ropey nylon wanted to spring free of the tape, so we taped it more than we might have.  I didn't want to arrive on Saturday morning to have to lay it out again.

It wasn't a perfect labyrinth, but the people who came to my workshop were gracious about it.  They were grateful to have a way to try out this prayer practice (only 1/4 of the participants had ever walked one).

I did worry a bit that this experience, which was a bit too cramped and crowded to be truly meditative.  It wasn't the perfect first labyrinth walk, for those who had never tried it.  Happily, most people said that they saw the potential, and at the end of the workshop, they were strategizing about where to find a bigger labyrinth.

Inspirations from the Labyrinth

 The labyrinth at St. Columba's has been finished for several weeks, and I've been meaning to go over and walk it.  But for the last several weeks, I have been walking later in the day, when the church is busier, the streets are busier, the temperatures warmer.  Plus, there have been such lovely Halloween decorations to see.

This morning, as I went out at the new sunrise time, I thought I'd wander over and see how it felt to walk the labyrinth on the day before election day.  Even though there were some people walking by, and we could see each other, I didn't feel self-conscious.  Occasionally I heard traffic noises, but it wasn't too invasive.

I didn't have much in the way of insights, except for that it's hard to be meditative when thinking about selfies and camera shots.  But I did feel some of my anxiety sink away.

Last night I realize that my computer wasn't saving documents the way that it should.  And I found out when I loaded a document to a class, only to realize it was the wrong one--and it's the class where I can't unload it.  It's happened before, so I wrote to my professor and e-mailed it to him.  I do wonder what he thinks of me, having this issue twice.  Of course, he didn't fix the issue with the course shell.  Sigh.

So, all of that was making me anxious, along with my other anxieties that are never too far away.  In some ways, I'm less anxious, now that I don't have a job where I have to manage people.

As I walked back, thinking about how the leaves falling reveals birds' nests, I got some ideas for the sermon on Isaiah that I'll be writing once I get this exegesis done.  Is it because I walked the labyrinth?  Let's say that it is, so that I'll have motivation to keep walking labyrinths.

Walking Meditations and the Path of a Storm

 So far, I've had a good week-end, my first full week-end here in my seminary apartment.  I've had Zoom-like conversation with my spouse and my quilting group, along with instant message type written conversations, so I haven't felt lonely. I've done school work, I've read for pleasure (Hilary Mantel's Wolf Hall, which I started the week before Mantel died), I've cooked, I've gone on a quest for veggies, I've done a lot of walking.

Yesterday I walked a mile and a half to a farmer's market, but it was organic veggies, so they seemed very pricey to me.  I want to support small farmers, but I don't want to pay $6.00 a pound for sweet potatoes, regardless of how they're grown.  So on my walk back, I took a detour to Wegmans, a grocery store, and bought some cheaper veggies.

Yesterday evening, as the sun was setting, I walked to St. Columba's Episcopal Church.  I had read about DC Art All Night, where various neighborhoods had a variety of arts events.  

St. Columba's offered a walk in the indoor labyrinth (on a canvas) accompanied by music, an arts gallery/shop, and organ concerts.  

I took part in all of those things, and then I walked the two blocks to Tenleytown to see the rest of the events.  It was so crowded that I could barely make my way through the public library.  So, hurrah for the library, but I walked on home.  I felt safe from violence, but a bit worried about trip hazards.  I didn't want to walk in the street for fear of being hit by a car, but the sidewalks were much more dimly lit.  I walked on the sidewalks and took my time.

As I've reflected on last night, I thought about the process of slow walking.  I had to take my time in the labyrinth too, but we expect that.  The music was provided by overtone group Harmonic Introductions.  I confess that I liked the musical parts that had just piano, harp, cello, and singing bowls best.  The overtone singing was distracting.

I've also been keeping an eye on the glob of weather that's slowly becoming Hurricane Ian.  I don't own property in Florida anymore, so you might wonder why I'm paying such close attention.  Most of the reason is force of habit:  I've always paid attention to storms, and I've always kept a wary eye on the weather.  And of course, I still have friends who might be in the path of a storm.

I came across this sentence this morning from this blog post on the Yale Climate Connections site:  "8 p.m. EDT Saturday: As this post was being prepared, Typhoon Noru was in the process of becoming one of the fastest-intensifying cyclones in modern Earth history, strengthening far more than expected while heading toward the Philippines."  This strengthening happened during the same week-end that Canada was slammed by Hurricane Fiona, the strongest storm to hit that coastline ever.

It's made me think of a poem I wrote a long time ago, when I looked up at the pre-dawn sky and thought about how many astronomical objects are cold, hard rocks as far as we can tell.  It led to this poem, which has become a renewed favorite of mine, after the spouse of a dear friend told me how it had stuck with him and made him think about the universe differently.  It was published in my first chapbook Whistling Past the Graveyard.

Geology, the True Life Science


Our planet—warm, gooey corner
of a cold, lifeless cosmos,
a primordial ooze which forms
the perfect building blocks for life,
a miraculous exception to the universal
rule. The official astronomer’s story.

But perhaps God prefers rocks and minerals.
Why else create such a diverse abundance?
Maybe animals and humans are the experiment
gone horribly wrong, an accident of pumping liquids
surrounded by decaying flesh.

Bones calcify, kidneys form stones, arteries harden
with plaque—instead of medical disaster,
perhaps our bodies move towards their ultimate evolutionary
destiny, seeking God’s pleasure.

 

Week in Review--with a poem!

 As I think back over the past week, I am just astonished at all that has happened. A week ago, I was in Columbia, SC with a cast on my arm. I got the cast removed on Wednesday, and now I have a whole new set of exercises for my wrist and hand. A week ago, we expected that Row v Wade would be overturned fairly soon, and now it has. A week ago, I wasn't sure how we would decide to move our possessions across multiple states. In the past week we reserved a moving van to do it ourselves but ultimately got an offer we couldn't refuse from a moving company. We have showed our condo to several potential renters who will come after us. I hope one of the ones who wants our piano is the one ultimately chosen.

Today is our last Sunday at church, and I have grades for my online class due tomorrow morning. Time continues to march ahead.

I've done a lot of sorting which reminds me of how much I've written never sees anyone's eyes but mine. So in that spirit, since time is short and I have grading to do let me close with a poem that I wrote last week after walking the labyrinth.

I walk the labyrinth

careful to avoid

the fire ant mounds that line

the paths. I step over velvet

pods dropped from ancient magnolias.

A dog runs across the seminary

grounds. The sun begins

the morning tasks of sweeping away the shadows.

All creation yearns for insight.

 

 

Gathering Fragments from Last Week's Onground Intensive

  A week ago, I’d be getting ready for the onground intensive for the spiritual direction certificate program at LTSS, Southern Seminary in Columbia, SC.  Alert readers will say, “Didn’t you finish that program earlier?”  Yes, I did.  But alumni were welcomed back to participate, since the pandemic disrupted the program for so many of us.  Let me collect a few last fragments and photos, before I forget these nuggets.

--We began our first session with consenting prayer.  Our leader took us through a meditation which asked us where God invites us to be open, in a space of hospitality, around these issues:  security, approval, control, and change.

--Writer Barbara Peacock had interesting insights about what/how the Middle Passage taught the ancestors how to minister to each other and how spiritual direction practices emerged from this time.

--In our last session, we did lectio divina, and at the end, we all shouted the word or phrase that spoke to us, all of us at the same time.  It was an interesting variation.

--I went back and forth to the Chapel. I love the way the light streams through the stained glass lending various colors to the white marble. Stunning!

--I walked the labyrinth each morning, which I enjoyed, even though I didn't receive stunning insights.

--In my small group, conversation came back to the idea of God and bodies. One speaker had tried to connect Eros with God, and I think this speaker was trying to make some connections with alternate sexualities but I wasn't sure. In my small group, we talked about how an embodied God is difficult if one lives in a body that is not approved of by one’s larger society.

--It was good for me to talk about these ideas with other people outside of my small group, people who were not as discomfited as I was.  We talked about Eros and the Holy Spirit, which seemed a bit better than Eros and God the Father. We talked about Eros not as a sexual energy, but an energy that was embodied in multiple ways.

--I do wonder what it would mean if we took seriously this notion that all are created in the image of God. We would have to expand our vision of God. What would it mean if we worshipped a God who is disabled, in ways that so many of us are disabled? It would certainly challenge our idea of God as all powerful, which is fine with me, but I realize it would be a tough sell for others. Throughout the week I tried to straighten my fingers as I continue to heal from my wrist injury. Some days I was more successful than others. The idea of a disabled God makes sense to me.

--Should I be using the term differently abled to God? But I do mean disabled, a God without full ability, a God who may have developed other capabilities in the absence of full capability.

--We had more free time scheduled into this intensive than in the past so I reached out to an old college friend who lives in Charlotte, and happily she was free on Friday afternoon and willing to drive down.  We met at a coffee shop staffed by people who wore T shirts of the bands of our youth. The guy who took our order had a patch on his leather vest that was a replication of The Smiths’ album, The Queen Is Dead. I said, “I paid $5 for that album back in the day.” He told me he had paid $35 for his vinyl copy. Maybe I should take a closer look at the records that are in the box of records that need to be sorted. Of course I have no idea how to find the people who would pay $35 for my old vinyl.

--It was great to drink coffee with my friend on the hottest day of the year so far, as REM's “Don't Go Back to Rockville” played softly in the background. As with the best of friends, it was like no time had passed at all. Throughout the week I had the feeling of falling through a hole in time. Time has felt more fluid.

--We ended with a commissioning service and the singing of  “I the Lord of Sea and Sky” with its refrain of being willing to go where God sends us.

--Take a good look at this picture:

 

 

I am sure that I’ve never been at a  communion service presided over by two female African-American ordained clergy.  Wow!

I went forth, fed and nourished in so many ways.

 

World Labyrinth Day 2020

Today is World Labyrinth Day. 

For more on labyrinths, this website is full of information. 

Below is  a poem-like thing with some of my favorite pictures of labyrinths I have known and loved:

We have walked labyrinths
made of fabric, made in fields,
laid out in tiles
or offered by cathedrals.

We have relied
on the promises of the labyrinth:
one path in, no dead ends,
no false turns, not a maze.

We have trusted
that the path leads
to a center that can hold
us all in all our complexities.

A Different Sort of Prayer Bead

Last week, I came across an artist who is doing a stitch meditation each week; she's trying to use up scraps of silk that are left over from fabric dying projects.  Later, I may write more about the idea of stitch meditations and fabric dye.  Today I want to capture a different idea.

Inspired by that artist and by scraps of wool that my friend was snipping off of a shawl she was finishing for her daughter, I started a project of my own.  I looked forward to sewing with metallic thread.

I didn't have a chance to finish the project, so I left it on my desk.  Throughout the week, I've found my fingers returning to it.  I like tracing the looping tracks left by the thread. 

I like touching the tangles that I left on purpose.

I've wondered if my experience is what others experience as they pray with a rosary.  I know that rosary beads are there to remind us of where we are in a prayer sequence, but I've always found them to be soothing in terms of touching them too.

I've started wondering about creating a different sort of prayer bead.  I have a vision of a collection of fabrics and threads sewing into some sort of ball or bead.  Would they work if strung together?  Do I want them strung together?  I have begun to collect objects in jars as an art project.  That's a possibility too.

My experiment with stitching has also made me think about stitching labyrinth shapes onto fabric--and then they could be finger labyrinths.

Let me continue thinking about this.

Insight from the Second Day of the Onground Intensive

I have now sense a rhythm to the onground intensive for the certificate in spiritual direction.  It's an interesting mix of instructional time, worship time, small group time, and some alone time.  Each onground intensive has a focus on a particular praxis/practice; this time, it's solitude, and in June, it will be silence.

So far, I've been to 3 instructional sessions.  The first, for those of us here for the first time, focused on thinking about how spiritual direction is different from life coaching, therapy, pastoral care, or any of the other types of care.  One answer:  if the Holy Spirit isn't a 3rd partner, it may be valuable work, but it isn't spiritual direction.  One might wonder how this work would be different from pastoral care.  I would say that spiritual direction has both partners listening for God's direction during and between the sessions, while pastoral care could be something less than that, like helping a parishioner after a death in the family.  There's significant overlap between the types of care, significant borrowing of best practices (that last part is mine, to remind me that it's OK to borrow best practices if one discerns that path).

The 2 instructional sessions yesterday focused on mysticism (primarily the type that comes to us by way of the ancient desert fathers and mothers and medieval mysticism) and icons (the Orthodox type).  While much of the information wasn't new to me, I loved the sessions.

Yesterday we had almost 3 hours that we were to spend in solitude, which meant not only minimal human contact, but no books, no Internet, nothing that took our attention away from this time with God.  We agreed that journaling was O.K. 

So, I journaled, I walked around campus and took pictures, I journaled some more, I impatiently checked my watch to see if it was time for dinner . . .  .  Very interesting to realize that when I say I yearn for alone time, I'm likely to fill that time with reading or worse, with vapid Internet reading.  I finally sat down in the converted sunroom of the house where I'm staying and started to sketch:

I was intrigued by how much the sketching quieted my mind--not just focused, but quieted.

We bookended the day with worship.  In the morning, we walked the labyrinth, which is not an easy task in this labyrinth which is really not set up for a group to walk it--it's got very narrow paths:

In the evening, we had Compline, with a liturgy written by our director.  It was lovely, although a little too brightly lit.

I really like my small group, which is good, because I'll be spending a lot of time with them over the next 2 years.  I can't say much about them, because everything in small group is confidential.  But it's a relief to realize that this aspect will work for me--it isn't always the case.

As I've moved through my time here, I've thought about how this experience is like a retreat mixed with a conference mixed with some aspects of a college session.  If I had ever been part of a low residency MFA program, it might be a lot like that.

I've also been thinking about my yearning for seminary.  Being here makes me realize that I'm not sure the online type of approach to seminary is what I yearn for.  If I go to seminary, I think I want it to be the full, on campus experience.  I REALLY miss being on a campus.  I didn't realize how much I miss it.

Yes, in a way, I spend much of my waking hours on a campus.  But it's such a different kind of campus.

I think my seminary yearnings might be the same old yearnings to run away and start over, yearnings I've had since my teenage years.  That doesn't mean that those yearnings are frivolous or that those dreams are meaningless, but I want to recognize this insight.

One reason why I chose this certificate program is that I could do it without exploding all the other parts of my life.  And being here helps me realize how much of this material will be important as I move through the rest of my life.

Will it open new career doors?  I don't know.  But for me, that's not really the point.  I needed something that would help me feel better about the future.  This program does that, and thus, it's invaluable to me.

Eye to Eye with a Dragonfly

Two weeks ago, I'd have been at Mepkin Abbey.  On that Saturday, we walked the outdoor labyrinth together.  It was a surprisingly temperate morning, for a Saturday in South Carolina.  Indeed, Sunday morning was much more hot and humid.

But Saturday was perfect.  I loved walking with my fellow retreatants.  It's always interesting to me to walk with a group in a labyrinth.  I love the symbolism:  we're walking alone, but we're also together.  At points, I look forward and I see no one.  At other points, I have 3-4 people in my field of view.  But at any point, if I just turn my head a bit, I realize I'm not alone. 

The Mepkin Abbey labyrinth is outside, in a huge field. 

We walked between huge grasses and plant stalks and the occasional flower.  Dragonflies zipped in and out.  The sky was clear and blue.  In the distance, we saw a variety of trees, roads, a small house, and a trailer. 

The center has five square benches. 

Once we got there, we sat in silence.  I am not good at sitting in silence, which is one of the reasons why I like walking in a labyrinth in silence.  I am the kind of person who manages meditation better when she has something to do:  journaling or walking or crocheting.  I am the woman at the end of yoga class who can't hold a corpse pose without checking her watch to see if we're almost done.

At first, I was uncomfortable sitting in silence in the middle of the labyrinth.  But then I relaxed.  On the stalk beside my bench, a dragonfly flitted.  I stared at it.  I have never stared at a dragonfly for more than 10 seconds.  I have been amazed at the intriguing wing structure of a dragonfly during a 10 second glance.  But a deeper staring allowed me to marvel at its eyes and its sturdy legs.

I thought of lines from poetry, primarily Mary Oliver's poetry, that glory in the wonders of staring at a part of nature.  I was never that poet--and I don't remember doing that in childhood either.  What a treat to be able to interact with nature in this time-honored way.

An Overview of My Latest Mepkin Retreat

This time yesterday, I'd have been on the road for an hour.  I got up, made my thermos of coffee using a ridiculous amount of pods in the fancy Keurig machine, and drove down the very dark country roads under a full moon.

I saw the same moon rise the night before while I was walking the labyrinth one last time.  Most of the retreatants, including my two friends, had already gone home.  In our Sunday morning session, one of the retreat leaders told us of his experience walking the labyrinth under the full moon, and I felt this regret that I hadn't thought of it--but then I realized I still had one night left.

Watching the light drain from the sky after the sun set while seeing the glow from the rising moon was very cool.  Was it mystical?  No, not really.  I knew that I was fairly safe, but I still felt a bit uneasy.  Plus it was a bit humid and buggy.  But I do love a good moonrise:

The moonrise walk was not my only walk in the labyrinth.  I also walked with a group on Saturday morning.  We got to the center of the labyrinth and sat in silence together.  I looked at a dragonfly and marveled at its eyes.  I don't often sit and gaze at something--oh, let's be honest, I never do that.  It was wonderful.

Other highlights of the long week-end at Mepkin Abbey:

--I did get some writing done.  I had an idea for a poem about Noah's daughter, and I wrote it.  I also got an idea driving home about Noah's descendants selling the ancestral lands that once grew citrus fruits.  This morning, I wrote that poem.

--The weather was amazing.  I got out of the car on Friday and was struck by the lack of humidity.  It was warm, but I could walk from place to place without breaking a sweat.  On Saturday morning, it was downright cool.  What a treat to sleep with an open window.

--The retreat was a structured retreat, which is different from the majority of retreats that I've made at Mepkin.  Although I enjoyed our time together, it was strange to have less time for all the worship services.

--One of the retreat leaders is a specialist in a Japanese form of energy alignment and realignment, Jin Shin Jyutsu.  I had never heard of it before.  She called it accupuncture, but with fingers instead of needles.  I had a session on Sunday morning.  I stretched out on my back (clothed) on a massage table, and for an hour, she put light pressure on a variety of points on my body.  I felt interesting tingles on whole sides of my body, and at one point, my right hand fell asleep.  At various points, I fell asleep.  For hours afterward, I did feel energized beyond my normal after-nap feeling.

--I read most of a book of academic essays, Balm in Gilead:  A Theological Dialogue with Marilynne Robinson.  It was wonderful, and I felt my brain come alive.  I plan to reread Gilead, which I read in 2005 and loved it.  Maybe I'll read the whole trilogy again--and there will be a 4th book soon.

--The best part of the retreat was the chance to reconnect with old friends from my past.  We often meet at Mepkin, but it's been harder with the new retreat center and the new approach to retreats--the slots fill up fast.  I hadn't seen them in 2 years, and we agreed that we need to get together more often, even if it can't always be Mepkin.

--One of these friends is the one who said to me, "You've been talking about being a spiritual director for some time now.  Maybe you should look into that more seriously."  That was years ago.  This year I'm looking into programs and making plans and also considering seminary.  This same friend said to me this year, "You really come alive when you talk about these plans."

--I worry that I'll make decisions based on how I can fit them into my current life, rather than making decisions that will lead to the life I really want.  I feel like I've been fitting my true passions into the crooks and crannies of what's left over after I do what I need to do to pay the bills.  There's less and less time these days, and I mean that in all kinds of ways.

--I loved having long walks and beautiful gardens to see.  The hydrangeas were in full bloom--breathtaking!

--It was good to have time away.  It made me sad about all the reasons why I get so desperate for time away, and also sad about all the people whom I love and whom I wish I could see more often.

--I have returned home resolved to get some affairs into order.  It's been almost a year since I boxed up everything and moved it into the cottage.  I need to make some decisions about all that stuff.

Ancient Spanish Monastery in the Subtropics

There's an ancient Spanish monastery in Miami, and the story of how it came to be here is amazing--for more, see their website.  I've been wanting to go see it for years, but the days when I could go, they have been closed.

Yesterday the stars aligned, and my spouse and I made it over.  It was a strange mix of people:  the devout, the tourist/curious types, and lots of folks taking photo shoots:

I loved this juxtaposition of a bride and suit of armor.

I'm astonished at how we're allowed to touch just about everything.  Perhaps they figure that the subtropical climate is much more of a threat to the centuries old structures than the oil of our fingers.

There were "crystal" chandeliers hanging in the trees; are they there all the time or just for the wedding that would take place?

The tour was worth it--just the right amount of time and information.

This nativity scene is apparently popular:  #4 on some worldwide list.

This room, the chapter room, has the best acoustics--in the original monastery, monks would gather to hear the abbot read to them.  My spouse went back after the tour and sang Dona Nobis Pacem, and it was the high point of our time there.

This labyrinth is one of the smaller ones I've seen.  Could we create something like it in our back yard?

It was the perfect kind of outing, something outside of what we usually experience, much more interactive than a movie, with physical activity and mental stimulation.  What a great way to spend part of our Saturday!

Cottage Conundrums

I have a small cottage in my backyard, which is a small backyard.  We think that the cottage was once a garage, but for years (decades?), it's been a cottage with a small kitchen, a medium-sized living room, and a bedroom with a closet and a bathroom.  The cottage is 440 square feet, small for a U.S. living space, but many people across the globe would find it spacious.

When we first moved in, we had a friend who needed a place to live, and we offered it to her.  For the most part, the arrangement worked well, and then she decided to move to Utah.

We haven't done much with the cottage since, although we've had ideas.  We could make a lot of money if we rented it short term, but we'd spend a lot of time getting it ready for each visit.  We could rent it to a long-term tenant.  We know people who wish they had office space, and it would make a nice office--which would probably result in less wear and tear on the space.  We've thought of moving the dining room suite out there and eating there during the few times a year we have people over; that scenario wouldn't preclude keeping it as space for overnight guests.

I am aware of the aching need for rentals for people with moderate income.  Those people often have whole families, and the space doesn't really work for more than 2 people.  I am also aware of how many immigrants would feel like they'd won the lottery if I made it possible for them to live there.

With the recent hurricane, I hesitate to rent it out again--especially to people who would have no other resources if a storm came and the cottage couldn't be fixed quickly, a scenario which is not only possible, but increasingly likely as sea levels rise.

Two weeks ago, I volunteered the cottage to house Luther Springs camp counselors who are coming down here to be in charge of our Vacation Bible School next week.  I needed motivation to do the hurricane clean up that was still to be done.  We discovered that the AC had stopped working at some point, and since it was just installed in March, we had the AC company back to fix it.  So far, so good.

As we've been working on getting the cottage ready for the camp counselors who will be arriving Sunday, we've also been talking about what to do with the cottage. We were talking about what it would take to get the cottage to anything rentable, particularly on a short term basis, like Air BnB. Rustic-cozy might not appeal to that crowd.

What do I mean by rustic-cozy? No TV. Perhaps no wi-fi. Concrete floors--but with a rug on the floors. Flowered curtains and quilts. A serviceable shower, but not a garden tub. A serviceable kitchen without a lot of work space.

Suddenly, I had a vision of a monastic retreat house, something for everyone who has ever yearned for Thomas Merton’s hermitage. Those are the type of people who might be reliably quiet.  They wouldn't complain about the lack of luxury.  

I have no idea how to find those people or if they’d be willing to go on that kind of retreat.

I also thought of offering optional retreat exercises, mostly along creative lines.  We could create a vision board.  We could make creations with beads that would help us pray.  Could the back parking pad be transformed into a labyrinth?  It's barely big enough for many vehicles--the thought of a labyrinth makes me smile.

So many possibilities, so hard to know what to do.  I will spend the week-end on the most immediate task:  finishing the cleaning, so that the cottage is ready for those counselors.

World Labyrinth Day 2018

Today is World Labyrinth Day--the 10th annual World Labyrinth Day.  This website encourages us to walk at 1:00 for world peace:  "walk as one at 1 p.m."  Even if we can't walk at 1 p.m. in our time zone, it will be 1:00 p.m. somewhere.

I plan to head over to the church near me that has a small labyrinth.  I've been meaning to walk it for years.  Today will be a good day to do that, to remember all the labyrinths I've walked.

I feel a small stab of sadness--once I yearned to have a labyrinth near me.  Now I do, and I don't walk it.

It's one of many spiritual practices I've moved away from--although I'm still happy to come across a labyrinth and walk it.  That's one of the benefits of a spiritual practice:  it's still there, waiting for us, a sign to point us back to what's essential.

I'm surprised by how often I've written about labyrinths, but I probably shouldn't be.  It's a practice that I've always loved, and that I've experienced in a multitude of ways and approaches.

Today, I give thanks for these labyrinths, in both likely and unlikely places.