As I set up my calendar for the month, I select a quote I’ve found that speaks to me. I write it in my planner and leave space below it to capture phrases I hear or read that speak to me and relate to the quote. I found this practice centers me throughout the month, and helps me be more present in my conversations, meetings, and readings. For October 2025, my quote was: “Be still… and practice.”  

October always marks my new year. Crisp air that reawakens my spirit. Color kissed leaves that make me pause in awe. Sweeping wind that moves me forward. Nature’s way of shifting me into a discerning state:  reflect on my year, check in with myself, and plant some intentional personal seeds to grow for the new year. I also try to connect more with those I love who feed my soul with goodness, curiosity, and joy. They are my fertilizer.

Here are the quotes, lyrics, and phrases that that caught the attention of my head and heart as I was still… and practiced being me:

• Love is the only revenge
• How do we live in such a way that the wonder of feeling out fuels the pain of breaking?
• Each of us a tiny well striving to find and ride the Universal current without perishing
• Notice. Breathe. Allow.
• The most profound thing you said this weekend was, “what is next?”
• How are we going to live a life we look forward to looking back at?
• Sprit lead me to where my trust has no borders
• To new beginnings and beyond
• All that you touch you change; All that you change changes you; The only lasting truth is change; God is change
• Discern what belongs in the present and what echoes from the past
• My actions are my only true belongings
• Jumping for joy is good exercise
• Ours is not the task of fixing the entire world, but of stretching out to mend the part of the world that is within our reach
• I’m grateful I get to know what it’s like to be in the circle of your shine
• Jump before you fall
• We’re better off for all that we let in
• You are that which you are seeking

Along with the weather change, nature was the backdrop to my month, especially farms. Every where I went, I felt grounded to the earth – as if my roots were soaking up nutrients for my soul.

Be Still… and Practice in Community

I pulled the quote for this month from the title of a weekend retreat I created and led for Westminster Presbyterian Church. Specifically, for its members who are more senior and also single. On a farm in western Maryland with an open vista and mountains in the distance we joined in community to “be still… and practice” with our minds, emotions, bodies, life, and faith. It truly was a gift to start my month with such wise, heart-open, playful people. In between neuroscience and neuroplasticity we breathed like lions, named our rocks, prayed in the dark, and sang in the silo. In the evening, I snuck out – as I’ve been apt to do at every church retreat since childhood – and laid on the grass under the glitter of a clear stary night. “Hey Dad…” my conversation began. This stillness brought connection, and also practice with grief – a lingering state of “and” that tethers love to loss.

Be Still… and Practice in Nature

Mid-way through October, mom and I went on a spontaneous adventure to North Carolina. We ate our way across the state visiting family and friends… and ran into trolls at Dix Park. We wandered through massive park and on wooded trails to meet these giant wooden friends. I felt a bit like I’d stepped into the book “Where the Wild Things Are.” (Mom’s favorite.) It was a delight – true childlike wonder – to run and play hide and seek with 20 foot tall wooden trolls… and then I laid in a hammock looking up at the sky-high pine trees. Their wisdom swayed around me as they danced with the wind.

After being grounded in the forest, mom and I took a higher perspective at the North Caroline State Fair. The serine evergreens replaced by more lights and sounds than we could consume. Total sensory overload as we took a birds-eye view on the Fair’s “sky high” gondola ride. On our way out of the Fair, we made a last stop in the “ag exhibit” – like a detox from all the afternoon’s sights and sounds. Inside we delighted in all the earth provides thanks to farmers’ expertise, persistence, and faith. A 2,300 pound pumpkin. Five rambunctious piglets with their worn-out mom. More than 20 kinds of sweet potatoes and nearly as many kinds of apples. Milk and beef cows. Roosters and hens. And the little royalty of it all, a queen bee with her hive.

Be Still… and Practice with Faith

On my birthday I once again found myself in the “and” of life with my little sister from college, at her family’s farm, following her mother’s death. “There is no way to count how many people my mom let live here with us over the years. Farm workers. Our extended family. Truck drivers. Orphaned children. So many.” “The farmhouse was home to everyone who walked in the door.” “Oh man, her biscuits were the best. She made a tray of ‘em each morning to feed everyone working here.” “She was like a mom to me.” “The orange room was mine room for several years… Hey! That was my room too!” Story after story family, friends, and neighbors smiled at they spoke broken hearted about Willie, a woman who mothered a community.

I stood in the kitchen, the heart of everyone’s memories, and listened to person after person spoke of her lived faith. I heard of the meals she made and the canned goods she shared. I heard of the acceptance she gave her son, grandson, and community as she worked to have a part of the AIDS quilt displayed in the county. I heard of the “least of these” she cared for inside her home for months and years at a time. At one point I looked out the kitchen window and saw the black angus cows gathered in a field close to the house. I wasn’t sure if they too had stories to share or simply wanted to gather close in community, feeling the farm’s loss. All that Willie harvested – people, animals, and plants – connected.

As I listened, I thought of dad and all the stories he heard as a Presbyterian pastor. While I think he had many talents, I think funerals were his greatest gift…weaving love and the gift of the resurrection into broken hearts. As I took notes and worked on a eulogy for the family, I felt him with me. A calm presence that helped me be fully in the moment so I could absorb and reflect back the grace, grit, compassion, and care that emanated from this faith-filled woman.

Be Still… and Practice with Life

Upon reflection, I realized it wasn’t the quote that matters, but rather each word…

Be.

Be in the moment. Be in the emotions. Be with life. Be with loss. Be with an open heart. Be with wonder. Be with laughter. Be with tears. Be with others. Be with yourself. Be a safe place. Be grateful.

Still.

Still sing when your heart breaks. Still play as an adult. Still star gaze. Still soak up a sunset. Still listen to the cows moos. Still dance with the fire ants. Still pray. Still hope. Still seek the trolls. Still ride the ride. Still pass on family traditions. Still welcome a stranger. Still hug everyone you love. Still bake the biscuits.

And.

And know you’re not alone. And that this too shall pass.

Practice.

Practice planting. Practice nourishing. Practice growing. Practice sharing. Practice being your better self in this moment, and the next, and the next, and the next.

As I set up my calendar for the month, I select a quote I’ve found that speaks to me. I write it in my planner and leave space below it to capture phrases I hear or read that speak to me and relate to the quote. I found this practice centers me throughout the month, and helps me be more present in my conversations, meetings, and readings. For June 2025, my quote was: “Let’s get lost in the backcountry of our souls.”  

I love a good plan… well, more specifically, I love a good “to do” list. They help me get the things done that matter to me. They give me a wonderful sense of control (which I know is false and fleeting). They give structure to my world that continually seems like it’s falling apart—or at best like an old car you hope will start when you get it first thing in the morning. It gives me direction when all too often I feel as thou I’m treading water in a vast ocean. They also give me normalcy, mundaneness which I especially welcomed after dad died. An anchoring, tangible item I can hold in my hand that brings me into the present moment when the swirl inside my head and heart blurs so much as the world spins.  

Here are the quotes, lyrics, and phrases that that caught the attention of my head and heart as I lived in the “backcountry of my soul”:

• The Universe only pretends to be made of matter, secretly it is made of love
• What is sometimes called “loss of focus” or “loss of motivation” is often accumulated fatigue
• Your calm matters more than your answers
• When you let go of trying to get more of what you don’t really need, it frees up oceans of energy to make a difference with what you have
• May your vibes shift the whole damn frequency of the room when you walk in
• Be brave enough to start at something new
• This single grain of cosmic sand contains infinite wonder
• These holes in our hearts are holy sites and we should treat them as such
• I wish you could see what I see; it’s all such joyful chaos
• Chasing the fringe of infinity
• I want to become a river; I want to flow into wonder
• Intermission is over
• Daydream with me a forest made of our prayers we thought were being unanswered—but were just growing roots

A few years ago, a sister-friend surprised me with a trip to one of her favorite cities, Boston. She planned it all out so I’d get to see all the tourist favorites like the “Make Way for Ducklings” statue, “one if by land and two if by sea” church, the Beacon Hill Bookstore with Paige the squirrel mascot, and one of our shared favorites, the Foo Fighters. This trip was both adventure and salve as it occurred a few months after I left mom’s and merged back into life following dad’s death.

We romped all over and I was grateful to be in a new place with no attached memories.

We followed my friend’s activity plan building memories as we walked, ate, laughed, photographed, and drank together with ease… until we missed the ferry and our plan disintegrated. What emerged from a missed checkmark on our itinerary was a phrase that opened up the rest of our weekend to the unknown and one I rely on to this day to help me navigate through, beyond, and in spite of my plan.

“It’s not the adventure we planned, but it’s the adventure we didn’t know we needed.”

I pass this phrase on in hopes that it gives you acceptance of the moment in you’re in and the freedom to forge ahead into the unknown with curiosity, passion, hope, and ease.     

This is, after all, your adventure. Make the most of it.  

As I set up my calendar for the month, I select a quote I’ve found that speaks to me. I write it in my planner and leave space below it to capture phrases I hear or read that speak to me and relate to the quote. I found this practice centers me throughout the month, and helps me be more present in my conversations, meetings, and readings. For December 2024, the quote that centered me was “go easy, my love – go easy.”

I found this quote in a poem by John Roedel, and knew it was the advice, reminder, and mantra I would need throughout December. Not just to balance against the added Christmas activities and expectations, but for more personal reasons. This would be my first Christmas without Dad, and the last of the “firsts.” This quote gave me permission to move with ease in the tender moments of the holiday season and be with my heart not my head of “must do’s.”

Here are quotes, lyrics, and phrases that that caught my attention during the month…

• Habits of the heart
• Claim time with the holy
• Prayer does not fit us for the greater work, prayer is the greater work
• Rest allows us to do what matters most
• Grief that remains with us until we pass is just unexpressed love because we never have enough time
• The glorious impossible
• God sadly has given you the experience to hold them through this painful time
• Welcome to the dream space
• We are divine
• Our spirit knows better
• There is space for the unknown
• The light resides inside the darkness
• You’re locating yourself
• Will you trust in your divinity enough?
• Reclaim rest as holy
• So, if you are too tired to speak, sit next to me for I, too, am fluent in silence
• When you can’t look at the bright side, I’ll sit with you in the dark
• Who are the sharpeners of your vision?
• You can just be

Go

The quote showed up differently for me throughout the month. It began more of a command, “go easy!” as I struggled to decorate—as each decoration put me in the setting of dad’s final days last year, and a time of year he cherished most. A complex contradiction of lights, smells, and embodied memories in every Christmas decoration. It morphed into permission to walk away from some traditions, “my love, go easy.” It was a balm when my emotions continued to bubble up – a reminder to be with them rather than push through them, “easy, my love.”

Easy

The quote also inspired me to step off the glittery holiday carousel and really sit with my shit. I didn’t want to wallow, but there was too much to feel. So, I listened. “Love, go.” And I went to my first “Longest Night” service at Westminster Presbyterian Church. Held on the Winter Solstice, the day with the most darkness, the contemplative candlelight service provided space to be in community as we each individually connected with our loss and acknowledged it. Scripture, meditation, and music. The simple service did not eliminate our pain or try to whitewash it away with good news. It simply gave space – acceptance – that hurt and hope, loss and love, were part of living with heart. That we see and feel the light because of the darkness that is there. Each one makes the other seen and felt.

The service closed with silence. Each person centered on their heart’s emotions. Then if compelled to, they rose to light a candle as they prayed silently for light in their – or their loved ones – darkness.

Each person invited to remain in the tiny white chapel as long as they needed, in the warm glow of the sacred light we generated in prayer. I was the last one there. Alone in the scared stillness, snot-nosed, and held by divine grace.

My love

The tears fell. Poured. In what was clearly a needed release. My unexpressed love and unprocessed loss bottled up, now fully released. “My love, go.”

Alone, I walked to the back of the chapel. There I found the brass plaque with Dad’s name and life dates on the columbarium wall. I laid my hand on it, spoke to him, and prayed for many in my life—those who buoyed me this past year and those who need support now too.

As I turned and stood in the doorway to the chapel, it was then that I noticed just how much light our individual prayers of comfort and hope generated.

Go easy.

My love.

Go easy.