that the whole earth is a sacrament-
a limitless possibility of encountering
God reaching toward us.
November 27, 2024
Image: Kathryn Yingst
November
gray and moody
with its dusty shadows
like a crypt
opening
At least
that is my sentiment
at 5:35
when I am mercilessly awakened
by the alarm
Morning is heavy
on my back
as it bends
beneath the weight
of dreams interrupted
What happens now?
And by that
I mean
to the beauty—
to the tendrils of grace
and the soft hues
of compassion
On the table
my Schlumbergera
stretches her fuchsia blooms
the ones that appear
precisely
when all else goes dormant
Her blatant tenderness
ever defiant
Kathryn Yingst
November 14, 2024
CHOOSE JOY
2024 has not been an easy year for me. Among other things I wound up in Northeast Rehab for 10 days after I fell in April. I was doing something stupid, but then isn’t that why most falls happen?
A month later I celebrated my 77th birthday, which also fell on Mother’s Day this year. I had high hopes that it would be the day I could celebrate a return to better health. While that may have been true it was also a day marred by a truly ridiculous argument between two of my children that left me in tears for much of the afternoon.
I could have found myself sinking into a depression. Instead, about 10 days later I woke up truly happy for the first time in months and with the words choose joy my awakening thought. In choosing joy, I was able to reach my goal of going to Denmark in September to visit “My Danes.”
Once home, I was inspired by a beloved cousin and a friend to do something I’ve never done before: volunteer to work on a presidential campaign. My contribution was small, but it filled me with hope and joy. Today, I am still choosing joy.
But mostly I am choosing to remember words Father Ryan said at the very end of his sermon last week, Nov 3rd . It went something like this: “Trust that next Sunday we will be here as a community.”
Not just a congregation, but a community. And that’s a really good reason to choose joy.
Barbara Kautz
Nov 7, 2024
October 17, 2024
Images: Melanie Kyer
The Long Goodbye
My mother has Alzheimer’s disease. Actually, we aren’t completely sure that it is Alzheimer’s, although her doctor has said that’s the most likely culprit for her memory loss, but I just hate the word dementia. I don’t want to think of my mother as “demented”– it is so much easier to just blame “a disease.”
What it comes down to, however, is that I lost part of my mother a long time ago. She is still in there, she still says she loves me, and she still has that beautiful smile, but the part I can ask for advice, share accomplishments with and reminisce with about childhood memories is gone. It’s not fair, and it sometimes makes me angry. I’m angry at our healthcare system, and at a God who would make the last years of life for such a wonderful woman so needlessly hollow.
As is my way, however, I do try to find the bright sides: we have her living closer to us so I spend a lot more time with her. When she was in a less restrictive facility, I would spend time almost every week playing the piano for residents and enjoy seeing how proud she was of me. At her facility now, I play the ukulele and sing hymns and songs for her when I visit. She is less and less aware, but I know part of her hears me.
Music does that.
I’m also taking the time to go through old photos and scan them for the family. I show her the highlights. Some she recognizes, like the time I showed her a photo of my dad and she smiled and said “I like that guy.” They remind me of all the wonderful things she did – not only raising great children, but traveling around the world, making dozens of pies for suppers at her church, knitting us mittens every year, and organizing choral concerts at the town museum.
She may not remember, but I can remember for both of us.
It can be hard to find God in this long goodbye, but the word “goodbye” itself actually means “God be with you.” Every time I pray with my mom, I ask God to be with us both. And I know that prayer is answered.
Melanie Kyer
October 10, 2024
“For the beauty and wonder of your creation, in earth, sky and sea,
Over the past several weeks, the Reflections group asked us to reflect on the blessings of summer and send in pictures that show what in creation has brought us joy this summer.
We are happy to share the results!
The photographers are:
Jane Goldstein & her grandchildren, Jeff Hart, Karen Cashen,
Rev. Judith Turberg, Joyce Parent, Melanie Kyer, Barbara Ryther
September 19, 2024
Image: Barbara Ryther
Thoughts from the beach: Invisible Lives
I’m always fascinated by the sand trails left by unseen birds and sea creatures at the beach. Some I can recognize – the straight, assured webbed footprints of seagulls, the tiny, winding trail created by a quick stepping sandpiper.
Others are a mystery to me. A serpentine line that disappears without warning – some unidentified mollusk that has now retreated deep in the sand or back into the ocean? An indentation left by a strand of seaweed that briefly rested there before continuing on its travels?
It is easy to think, as I stride confidently along the sand, that I am the alpha mammal here. My footprints dwarf these marks so of course I must be the most important thing here. Besides, I can’t see these creatures, so how can they matter to me? How easy it is to dismiss what we can’t see, to ignore it, or worse to abuse it.
To see lives that are in the shadows, or simply out of sight, is something we are constantly called to do by Christ. To give them value. To share the world with them. To care with them and for them. To understand that lives that may be invisible to us – or that we choose not to see – are seen by God as clearly as we are.
Barbara Ryther
September 5, 2024
2024
It feels like forever
we’ve been caught
in this political strife
this American life
cutting words
cutting friendships
sacrificing ourselves
so we don’t lose family
losing family
so we don’t bury ourselves.
There is no winning.
It’s a game of numbers
taking hits
exponentially
trying not to let sentimentality
take us out
because things are not the same
anymore
we are not who we once were
before
everything became a culture war.
People say they have the answers
but are there answers
to an equation without equality?
The numbers don’t add up.
Up is down
and down is up—
Has the stock market become our pulse?
Words have just become words
and we fight the urge
to look one another in the eye
because what if the truth
is more than we can bear?
What if we have to say goodbye?
We make the plays
and count the goals
so we’re not counted out
but it feels like
trying to breathe
air that’s too thick
wondering who has our back
looking for fresh teammates
and knowing
none of this is a game.
Kathryn Yingst
08.01.24
August 20, 2024
Image: Nina Bisognani
Peace in a time of chaos
The dog days of summer are here, sultry and sticky. By ten AM there
is no parking at the beach. On dangerously hot afternoons, we keep our children and pets inside.
Outside, the humidity is exhausting our bodies and stifling our minds. Inside, our frustrations mount as we watch more TV and listen to disparaging comments about frightening events in our chaotic world.
That we are linked to the rhythms of the earth is a saving grace for our summer survival. When the sun goes down, the earth cools, making it more comfortable to spend time outside.
Birds who are active during the day pay a final visit to the feeder before nestling in tree branches and other safe places for the night. Weather permitting, we go for walks, weed our gardens, play ball, sit on porches, or simply enjoy watching the deepening sky.
The time has come when our minds can begin to heal overnight from the wounds of the day. With God’s help, this is a time when we can find peace in a world of chaos.
At four A.M. on a lake in upstate Maine, the air is perfectly still. The water is as smooth as glass. My mind is finally at ease. I thank God for that quiet time when I am alone with the earth at rest.
Nina Bisognani
August 8, 2024
Image: Melanie Kyer
“For the beauty and wonder of your creation, in earth, sky and sea,
We thank you Lord.”
(From the Book of Common Prayer)
As we reflect on the blessings of summer, we’d like to invite anyone who reads our Meditations page to send us pictures that show what in creation has brought you joy this summer. At a later date we will combine as many as we can in a collage to share here.
Please send your photos (as attachments to the email rather than embedded in the body — JPG or PDF preferred) to office@stgeorgesyorkharbor.org before the end of August!
Barbara Ryther
June 27, 2024
To-Do ListSummer 2024 To-Do List
Organize the fridge and closets:
Donate, simplify.
But don’t forget to throw out grudges, prejudice and hate.
Plant seeds and tend the garden:
Water, watch it grow.
But don’t forget to tend relationships: a friend needs you.
Learn something new and practice!
Music, language or a skill:
But don’t forget to practice mercy and forgiveness.
Get out and move, be active!
Stretch when you would rather sleep.
But don’t forget that sleep’s important, too.
Overcome a fear, have faith:
Find strength in God!
But don’t forget to let God challenge you
with your next fear.
Melanie Kyer
June 2024
June 13, 2024
Image: Melanie Kyer
Vespers
Evening light washes the glare from the day
As the sharp edge between air and substance fades
And shadows roll in as silently as the tide.
The last ray of sun to clear the trees
Ripples with the current of the river
Until they are both stilled.
Rustling leaves hush to a gentle whisper
Becoming a soft, murmuring background
To a cardinal’s soaring song of praise.
The cooling air sends warm columns aloft
The scent of flowers rising with them
Like a fragrant offering.
The sun sets
And another day sighs deeply
As it gives way to another night.
Barbara Ryther
May 30, 2024
Image: Melanie Kyer
Everyday Hope
What does it mean to have hope? Is it good or is it bad? Do I hope to win Powerball? And what if I do? What would I do with 10, 20, 50 million dollars? It won’t happen because I rarely buy tickets! What if my hope hurts someone else? I hope my political candidate wins and not the other guy, from school committee to President. Surely someone will be hurt. But when and how?
I’ve been thinking a lot about hope lately because my life seems to have been filled with all sorts of impediments to what I thought this year would bring me. The catalog includes pinching a nerve in my back, getting shingles on the pinched nerve, which in turn weakened my left leg, which caused me to cancel trips to Florida, a writers’ workshop at Acadia National Park, singing in Salzburg, Austria, and Atlanta.
I prayed for a way to strengthen my leg and I got it: I fell and cracked a bone in my pelvis, which in turn led me to spend 10 days in a rehab hospital. Now a rehab hospital has to insist you get three hours of rehabilitation a day, or they can’t keep you! So, I came home just in time to see my granddaughter in her prom gown, and discover that both my legs were stronger than when I went into the hospital.
Now I am not foolish enough to believe that God led me to fall to remind me I really wasn’t getting enough exercise to increase my leg strength or offer me a new pathway toward hope. And yet, the first time I could lift my shingled leg one inch off the floor from a seated marching position I felt hopeful. I wrote my beloved sister/friend in Denmark to tell her I was able to walk about 150 feet from one end of the back of our house to the other day on a disgustingly rainy day. She wrote back, “I am not impressed with how far you can walk.” My reply was, “Be impressed. The first day of rehab I walked 10 feet.”
I started thinking of other signs of hope around me, simple things. My daughters preparing brunch for Mother’s Day, because they had complete hope I would still be alive to eat it. Hearing lawnmowers in neighbors’ yards because they have hope the grass will continue to grow and need to be cut again. The sound of a Life Flight helicopter overhead because the people at York Hospital’s Emergency Department have hope their desperately ill patient will survive a trip to Maine Medical Center.
In his new book Doom published May 14th pastor and activist Brian McLaren writes that hope is nothing unless it is accompanied by action, by the work necessary to accomplish one’s goal. I think gardeners have that one figured out. They plant seeds with the certainty they will have a bumper crop of zucchini. I’m still working on it. So, if you happen to drive down my street some sunny morning around 11 AM you might see me pushing a red rollator toward Route 1.
Barbara Kautz
May 2024
May 16, 2024
Image: Barbara Ryther
Point of View
To a photographer ‘point of view’ can be a simple concept – it literally means the point from which you are viewing whatever you’re photographing.
It’s frequently tempting to go with the first point of view you stumble upon. After all, something about the view made you stop and consider taking a picture. But experience eventually teaches you that by looking at the view from other points you may in fact get a better picture.
A lot can be seen about even the simplest photographic subject simply by walking all the way around it. Maybe the sun hits it at a different angle, or the background changes, or more details are revealed. The delicate veins of dogwood blossoms may come into view, for example, or the architecture of the tree branch.
Not all points of view will be equally photographic, or will resonate with you, or will serve the subject well, but you’ll never know unless you try.
Here endeth the photography lesson.
Try it the next time you take a picture. Or in any other activity of your life.
Barbara Ryther
May 2, 2024
Photo by: Kathryn Yingst
CAROLINA WREN
I have a confession to make: I still have a Christmas wreath on my front door.
Historically, I have been known to stretch the utility of our balsam door dressing well into February. But it is April, and we are well past any pretense of thrift or even quirkiness. The once gleaming evergreen boughs are now brittle and bereft of all former splendor.
And yet the wreath remains.
At this point, it HAS to stay…at least for a few more weeks. There is a small, carefully thatched haven in its bosom. Someone has carried twigs and twine and soft wild fur and after much gathering, woven it all into a circular cradle. Its shape is deep and secure, imbued with whispered breath.
The nest holds four tiny, speckled eggs. These belong to a smidge of a bird, her ochre feathers drape as a downy cape over her tangerine tinged body. She is round and bright: a miniature tufted sun.
Her voice is a song.
I wonder what that would be like. To speak only in beauty.
I am quiet in her presence.
She tells the story of something sacred.
I don’t want to miss a word.
Kathryn Yingst
04.15.24
MARCH 21, 2024
Image: Nina Bisognani
Reconciliation
Forgiveness is a process. It began for me one year during Lent. I was reminded of the broken relationship between my older sister and me. When we were children, I thought she was a bad seed. She called me a spoiled brat. Sometimes we exchanged hurtful words and actions. There were feelings of anger, resentment, and jealousy
between us. As time passed, we dealt with our differences by avoiding each other.
One Sunday, I noticed her at church, sitting across the isle from me. Though usually well dressed, she looked disheveled. Her hair was not combed and her once favorite sweater was covered with pills. Through God’s grace, I felt her sorrow. When time came for sharing the PEACE, I crossed the aisle and gave her a hug. She was surprised; uncomfortable at first, but agreed to sit with me for the rest of the service. At the time, this was a tiny step forward -the beginning of reconciliation.
We began to telephone each other. She forgave me for eating peanuts she said our
mother had given her. I forgave her for being mean to me. With God’s help, we took
small steps toward restoring our relationship. It was a two-person process.
Two years later, she was diagnosed with lung cancer. I helped her through that
difficult time. We sometimes joked about old memories. She shared food with me
and allowed me to comb her hair. I knew she was going through hellish times, but at least we were together. God was with us throughout the journey.
My last words to her were, “I love you.” She replied, “I love you too, a lot!” We were sisters again, with full hearts. She remains in my prayers.
Nina Bisognani
February 22, 2024
Image: Barbara Ryther
Trees in Winter
Sometimes I imagine that God sees us as we see trees in winter.
Not through the filter of soft leaves
Or in the warm summer sunshine
But branches, trunk and roots laid bare in the harsh light.
In winter you can truly see a tree’s foundation
As well as its reach.
How strongly does it stand?
How free are its branches?
Scars visible on the trunk
Storm damage revealed in broken branches
A twisted shape evidence of having to reach too far for the sun.
Roots destabilized by the repeated trauma of floods.
Perhaps God is not judging us in the winter light
But instead finding where we can be made more whole
Where we need stronger roots or more reach
Retrained to grow toward the light.
Maybe Lent is a good time to
stand before God and lay ourselves bare.
Acknowledge both where we have grown
And where we need the creator’s touch.
Barbara Ryther
February 22, 2024
February 8, 2024
WELCOMED HOME
For the first time in over a year I worshiped in person at St George’s on Sunday October 15th. My reasons for becoming a “St G’s YouTuber” were legitimate. At first it was the need to protect our immune compromised daughter from potential exposure to Covid. Since August of last year, it’s been a nasty case of Long Covid I developed after a very mild case of the illness itself.
I know I am lucky. I have had no lingering respiratory or cardiac problems that plague so many people with Long Covid. Rather, my constant companion has been exhaustion. I could go to bed at 8 PM, sleep until 10 AM, nap at 3 PM, then hit the repeat button. Day after day after day.
When I hit the one-year mark, blood work showed I had developed good ole fashioned iron deficiency anemia, the kind that required intravenous iron infusions to fix. Three weeks after I had the final infusion, something amazing happened: I woke up without an alarm clock at 7:30 AM. I usually roll over to catch a few more Zzzs, knowing if I do, Jim will have my coffee ready for me when I get up. I still tire easily and my lifelong battle with insomnia has returned, nevertheless I am thrilled.
During my absence I never felt disconnected from St George’s. Father Ryan called to check on me frequently and I had our Reflection group meetings to go to on Zoom. Nancy Davison dragged me to Norma’s Restaurant every couple of weeks, and when I could break away from family dinners that included my grandson, I joined the Wednesday evening knitting group.
Most important was the church’s continued broadcasting of services on YouTube. It is a life saver. A blessing. With headphones on, I can hear every word of every sermon clearly, leading me to ponder Father Ryan’s message more than I might if I were sitting in church. And I can listen to it again.
In fact, I got so interested in the Easter 2022 Sermon, I found myself researching the artwork of Sir Stanley Spencer and his paintings of the resurrection of the villagers of Cookham, England.
But there are things YouTube cannot replace: singing hymns– and with the choir, greeting people during the Peace, and most importantly, taking communion.
Feeling healthier was cause for a celebration. And I knew exactly where! St George’s.
When I first wrote this I had hope for the best, but it was not to be. I reinjured an old back injury while visiting my sister’s in VA on Nov 2. Now at the end of January I am finally able to return to church–partly because July Littlefield convinced me it was no big deal to show up with a walker. I wanted to be there the Sunday after Mike Cocco died to mourn with my choir friends and to be with Sally. Nancy Devour kindly took my hand so I didn’t need the walker to take communion. I still can’t promise perfect attendance, but I still felt as I did in October–that St George’s is a family. My family.
I knew I was home. Back where I belong.
Barbara Kautz
01/18/2024
PS. I will be forever grateful to Father Ryan, Harry Mussman, Bill Yorston, and Melanie Kyer and the rest of the team of techno-experts who make YouTube work every Sunday.
January 25, 2024
Image: Kathryn Yingst
The Practice of Gratitude
Years back, a friend of mine shared that she was keeping a daily gratitude journal. Each evening, she would write down two or three things that she felt thankful for. At the time, what struck me most was that my friend had just lost her young husband, having become a widow and single mom to two small children. I wondered, what could she be writing? How could she possibly feel grateful during such a heartbreaking time in her life?
Over the past few weeks, I’ve thought of my friend and her journal. We’ve seen news reports of the cruel atrocity in Israel and ensuing destruction in Gaza. Closer to home, our hearts have gone out to Lewiston, Maine as they became the latest U.S. city to be touched by the tragedy of gun violence. Perhaps in our own homes, we might be experiencing new or ongoing challenges. How–when life feels especially heavy–do we find gratitude?
I believe it is a practice.
My friend’s first few days of gratitude journaling were likely written with considerable effort. Maybe those first entries even felt a bit mechanical as she tried to think of what she felt thankful for. But she kept writing. Every day, she practiced–finding stillness within herself–and she observed what she found.
With practice we, too, become mindful of the gifts within and around us. Gratitude journaling is one way to practice. Other practices might include meditation, nature walks, or creative arts. Or simply to try to be completely present as we go about our day, noticing: the aroma of dinner simmering, the smile of our partner or friend, the cozy warmth of a scarf on a blustery day…
Through practice we become aware of the sacred within ourselves, in our connections to one another, and in the world around us. It is to this well of gratitude we can return, again and again.
Kathryn Yingst
January 11, 2024
Image: Melanie Kyer
Glitter through the Hourglass
When I was growing up, my mom watched the soap opera ,”Days of our Lives,” which began each episode with the voiceover “Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives.” At the start of a new year, sometimes it seems like life is slipping through our fingers. We didn’t get to everything on our bucket list, we didn’t finish that book, that salad we bought with good intentions is already wilting in the crisper…
On Dec. 31st, Bishop Brown spoke in his sermon of a different tiny particle– glitter– which, like sand, does seem to get everywhere. He quoted his mentor, who said that “Our dust–our humanity– is shot through with hints of glory.” In other words, in all that sand passing through the hourglass, there are also bits of sacred glitter.
A couple months ago, my Facebook page was suspended because of some kind of hack and I can’t seem to get customer service to help. For all its flaws, social media is an important way for me to keep in contact with many friends and family. I love seeing their photos and getting that little “serotonin boost” when they like mine. I’ve been grieving the lack of social connection with friends far and near. I decided to send “real” Christmas cards this year as a way to re-establish contact, and at first it seemed like this was only highlighting my disconnectedness. I searched in vain for my old tattered address book, poring through boxes and saved computer files, ultimately realizing even the addresses I could locate were often out of date. Since my mother has Alzheimer’s, I could no longer ask her for addresses, either. I felt lost.
Thankfully, Google searches, email and some legwork helped me to recreate an address list. I wrote a “Christmas letter” and looked back at the joys of the past year. I spent a quiet evening with my fountain pen writing out addresses and remembering how important all these friends and relatives are to me. Even as I realized I wouldn’t be sending a card to a dear friend and a cousin, both of whom died in the past year, I gave thanks for the joy they brought. There is so much that glitters in my life.
Through Epiphany we’ll look at the “wondrous star” and hear how those who walked in darkness have seen a “great light” – but I’m thankful to Bishop Brown this week for helping me look at the tiny light of glitter. I hope as the sand passes through your hourglass you will find some glitter, too. It is everywhere.
Melanie Kyer
December 28, 2023
Image: Nina Bisgnani
18th C. Nativity, Camel Mission, CA
In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.” When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, “In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet:`And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.'”
Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.” When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.
Matthew 2:1-12
December 14, 2023
Image: Barbara Ryther
“Peace”
Such an easy word to say.
A soft exhalation through briefly closed lips, then a gentle hush.
Saying it is the easy part. Finding it is harder.
What does it look like to you?
A dove, a crane, a thousand cranes?
A candle in an Advent wreath?
A moment of calm on a noisy day?
The release of troubled thoughts?
The easing of unrelenting pain or grief?
A day without gunshots?
A week without bombings?
Is peace something we hope for? Work for? Search for?
In the midst of searching for human peace, how do we approach the peace of God?
When we ‘pass the peace’ in Sunday morning worship, what do we receive from each other? What do we give? What flows through us? How do we, as individuals and a church, try to grasp the unfathomable peace of God?
Phillipians 4:6-7 says:
6 Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. 7 And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
To transcend is to be greater in scope. God’s peace is greater than whatever troubles our lives, our communities, our world.
God’s peace to you. Whether or not we can ever understand it, accept it. Let it guard your hearts and minds.
-Barbara Ryther
November 30, 2023
Image: Nina Bisognani
Random Thoughts
It is almost dark. I am sitting in front of the firepit on our patio while my husband is in the kitchen cooking asparagus to go with our dinner. The air is full of ocean sounds; reminders that we are only across the street. The slow and steady pull of the sea is calming, eternal.
In the background, a bell buoy clangs its warnings near the Cape Neddick River. I am in a special place, a special moment. The sky is beginning to darken; an end of day time some people call the gloaming.” The short stretch of forest behind our back yard is changing color in
the dimming light. Pine trees are nearly black now. And the bell buoy continues to ring in the distance.
I want to stay here as nature puts herself to sleep while I listen to the crackle of firewood burning. I am immersed in the world around me. The heat is soothing to my bones. The flames have their own stories to tell, but it is getting late and I must go.
Nina Bisognani
November 16, 2023
Image: Laura Sunderland
Everyday Saints
It’s “saints” season, and one of the hymns I’ve always liked, even though it’s a bit sing-song and trite is “I sing a song of the saints of God” (Episcopal hymnal #193). Maybe you know it– my favorite part is the last verse, which starts like this:
They lived not only in ages past;
there are hundreds of thousands still;
the world is bright with the joyous saints
who love to do Jesus’ will.
It gives me hope to think about the thousands of positive forces in the world, helping us when we need it most.
Saints really are everywhere, if you look for them. For the past two weeks I have been extremely busy and stressed as I organized the visit of twenty students and their teachers as part of our exchange with a school in Germany. It has been wonderful, but my mental tank was getting depleted. And in stepped the saints (or angels, as I like to think of them):
Angel #1: Grecia. The two teachers were staying with me and while I had some lovely evening meals prepared, I was daunted by figuring out what to pack for their lunches as I usually eat frozen dinners or leftovers. Enter my colleague Grecia, who offered to bring lunches for them and even invited them over to experience trick or treating with her family, giving me an evening off.
Angel #2: Rebecca. After church last Sunday, I bit into one of Betsy’s lovely chocolate chip cookies and a crown fell off one of my teeth. The best dentist appointment I could get was an hour before the farewell potluck. I messaged the parents and lovely Rebecca took over, picking up tablecloths, making 12 gorgeous flower centerpieces, and setting up all the tables for a great send-off.
Angel #3: Laura. While chaperoning a school dance last week, I lamented to an art teacher colleague that I still hadn’t made Max an appointment for his senior pictures. It just didn’t seem that important, since I have taken lots of great photos of the kids and professional photos can be quite expensive. This week she messaged me and offered to come by Friday and take photos of Max (and Chewie!). I was still feeling worn out since the Germans had only left that morning, but it turned out to be the perfect blessing to walk in the woods behind our house and see my far-too-grown-up son smiling in the fall sun.
As we remember the tragedies in Lewiston, Israel, Gaza, Ukraine and other places, it always helps to look for the saints at work. There’s a lot of darkness in the world, but there’s a lot of light, too.
That hymn ends “For the saints of God are just folk like me, and I mean to be one, too.” I’ve had a lot of thanks for the hard work I put in to help our exchange be successful, but I couldn’t have done it without the blessings of these saints. May we all appreciate the saints in our lives and look for opportunities to be saints to others.
Melanie Kyer
October 19, 2023
Image: Nina Bisognani
Psalm 46
God is our refuge and strength, *
a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth be moved, *
and though the mountains be toppled into the depths of the sea;
Though its waters rage and foam, *
and though the mountains tremble at its tumult.
The God of hosts is with us; *
the God of Jacob is our stronghold.
There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, *
the holy habitation of the Most High.
God is in the midst of the city;
it shall not be overthrown; *
God shall help it at the break of day.
The nations make much ado, and the realms are shaken; *
God has spoken, and the earth shall melt away.
The God of hosts is with us; *
the God of Jacob is our stronghold.
Come now and look upon the works of the Most High, *
who does awesome things on earth.
It is God who makes war to cease in all the world, *
who breaks the bow, and shatters the spear,
and burns the shields with fire.
“Be still, then, and know that I am God; *
I will be exalted among the nations;
I will be exalted in the earth.”
The God of hosts is with us; *
the God of Jacob is our stronghold.
October 5, 2023
Image: Nina Bisognani
A Family Tradition
The air is crisp. Red and yellow hues begin to wash over leafy green trees in our yards. We decorate our doorsteps with colorful pumpkins and chrysanthemums that echo the changes we see in nature.
Memories of cookouts and salad days are replaced by thoughts of simmering soups, root vegetables, and full, warm tummies. At our house, the time to get together for an annual family tradition of making homemade gnocchi for the coming holidays has arrived.
Making gnocchi is fairly simple, but it takes the good part of an afternoon with people working together toward a single goal. The final outcome is a delicious dish we all look forward to sharing every year.
Our family recipe was brought over from Italy three generations ago.
We use basic ingredients: four large russet potatoes, 3-4 eggs, 2 tbsp butter, a pinch of salt and 1 cup of flour for each potato. We cook the potatoes with skins on, peel them while hot and mash them until smooth. Then we make a well in the center of the potatoes, add the remaining ingredients and mix by hand as our ancestors did. No food
processors here.
We knead the dough on an old floured board and cut it into 3 or 4 pieces with a kitchen knife that belonged to my husband’s grandmother. By the time we are finished we are covered in flour. Our granddaughter loves rolling the dough into snake-like strips, as we all cut them in one-inch pieces and indent them with our fingers to hold our favorite homemade sauce. It is messy and fun. Finally we cook the gnocchi in water until they float. They freeze very well.
Voila! A delicious meal made by many hands together and happy memories to carry with us over the cold months ahead.
Story & Photo by Nina Bisognani