My Friend

My friend, who is my age, has wanted to be a priest since she was a little girl. All through her life God kept nudging her towards the priesthood. He even talked the Episcopal church into ordaining women to help her out! Like the rest of us, she always had reasons that it couldn't be God whose plan this was. After all, seminary would be too hard, too expensive, too time-consuming. She was a wife....a mom...not a student. And most recently came the biggest excuse of all..."I'm too old." I was with her at a retreat the weekend that God not only nudged her, but poked her hard in the ribs and slapped her up side of her head. "Yes!" I said, "you should go for it." And she did  She started the process and is now in seminary. She's going to be a marvelous priest! She's smart, loving, open and compassionate. She's deeply spiritual and fiercely committed to living a life in Christ. I'm very proud of her. Here's my question, though. Why is so easy to see God's plan for other peoples' lives, yet so hard to discern His will for mine? Anyone have an answer?

Always We Begin Again...

God nudged me twice this morning! Over coffee, Laury asked me whether I was still posting here at Dona Nobis Pacem. Well...not in several months, I admitted. Then later this morning, I opened an email from a reader in Nova Scotia who just discovered my blog, Melanged Magic. She clicked over to Dona Nobis Pacem as well and in her email provided me with some information about Anglican worship here in the Lot. (She and her husband have purchased a retirement home not far from me after some years of vacationing in the area). Although I've been thinking since I returned here to France that the time was right to revive the blog, I just haven't motivated myself to do so.  Okay, God, I get it. Since Lent is just around the corner, it is, indeed, the appropriate time for a bit of discipline. As St. Benedict says in his Rule..."always we begin again." So, I will. It's nice to know that even saints have to be reminded of that.

My Ministry

I was startled when Mary spoke to me about this blog, Dona Nobis Pacem, and referred to it as 'my ministry.' I mumbled something about 'it's just some thoughts I have about things on my mind,' letting my voice trail off into that no-man's land of 'let's not talk about this...it makes me uncomfortable.' We didn't discuss it any further, but I've been thinking about it ever since. Do I have a 'ministry?' It's kind of like asking 'am I a Christian?' I don't have a good answer for either. Saying yes to either question would take 'way more self-confidence than I have right now. I used to refer to myself as a 'baby Christian,' one just learning, in Christian infancy. I'm much too old to be a baby anything, so I gave up that terminology. I'm still learning and exploring though, and I know I've found where I need to be in the Episcopal Church. So what about this ministry issue? It sounds a bit pretentious, doesn't it? After all, who am I to minister? I'm a seeker, a learner, a sponge for knowledge, not someone who has answers for others. I'm currently reading a newly-published book called "Your Faith Your Life: An Invitation to the Episcopal Church." As I was reading the chapter on identifying what God is calling me to do, I came across this startling sentence: "The Episcopal Church recognizes all baptized people as ministers of God's kingdom...everyone who's been baptized shares a common ministry: representing Christ and his church." It goes on to say that 99% of God's people are called to this important lay ministry. So maybe sharing my thoughts, my questions and my uncertainties is a form of ministry. I bring God to your attention when you read this blog; maybe that's exactly what He wants for both of us today.

Celtic Worship

Last Sunday evening Edith and I attended a Celtic worship service at her church, St. James. It was a small group, maybe 30-40 people, who gathered in this 1905 church built of beautiful creamy stone. The dark wood pews, paneling and arched beams set off the jewel-like stained glass windows of the Anglican-style church. It felt so peaceful and refreshing to listen to the harp play soft Celtic melodies. The liturgy was traditional Episcopalian, but the prayers were Celtic, much like this one:

MY SOUL'S HEALER
My soul's Healer,
Keep me at even,
Keep me at morning,
Keep me at noon,
On rough course faring,
Help and safeguard
My means this night.
I am tired, astray, and stumbling,
Shield me from snare and sin.

It was a lovely close to a wonderful weekend.

How I Got From There to Here

Last Christmas I was talking with a friend about my need to read something light. I had just finished reading "The Innocent Man" by John Grisham, and although it was a really good book, it was also very tense and dark. She suggested that I try Jan Karon's "Mitford" books...so I did. And was immediately hooked! I read them all. One thing in every book that delighted me was Father Timothy's ability to pray so beautifully and eloquently. Maybe it was something about being Episcopalian??? I've shared that I've been on a spiritual search, and this seemed like a 'sign.' I Googled Episcopal churches in the central Iowa region and found 3 or 4 listed. But the one that caught my eye was St. Timothy's Episcopal Church in West Des Moines. The name plus the fact that they had 3 services spanning Saturday and Sunday appealed to me. I love having a choice. I made my first visit in March and have attended regularly since. I knew very little about Episcopalians before this year, but I can tell you that even though I've been a member of both Methodist and Presbyterian churches, this church feels like home. It totally makes sense to me. I love the traditions and liturgy; the people of the church community are geniunely friendly and hospitable; the church does good stuff in the community. It feels like home enough that I will be received by the Bishop into the church on Dec. 7th. Who knew a novel recommended by a friend would lead me to from 'there to here?'