Autumn is that one-fourth of the year that often gives us all four seasons. September may feel like summer’s heat and humidity, October has the crispness we often think of when we think about autumn, November has spring-like rain, and December ushers in winter snow. Living in Ohio, I experience the changing seasons without having to wait for the next solstice or equinox.

Wayne Muller wrote: “Be content with what you have; rejoice in the way things are. When you realize there is nothing lacking, the whole world belongs to you.” Do you find yourself thinking “I wish I had”? How do you finish that thought? What word fills in the blank? More time? More money? More leisure? More friends? If you suddenly obtain whatever is lacking and wish you had, will that make your life better? Perhaps. But then you may discover that having more actually requires more things on your list of needs. So maybe the secret is to be content with what we have.

How often has the grain of sand in the oyster created a beautiful pearl? How much hope do pearl divers have that “this will be the one”? Little things comprise our day, and we may wonder “Will this little action be the one?” The one that will open a comatose person’s eyes? The one that will unlock a child’s brain to understand 3 x 4 = 12? The ticket that will win the lottery? The lawn mowing that will be the last of the season? The recipe that won’t fail? The point of view that will finally be understood? So much of life is reaching out to the finish line that may never be crossed. Yet we put forth our energy.  Hope is our incentive, our reason to try. Hope is the grain of sand that creates the potential and possibility for miracles.

While young athletes compete in a race, the mothers cheer them on.  “Keep going! Keep going!” When Jesus was carrying his cross, his mother was along the route, carrying her own cross of maternal sorrow. Like any mother, she would have wished the pain for herself rather than upon her son. When Jesus and his mother met on that excruciating journey to Calvary, did Mary bravely advise “Keep going, son”?

The photo framed in silver adds sparkle to the sparkling personality of my sister Sue who died a dozen weeks ago. Her bright eyes look directly at me, showing eagerness to chat or share a joke or give a compliment, so natural to her who invariably put the other person first. If a photo says a thousand words, my sister’s photo is that of a thousand deeds of kindness, generosity, going beyond the required. Every little glance or long, loving look at the photo elicits my gratitude to her. She was my sister, always there for me, always cheering me on, always making it known to me that I was better than I thought. While most photos elicit memories, this photo encourages me to look to the future. “Get going. You can accomplish more. I know your gifts. Use them. I’m behind you all the way.” Let’s look together to the future, my sister, my friend. Keep leading the way.

We are in the third year of a three-year Eucharistic Revival. Perhaps we haven’t attended any of the events, so what can we do to revive ourselves? As a musician who typically sits on the piano bench during Mass with my attention on sharps and flats, I need to enliven my devotion at Mass. Reading books, magazines, and even my old notes from liturgy classes at the University of Notre Dame is revving my spirit.

I recommend Praying the Scriptures by Demetrius Dumm who writes exquisitely about Eucharistic events in the New Testament. The author claims that “At the Last Supper Jesus summed up all his teaching and the meaning of his life as “Body-broken-for-them” and “Blood-poured-out-for-them.”  I think of those words at the time of consecration and again when receiving Holy Communion. I pray that I also may be body-broken and blood-poured.  But how will that happen in my ordinary day? The author writes “We commit ourselves to a life that is also ‘body-broken’ and ‘blood-poured out’ for others.” In other words, we aim for unselfish love in a life lived for others.

It’s sitting hours in a hospital room. It’s volunteering for a job no one else wants. It’s taking the last place or leaving the last piece. It’s not keeping track of whose turn. It’s thinking globally when buying groceries. It’s appreciating employees and noticing the little guy. Nothing major, I know. But it’s pouring ourselves out to become the Body of Christ.

In our early formation years we young sisters questioned many things—“Why are we….?” The typical answer said with a grin was “It’s customary.”  One beautiful custom is writing notes of appreciation and congratulations to sisters at the time of their jubilees of religious profession. Why?  “It’s customary.” Another beautiful custom is putting all the jubilee cards into a gift bag. Then the jubilarian may decide to pull out one a day. (This could take months.) Whosever card is drawn is given the gift of prayer and thoughts that day—often accompanied by a text message. Today I received such a message from Sister Pat in Rome. Be assured, Sister Pat, that you will be in my thoughts and prayers, too.

Whenever I pray by a lake I am on the lookout for my spiritual companion. He has wings, but he’s not an angel or the Holy Spirit. He’s a heron.  For many years the presence of a heron would signal a good prayer experience or a meaningful week’s retreat. Some years I see the heron on the last day of the retreat. Sighting him means I will be able to go out from my retreat and live better for the week of quiet. On other retreats I may see the heron intermittently a couple times in the middle of the week. The best is spotting the heron on the first day. Such was the case on Monday, August 6. As soon as I walked outside, I saw the heron on the edge of the lake, only a few yards from where I was standing. I was surprised, because I wasn’t even looking for him. The bird was a good omen. It said, “While the heron catches fish, you will be catching what God will be tossing to you.” Keep alert!

In his book Praying the Scriptures Demetrius Dumm gives primacy of God’s deeds over words said by God or about God.  He encourages the reader to focus on the great acts, particularly the Exodus in the Old Testament and the resurrection in the New Testament. In this way the books of the Old Testament find their full meaning in the Exodus. In this way, “every act and word of Jesus in his ministry finds its full meaning only in his death and resurrection.” In this way, the reader will experience God’s deed, enter into God’s action with an experience deeper than only the words would provide.

I spent a week trying this approach of focusing on the action, entering into the experience as Jesus experienced it. while not overlooking words as being less important. I found that I was more focused. I prayed, for example, Luke’s account of the Agony in the Garden. Imagining what Jesus was experiencing in the Garden of Gethsemane added depth to the words “Not my will, but yours be done.” These words were uttered by Jesus who felt rejection by his Heavenly Father, abandonment by his apostles—even his favorite three—and the lowest depths that a human being could ever experience. And yet Jesus could say “Not my will, but yours be done” to the Father who could have let his Son experience hope and mercy in his agony. Focusing on the experience of agony gave depth to what I would have prayed if only looking at the words.

Every writer of spirituality recommends staying attuned to God, listening for God’s voice, seeing God in everything and everyone. I’m sure you’ve tried this. Does it work? Well, when it does, it’s definitely worth the effort. Have you ever tried “doing” your day with God? “God, I’m brushing my teeth.” “God, I’m heading toward the car.” “God, I’m opening the oven door to see whether the cookies are done.” “God, I’m sitting here to pray Evening Prayer.” I was using this technique the other day when I was eating dinner. “God, this pork chop is cooked perfectly. It tastes wonderful. I hope you’re enjoying it as much as I am.” Oops! “Sorry, Jesus, you’re Jewish. You don’t eat pork chops.”