Yesterday, in Orion magazine, I read the Lisa Couturier's article on the transport of horses across the boarder of the United States, into Canada, or Mexico to be killed for meat to export.

She went to an auction in New Holland, PA, not too far from my home, in what is commonly called "Amish Country." Couturier describes the horses. "Given the noisy crowd, and the loud stern voice of the auctioneer calling out in rapid-fire succession the back-and-forth bidding for the animals, I did not expect the saddle horses to try so hard to do well. Horses are flight animals; they flee at the unfamiliar; fear is their dominant emotion. But they are social creatures, too. They aim to please because they've learned to trust, which meant that even the strong and healthy horses, of which there were many, obediently did as they were told amid the chaos of the auction: go forward; go back; turn left, now right; stop, immediately; go fast, go slow; stand still."

Carefully Couturier tells us what she observes for the next few hours. It is really, really, sad. The horses are treated poorly and many of the healthiest ones are purchased by "killer buyers." These men are the ones whose business it is to make their living on horse flesh. 

When I think of the suffering of the horses, I pray that their pain be taken into the suffering Lord Jesus on the cross. And I pray that the Risen Lord, who is whole, and good, and come to us, be made visible now. 

It is hard to trust in the unfolding of time. By that I mean that chronos time is somehow held within kairos time. But I do believe that being willing to be conscious of tremendous suffering, not all of it, not all the time, is some kind of prayer.

This morning I went out while the sky was still dark. I brought my flashlight and my good dog, Max. This is the morning routine, to walk together. Sometimes I bring my husband because I don't really think that I like to walk in the dark. I don't like the possibility of encountering what I cannot see coming.

This morning nothing came at us out of the shadows -- no other dog, or rabid anything, nothing to fear. But, nevertheless, I walked with my flashlight on, so at least other people could see me coming. I was also aware that I enjoyed every step.

As I walked, I sang a song. I make them up, words and all and then I wonder what they mean exactly. I can tell that I am singing about being companioned by what some call God, or the more than is here -- a presence that is not contained in my experience, that is shared, that is mystery. And so, I was companioned by more than my dog, and my anxieties were calmed. May you also be calmed.

This morning, while visiting a friend, I snapped Max's picture as he sat still in the sunlight for me.

I have been thinking about reasons we do well to find words for various moments of our days. Why bother, it's over, isn't it? 


Well, maybe it's not entirely over. Maybe working to consider how I am doing with what I have experienced, and learning to hear another do the same, enhances or translates our histories more sharply into our memories. I want to age with a growing sense that the world is a rich place and that in my living, I participate in that wealth. The human experience -- what is it worth? 

Here is an image our daughter captured last Christmas. 

The sunlight comes into our space so clearly in the winter time when unobscured by hundreds of tree leaves. 

May this image cheer me as I anticipate shorter days. 

Are you also receiving an invitation to welcome the changes winter will bring?

As far as I know, this is the only photo of my Mother and me as a child. I think it is so sweet. You should see some of the other pictures of me on family vacations. In many I appear to have not yet learned how to comb my hair or change my clothes. So I do treasure this image because it is unique and we are both presentable. 

This is another treasure found in my family's photographic archives. We are on the grounds of Camp of the Woods, in Speculator, New York. Twice my parents were hired to provide the special music at the daily worship services for family camp. These images are all so wonderful to me, appearing in such a user-friendly form, after being hidden away for decades.

This morning, as I welcomed the children to the Godly Play room at St. Luke's Episcopal Church we all paused to get ready to enter the story room. Getting ready is something we can each do for ourselves. It is about finding our way to inner calmness. Some of the children are the age I am here. I have almost no assurance that my instructions aided them in their transition from car to story room, but I pray that each child has experiences of pausing with a loving adult in a happy place, as I have had.

Here I am celebrating my high school graduation. I know that I have already posted a photo from this backyard event, posing with my Aunt and Uncle. Nevertheless, please indulge me. I don't know of any pictures of only my Dad and me before I turned thirty-five. So I am viewing this as the photo of me and my Dad because the action between us is what I want to consider.

It is almost as if Daddy is presenting me, or has something to say about me, which is actually appropriate. I am his fourth child, he loves me, and at the time, we were residing together in a busy household. But on this day, I can imagine that he is saying, "Look. Here we are, father and daughter, alive and well in a dangerous world. We have made it this far. Pray for her. Treat her well. I love her." In his gesture, he honors both me and himself. 

I wonder what treasures lie in your photo archives? Are there images symbolizing more than you could have imagined at the time? Maybe you have boxes of slides to yet uncover in the bottom of a closet. My sister took my father's entire collection of slides and had them digitized, making copies for each sibling. What a wonderful gift that is to us all.