Garden of the Spirit

Welcome to Garden of the Spirit

Reflections on flourishing

We are all planted in the Garden of the Spirit.    Just as my garden contains a variety of plants, all with their own needs for growing and flourishing, so all of us are uniquely designed to grow and bear flowers and fruit. We may at times feel stunted or dry or be starving for proper nutrients; we may have been trampled on or ignored, but we’re still here, alive and longing to grow.

Even if we don’t claim our spiritual planting, we are here.  Recently columnist E. J. Dionne wrote of  “the enduring hunger for the experience of the sacred” when he wrote about those drawn to church at Christmas and Easter.  A lingering desire for Something More draws us at such times, and we feel touched by the Unknown, the Mystery we call God.   When we are stirred by places of great natural beauty or hold vigil at a loved one’s deathbed or feel the joy of birth’s miracle, we recognize an experience of the Sacred even if we don’t call it spiritual.

In my postings once or twice a month in this blog, I write —-

—-sharing my experience of the Sacred, believing that others will identify and be encouraged to attend to the Sacred in their own lives

—-teaching about practices and traditions that have opened many to the Spirit that is always around us and within us

—-hoping to offer love and encouragement so we can live our daily lives more fully awake.

I am a spiritual director, a listener and guide for the spiritual journey, and this writing is an extension of my ministry.  May I bring a bit more light for your path.  May I aid your flourishing. 

Advent Adventure


This is the time of shortened days and long winter nights, of snuggling deep within the dark and waiting for the turn of the winter solstice.  It’s also Advent, another waiting for the Light to come.  What is happening while we wait? What will be unveiled in the light?  Waiting is truly an adventure.

Sometimes an Advent adventure shows up when it is least expected.  This evening I write from Williamsburg, the famous 18th century village in Virginia where 21st century visitors go to learn history of our country.

A rare Advent snow has completely blanketed historic Williamsburg.  Snow fell heavily all day, and this evening Williamsburg, all decorated for Christmas and with snow draping its small, trim houses and shops, and its large mansions, is stunningly beautiful.  Burdened boxwood and pine trees bow gravely to each other.   Horse droppings on the street are buried now under a half foot of snow.   Pristine flakes continue to whirl, adding layer upon layer, covering the historical markers, the walls of the Palace, the hat and cloak of the last interpreter walking down the street on his way home. 

Governer’s palace, Williamsburg

What a surprising Advent adventure! Tramping through the snow, I laughed with delight, even after I discovered my boots leaked.  Pelted by huge wet flakes, we explored the Palace maze, exchanged warm greetings with other intrepid history buffs, and stopped to warm up in the blacksmith’s and shoemaker’s shops. 

Today I was thoroughly awake.  I was awake to this place, this unusual day, this present snowy miracle.  Today I remembered how easily I forget to live in the present tense and be alive to the present moment.  Even at home, in ordinary, gray winter days, I could be more alive to the day and look for the moments of miracle.

Though Advent suggests a waiting experience in contrast to active adventure, both words come from a common Latin root.  Both Advent and adventure announce that something is on its way.  Something is forming, and beginning to show itself. I cannot force it or push it along.  In this holiday season, it is easy to get caught up in pushing it along, in preparations of hospitality and gifting and celebration, in all the work of making it happen.  And we might miss the present, the miracle already happening in our midst.

We cannot force the adventure into being born before its time.  We cannot know the adventure before it arrives.  Adventurous waiting is alive to the unknown.  The child, the calling, the mysterious tug of the heart, the unexpected snowfall.  Something is coming.

So we wait, awake and alive to the present season.  We offer an adventurous and willing spirit ready to be surprised and challenged.  We offer our “yes” because we too are invited to be born, formed and reformed.  God is not done with us yet.  It’s the greatest Advent adventure of them all—becoming.

Williamsburg, 2018