Rejoice in the things that are present; all else is beyond thee.
– Michel de Montaigne

Dear ones, on this spring-forward Sunday, I leave you with this simple quote from Montaigne, in honor of my dear HDS professor Ralph Potter.

May we rejoice in all that is present today.

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Friends, If you find yourself wanting to reflect on this past year, or to contemplate better times to come, we hope you might consider turning to Month of Sundays, which can be found at all of your favorite booksellers. One newly vaccinated friend recently mentioned that she’s bought a stack of books to gift as she begins to reconnect with loved ones who have been apart, as a way to say, “welcome back.”

Thank you to those who have supported this endeavor to date, where proceeds have allowed us to give more generously than usual to some of the most vital nonprofits around.  We designed the book to be evergreen, and hope it will bring comfort and connection through times of ease and times of challenge alike.

“It wasn’t a subject to Plato, it was a way.”

C.S. Lewis received this gentle reprimand when wrestling with faith in a purely intellectual way. He’s read every book and debated every rationale, when two of his own students – somewhat ironically – reminded him that thought and study would only get him so far.

(Of course one of these students was Bede Griffiths, who was a Benedictine monk and later a noted yogi, so perhaps Lewis was fortunate to be surrounded by a particular kind of wisdom just when he was contemplating that particular kind of question.)

Friends, this is so often true, especially when the issue is a real mystery. We want to research and analyze and debate until we reach some sense of rightness. But we aren’t only computers with legs – we can also feel and hope and imagine and love and be and do.

Dear ones, if we are stuck with one of life’s big riddles today, it’s fine to bust out our favorite philosophers or databases or experts, and they can all add plenty to our knowledge.

But then, let’s quiet our cleverness.

Let’s go for a walk, or pet a dog, or sit with a cup of tea and no screens before us.

Let’s learn what we already know.

No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn.       – Hal Borland

This time of year, we start to wonder if the winter will ever end. The mornings are cold and grey, the sunset still arrives before supper, and the snow just keeps coming.

After receiving some tragic news this past week, I stomped through the Common with nothing but snow-sleet and sorrow as far as the eye could see. But then, right on the edge of the park near my favorite bench, a tiny spark of yellow glinted through the grey.

Though it’s still deep winter, underneath the cold and the dark and the exhaustion and the grief, the light is already growing.

Dawn is creeping in earlier each morning, the witch hazels are starting to bud, and every so often we wake to a bluebird morning, blinding bright light glinting off the snow.

Dear ones, there are days when the grey sorrows seem endless.

Let’s seek out the sunbeams, whether humans or plants or songs or ideas,

knowing that they are always shining beyond the clouds.

This week’s post is dedicated to Monica and to Queenie,

whose lights will never dim.