Welcome, fellow pilgrims! Last August, I set out on a new adventure. I’m no longer pastoring a church; instead, I’m working full-time (as a hospice chaplain) and studying full-time (for a theology degree). This new season has left me with little time to write, but I hope to keep sending something to your inbox each month.

The other day, I was standing in an elevator when I noticed a flyer taped to the wall with a quote from Anne Shirley, the main character in L. M. Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables.

I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.

I haven’t experienced an October on Anne’s Prince Edward Island, but I feel the same way she does about the month. October, here in the San Diego area, brings relief from the summer heat, seasonal rains that nourish my parched garden, and late afternoon sun that bathes everything in golden light. And let’s not forget, NBA basketball returns!

Why these thoughts about October? Because of something I read recently by Scott Cormode about cultivating gratitude.

Gratitude is about what we notice, what we decide deserves the most attention. We make sense of the world by the stories we tell ourselves. And gratitude is a choice to notice abundance rather than scarcity. Gratitude is about choosing to remember the gift of God’s grace.

That new adventure I mentioned came on the heels of a painful loss. Right now, I feel like I’m living through a season of scarcity — and in many ways, I am — but scarcity is only part of the story. Cormode’s words reminded me that there’s a bigger drama unfolding all around me: the story of God’s lavish grace.

And that’s why, like Anne Shirley, I’m glad to live in a world where there are Octobers — because they invite me to notice abundance, to pay attention to it, to live into it, giving thanks to the God who gives and gives and gives.

A Pilgrim Prayer

Anselm of Canterbury (d. 1109):

Jesus, like a mother you gather your people to you;
you are gentle with us as a mother with her children.

Often you weep over our sins and our pride,
tenderly you draw us from hatred and judgement.

You comfort us in sorrow and bind up our wounds,
in sickness you nurse us, and with pure milk you feed us.

Jesus, by your dying we are born to new life;
by your anguish and labour we come forth in joy.

Despair turns to hope through your sweet goodness;
through your gentleness we find comfort in fear.

Your warmth gives life to the dead,
your touch makes sinners righteous.

Lord Jesus, in your mercy heal us;
in your love and tenderness remake us.

In your compassion bring grace and forgiveness,
for the beauty of heaven may your love prepare us.

— “A Song of Anselm” in Common Worship: Daily Prayer (London: Church House Publishing, 2005).

A Poem

While recovering from cancer surgery, poet Ted Kooser began walking two miles each day before dawn. After each walk along the quiet roads near his home, Kooser wrote a poem, placed it on a postcard, and mailed the postcard to his friend Jim. Later, he selected 100 of those postcards for a collection titled Winter Morning Walks: 100 Postcards to Jim Harrison.

* * *

december 3
By Ted Kooser
 

Clear and cool.

I have been sitting here resting
after my morning stroll, and the sun
in its soft yellow work gloves
has come in through the window
and is feeling around on the opposite wall,
looking for me, having seen me
cheerfully walking along the road
just as it rose, having followed me home
to see what I have to be happy about.

Through My Lens

What I’m Reading

• Love, Remember: 40 Poems of Loss, Lament, and Hope by Malcolm Guite.
• Scar Tissue: A Novel by Michael Ignatieff.
• Americanah: A Novel by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

This has been another issue of The Weary Pilgrim. Thanks for taking the time to read it!