I have just returned from 10 days of what Florida can do for a person—all that bright-heat-goodness—after a winter of many grey and snowless days by the pond in New Hampshire.

 My husband has had many debilitating months of back trouble; the kind that left him grouchy, tired, and weakened. The kind that left me tense with worry for what it all might mean. My Joyful Gathering partner, Deb, suggested we come to Florida while we await the surgery we hope will fix many things.

 I packed airy linen clothes, a bathing suit, and books. I tucked in art journals and sunscreen, several pairs of shoes (all of which gave me blisters because, for months, I only wore wool clogs, cozy socks, and heavy boots). And I packed hope. Not a lot. Truth told, I didn’t have a whole lot. But I had enough to say, “We can’t change everything but we can sure do this one good thing.”

 And sometimes, that is our best move: to ask ourselves what is one good thing I can do this day?

Deb and I talked a lot about that idea as we walked for miles each morning in Florida. We shared the realities of disappointment, frustration, that sense of spiritual blah-ness that creeps in sometimes. How do we respond? Do our faith practices make any difference in how we live our life?

 For me, the answer is yes. The practices matter. I trust them. I trust the holy morning readings that are an essential part of my rhythm. If I do that one thing, each day, I set the course for the intentionality with which I seek to live. “Stand at the crossroads and look, and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way lies, and walk in it, and find rest for your souls.” That’s what God said to Jeremiah in one of the old books I like. And I believe that each morning is a crossroads, of sorts. It’s a choice. How will I begin my day? With what shall I fill my mind? If I can answer with healthy doses of poetry, sacred texts, passages from books like Every Moment Holy, and the writings of Lectio 365, then I am more likely to find where the good way lies, and walk in it, and find rest for my soul.

 If I add to that day some time of moodling about with color and paint, I am the better for it. There is always something there for me. Some mystery. Some connection I cannot seem to achieve in any other way.

 Author, Poet, and Founder of Abbey of the Arts, Christine Valters Paintner says it this way, “I believe very much in the power of creative arts to help us process what is moving through us during a spiritual experience. The arts give us access to a different set of languages with which to listen to how the Holy is speaking into our lives.” (Birthing the Holy, c. 2022) Yes. That’s right. It is a different set of languages. And it is one that I urge you to listen to, as I try to each day.

 This is a time of terrible things, my friends. Suffering. Atrocities. Great sadnesses. And, also, a meanness of spirit, that, honestly, I fear. We might be swamped by it. We might.

 And yet. And yet. If you are fortunate enough to have choice, this is my reminder to myself to choose well. What are the practices that are life-giving for me? What must I attend to each day to find rest for my soul?

 We can’t all get on a plane and share bright-heat-goodness with those we love most. (Though, thanks be to God, sometimes we can.) But on those other days, those more regular days, we can transport ourselves with what we allow ourselves to put into our minds. We can ask, each day, where the good way lies.

 And then, we can pour back, more fully, out of those places of restoration. It might be onto the page through art, that different set of languages Christine Valters Paintner writes about. The kind of art that I call “The Colors of Prayer.” Or we might use what we’ve been given to pour into the lives of others. I have become a person people know to contact when they are in need of prayer. And that, I have found is not a small thing. And there are other important ways to pour out. As my friend, Stacy, recently said to me, “We’re Methodists. We bring casseroles.” She often makes me laugh, that woman. (Let’s add laughter to our good daily choices list.) Ands she is right: bringing food to people changes a day. For them. For you. Art. Prayer. Casseroles. All good things. All practices that are born out of a daily choice to ask ourselves, “What is one good thing I can do this day?”

 May I ask it. And may I answer well. Amen.

Kate Young Wilder

March, 2024