PHOTO: Mary van Balen “Even now, says the Lord, turn to me with your whole heart, with fasting, and weeping, and mourning. Rend your hearts, not your garments, and turn to the Lord, your God. For God is great and merciful, slow to anger, rich in kindness, and relenting in punishments…” Joel

“Brothers and sisters: We are ambassadors for Christ, as if God were appealing through us…Working together, then, we appeal to you not to receive the grace of God in vain. For he says: ‘In an acceptable time I heard you, and on the day of salvation I helped you. ‘ Behold, now is a very acceptable time; behold, now is the day of salvation.” Paul 2Corinthians

“And your Father who sees in secret, will repay you.” Matthew

The Hebrew word, “shub” used in the reading from Joel, is often translated “return.” But, in this reading Joel gives no indication that he is asking the people to return from a particular transgression. Rather, he implores them to “turn” to God, to ask God’s help in dealing with the devastating drought and plague of locusts that has disrupted all aspects of their lives. I changed the translation of the word in the reading above.

Pondering what seems the slight difference between “turn” and “return” has been fruitful for me this Ash Wednesday. Return” brings to mind distance, the need to traverse space, physical or in this case, spiritual, that separates. On the other hand, “turn” indicates that one need only change orientation or look in a particular direction to connect with the object of desire.

What strikes me is the truth that God is present to us in every circumstance, in every moment. The Holy One has not removed the Divine Self from us, requiring long journeys or difficulties to “come back.” Just the opposite is true. Through the wonder of the Incarnation, Jesus reveals that God dwells not outside of us at all, but rather in our hearts, in our center. We have only to turn and become aware of that Presence within.

Such closeness means God is with us when we are not aware of that Holy Presence as well as when we are. God stays with us in our darkness and difficulties, even if they are of our own making as well as in our light and joys. God is with us always. As Francis Thompson concludes in his poem “The Hound of Heaven,” we cannot escape the Love of God.

Holy Love dwells within. Our Lenten practices do not bring us “back to God.” God has never left. Instead, they quiet us, removing us from activity so we can hear the Voice. That is our fasting. They slow us down so we have time to look. They turn our gaze to the Indwelling in those around us and in the world we live in. That prompts our almsgiving. They provide opportunity to realize the we rest in the Holy Mystery. That is our prayer.

Unlike the pharisees in the gospel reading today, we are not to look for reward from others. Notoriety is not our goal. For Christians, the goal is always oneness with Christ. Our Lenten practices serve to deepen that relationship that is constantly available to us. As Paul reminds us, we have no need to wait to begin such disciplines: Now is an acceptable time.

“…now is the day of salvation.,” he continues. As we embrace this Lenten season, we can remember that the salvation we seek is not our own, it is redemption of the world, of which we are a part. God’s indwelling makes that possible. Holy Love that animates all is our hope.

Blessed Lent.

PHOTO: Jennifer Holt While in Pittsburgh visiting the Carnegie Museum of Natural History, I enjoyed the exhibit, “Read My Pins,” a display of over 200 of Madeleine Albright’s collection of pins and photographs of her wearing them as she conferred with world leaders. Ms. Albright, it seems, used the pins to alert those she met to her mood, purpose, or hope. It began after Saddam Hussein’s government controlled media called her an “unparalleled serpent” after she criticized the leader. The next time she met with him, she wore a snake pin, a symbol of new life, though I doubt that was the message she was sending.

She mixed whimsy with pointed commentary, wearing pins of everything from flowers and dragonflies to wasps and American eagles. She wore a large zebra pin that lay across her shoulder when she met with Nelson Mandela, in honor of his homeland, and a trio of “see no evil, here not evil, speak no evil” when she conferred with Putin, who took offense.

The use of jewelry for more than the sparkle it adds to one’s attire is not reserved to Madeleine Albright, though she may have raised it to a new level. Engagement and wedding rings give testament to marriage. High school or college class rings declare an allegiance to a particular time in one’s life and a particular place of learning. Hardly “jewelry,” the rash of colored plastic bracelets proclaim everything from one’s faith to one’s favorite causes to all who notice.

I have often worn jewelry to remind me of people, places, and relationships. They have become what Catholics call “sacramentals,” things that remind us of God and help us to experience that Holy Presence with us.

I wear my mother’s class ring that my father wore while he was overseas during WWII when I want to remember their love for one another and for me, or when I feel particularly in need of their faith in me and their support. Mom gave me her engagement ring before she died, and I wear it now remembering both my father who gave it to her on her dinner place surrounded by family, and my mother who wore the gift from the love of her life. My parents were my first “sacramental,” sharing God’s love and presence in my life. As I grew they continued to be the source of much grace. If God loved me the way they did, well, I was in good shape!

I wear jewelry from places I have visited. Those pieces remind me of the diversity of the people of God. From the Buddhists of Thailand to the monks of Minnesota, they are all children of one God and have blessed my life in countless ways. The beauty of creation around the world comes to mind when I wear an opal one daughter brought home to me from Australia or the traditional silver earrings from Sardinia. Of course, wearing gifts from others also makes me aware of the important place they hold in my life and the grace they bring to it.

Most of my small collection are pieces that carry meaning beyond their appearance. This is true of the latest addition purchased when I recently visited a friend in Yellow Springs, OH, sometimes called the city still lost in the 60’s. It is a delightfully “hippie” town, home to Antioch College and Ha Ha Pizza where one can enjoy the fare with whole wheat crust and organically grown toppings. I could not resist taking home one of their pizzas for dinner, and while they were making it, I walked up the street to explore some of the shops.

The proprietors of a small used bookstore, “Dark Star,” met me with smiles and knew immediately of books by my newest favorite mystery author.

“We’re big mystery fans ourselves. I think we have four of those in paperback.” They did, and I bought them all. We exchanged pleasantries, and I poked around a bit before heading to my next destination. As I walked up the street, I heard a man playing a congo drum. He was sitting in front of a small mom and pop grocery store playing away with mittened hands. The locals seemed to know him and chatted with him as they walked by. I looked over and smiled at him and then entered a small jewelry story, “Ohio Silver.”

I had been there before and, as always, enjoyed peering in their display cases and looking at earrings made from Ming Dynasty porcelain shards wrapped with sterling silver to hang on chains or from your ears. I found the case that held polished fossils and then, I saw what I could not resist: dangly earrings made from a meteorite that impacted the earth in Japan.

They were the only pair she had. I tried them on and thought about it. Here was something that had hurtled through space hanging from my ears. They looked good. Rubbed to a gentle shine, they were angular and irregular and beautiful.

“I’ll take these.”

She placed them in a purple box along with the card that told where the meteorite had been found and secured the lid with a stretchy silver cord. I placed the box in the bag of used books and walked back to Ha Ha Pizza.

“This is the most expensive pizza I’ve ever had.”

The baker smiled. “Where d’ya stop?”

I told him about the bookstore and my new earrings.

“Cool,” he said.

That night I shared the pizza with my sister and her husband and wore the bit of space rock on my ears.

Now, when I want to remember that I am but a small part of an infinitely large story, I wear them. When I want to be reminded of the wonder of creation and the One who put it in motion, I wear them. When I feel like celebrating life and its mysteries, reverencing what I cannot understand but what pours grace upon me, I wear them.

I don’t have the the amazing collection of pins that Madeleine Albright shares with us in her exhibit and book by the same name, but I have my own collection of sacramentals that speak to my heart.

President Obama at the National Prayer Breakfast “And it’s a chance to step back for a moment, for us to come together as brothers and sisters and seek God’s face together. At a time when it’s easy to lose ourselves in the rush and clamor of our own lives, or get caught up in the noise and rancor that too often passes as politics today, these moments of prayer slow us down. They humble us. They remind us that no matter how much responsibility we have, how fancy our titles, how much power we think we hold, we are imperfect vessels. We can all benefit from turning to our Creator, listening to Him. Avoiding phony religiosity, listening to Him.” from President Obama’s National Prayer Breakfast Address

This morning I happened to be at home when President Obama addressed those assembled for the National Prayer Breakfast. I was drinking a cup of tea and preparing my own breakfast when the news channel began live coverage of the event. I sat down and listened. The opening remarks cited above reminded me of how I have become caught up in the busyness of life and have not taken time to slow down in prayer often enough. If the president can begin his day with prayer and a little Scripture, certainly I can do the same.

The past week an good friend of forty years (can’t be!) came by for a visit. We rarely see one another and squeezed in a lot of catching up in the couple of hours remaining until I needed to leave for work. At one point in the conversation she said, “I don’t have the time that I used to have to just pray. To just be still and pray. I need that.”

President Obama voiced the same need for us all, no matter our faith traditions. Being with God in prayer does remind us of our imperfections. It humbles us. It also reminds us that God doesn’t mind hanging out with us. In fact, she choses to with through us to bring the Kingdom.

The President spoke of Dorothy Day, Joshua Heschel, and Martin Luther King Jr. as examples of those whose faith moved them to do great work in the face of adversity. He also spoke of our need to live out our values in everyday life, in ordinary situations as well is in the political arena, to advance the common good.

Citing Scritpu for, President Obama recalled the need for those of us who have a voice to speak out for those on the margins of society who cannot. We ARE our brothers (and sisters) keepers.

Some will say the speech was just another political ploy, but I am tired of constant cynicism. Instead, I took some quiet time, bowed my head and remembered that I was in the Presence of the Holy One. I choose to believe that President Obama’s humility was sincere, and that his inclusive call to “seek God’s Face together” is one we should take to heart.

Saint Thomas Aquinas 1225 – 1274 Saint Thomas Aquinas was educated by Benedictines but eventually chose to join the Dominican order, much to his family’s dismay. He continued his education in Paris and Cologne under the tutelage of Albert the Great. During this time, the writings of Aristotle had been rediscovered and were causing ferment in the Christian world of philosophy and theology. Why would a follower of Christ have any interest in the work of an ancient pagan philosopher? Did Aristotle’s writings threaten the Church and its mission to spread the word of God?

As I read about Thomas this morning on one of my favorite sites, Universalis, a phrase in Martin Kochanski’s short commentary on Thomas caught my attention-“Truth cannot contradict truth: if Aristotle (the great, infallible pagan philosopher) appears to contradict Christianity (which we know by faith to be true), then either Aristotle is wrong or the contradiction is in fact illusory.”

This quote reminded me of a conversation I had years ago with my then five-year-old daughter who is now an archeologist. One night, when I climbed the steps to check on her, I found her wide awake, looking at the ceiling and the glow in the dark moon stuck to it.

“What’s wrong, honey?” I asked.

She turned her wide eyes toward me and said, “I don’t know what to do. I love God, but I love science, too. And the Bible says God made the world in seven days and some people say dinosaurs and people lived at the same time, but science says that isn’t true.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to pick.”

I sat on the bed beside her. Her anguish was as real as I imagine that of some of Thomas’ contemporaries wrestling with Aristotle.

“You don’t have to choose. The Bible isn’t a science book. The people who wrote it weren’t scientists and they weren’t trying to tell us how the world was really created. No one was there when it happened. No one knows. But, they were trying to tell us the truth, as they understood it: Somehow, God started it all. Scientists are looking for truth, too. Both religion and science are searching for truth and truth will always lead us to the same place: to God.”

I ran my fingers through her silky hair. She was watching me, hearing what I said.

“Don’t worry, Em. You don’t have to choose. Just keep looking for the truth.”

The muscles in her face relaxed and a smile lit up her eyes.

“Ohhh,” she sighed. “That’s good. Cause I don’t know which one I would have picked.”

She turned over and drew the covers up under her chin. I kissed her and, as I stood up to leave I heard her saying, “ I DO love science.”

Many in Thomas Aquinas’ day feared the truth when it was spoken by Aristotle. The Church feared the truth of Copernicus and Galileo, but no amount of suppression could keep it from eventually bringing people from knowing that the planets orbited the sun. Such knowledge has not been the undoing of the Church. And truth as we learn of it will not be the undoing of our faith either.

We must not fear the truth. We must be open to hearing it from people and places we might not expect to speak it to us. What we know as “truth” about many things has changed over decades. Questioning whether or not women have souls is unthinkable now. Not always. What we understood as “truth” about about race, about sexuality and gender identity has changed. Decades of scientific exploration and research has deepened our knowledge of the universe, the earth, and our impact on it.

We need not only “truth tellers,” but also “truth hearers.” Thomas was a “truth teller” in his time. Who are the “truth tellers” today? Do we listen to them? Does our Church, our government, those in power?
Distinguishing was is true from what is not has never been an easy task. But, I stand by what I said to my daughter: Truth will always lead to God.

PHOTO: Mary van Balen Whistle Pig Gallery on Main The weekly Convivium, or gathering for lunch and conversation, was one of my favorite events during my year at the Collegeville Institute. Sponsored by the School of Theology, the lunch was prepared by a different group each week and showcased ethnic foods of the students and residents as well as good old American standards. “Convivium” comes from the Latin meaning “feast,” or in a more broad understanding, “living together” from “con” + “vivio.”

The experience in Collegeville followed noon prayer (also led by students) and provided an opportunity to share good food, conversation, news of upcoming events, while contributing to the sense of community.

I am blessed to share a monthly meal, conversation, and prayer with a small group where I live. We have been meeting for about seven years and bring one another joy and support. In our society, taking time to sit together, savor food and enjoy others’ company is becoming less common. Many families have difficulty finding time to eat together as they juggle work, school, sports, and other activities.

In the past week I have had the chance to enjoy a few such meals: a brunch with a longtime friend who was in town for a family funeral; dinner with my sister and her husband; and a gathering at a new gallery that features a wide selection of art for sale by local artists, a few antiques, and on some evenings, a jam session.

While the evening at the gallery was not exactly a “meal,” it did include wonderful homemade soup, appetizers, wine, and hot cider. Regulars mingled with people coming for the first time. Conversation buzzed and music from guitars and a harmonica filled the space. I picked up a guitar and pulling on long memory, played and sang a couple of songs. It felt good. So did strumming along as others sang.

What all these have in common is taking the time to enjoy the company of those around us and the creativity of cooking, art, and music. Being present to one another and to simple joys nurtures our spirits and deepens our experience of life and grace.

PhOTO: Mary van Balen This winter has been mild, giving us some almost balmy sunny days. One morning the light coming in my bedroom window was so strong that I grouped plants from around the room onto one dresser so they could benefit from the rays. I sat on my bed and looked at them, enjoying the shine on their leaves and imagining the roots stretching and moving around in the warm soil.

Today I decided to ignore usual “day off chores” and soak up the sun as well. I stepped outside and decided to walk toward the used furniture store that provided my dining room table. I crossed to the sunny side of the street, took a deep breath, and savored the sun’s warmth on my face.

A perfectly shaped balsam fir, having finished its work as a Christmas tree, lay by the curb waiting, I hoped, to be picked up and turned into mulch rather than into landfill debris. I moved aside to make room for a young woman pushing a jogging baby stroller while keeping track of a large black lab on a leash. We smiled and nodded as we passed.

I did a little window shopping and checked out a shoe repair/used clothing store. The proprietor assured me that he could fix a broken zipper on a pair of high black boots. I crossed the street to browse through my favorite used furniture store and eventually began the walk home.

Turning onto my street, facing the sunlight straight on, I stood and soaked up its energy and warmth…like the plants on my dresser. I am creative about finding ways to put off laundry and other housekeeping chores, but this walk was not an excuse. It was pure gift, not to be missed next time it is offered.

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Last night, this old hippie attended her first rock concert. Well, the Trans Siberian Orchestra is not a true “rock band,” as my daughter who accompanied me pointed out, but it is close enough. I was propelled to buy two tickets one night when I was hungry for music, music that would energize as well as entertain. Having listened to Rochmaninoff’s “Vespers,” Handel’s Messiah,” and Pavorrati’s “O Holy Night” countless times, I logged on the internet only to find that the singalong Messiah, and any holiday offerings of the symphony were past. Few options remained before the new year.

One group, Trans Siberian Orchestra, sounded familiar. My work schedule actually would allow me to attend their Sunday afternoon concert. I googled the group, an eclectic mix of strings, percussion, guitar, and vocals, and decided to give it a go.

During my last hour at work yesterday, I felt my excitement building and reveled in feelings that I have not had for a while: Looking forward to something in particular. I rushed out of work and picked up my daughter, who was dressed to the nines in her own particular style. Turns out she looked like she could have been on stage. When I mentioned that she laughed. “I can’t help it if they copied my style!” which is a mix of Victorian and Goth I suppose. She looked stunning with her long blond hair and sweeping black coat.

I shed my work black, slipped on jeans and a cream colored top, and we were ready to go. In retrospect perhaps I should have worn my long black skirt.

“You look great dressed up” I said as we walked along with the crowd toward the arena. She seemed to be enjoying the occasional looks she drew.

“Everyone looks great dressed up. That’s why they call it ‘dressed up.'” More laughter that felt as good as the anticipation.

I insisted we pass up healthier fare and bought hot dogs and fries for both of us once we were inside. I had been working since 6:45, and we were both hungry. I don’t usually buy hot dogs but confess to savoring them at cookouts and ballparks.

Our seats were in the top tier, front row. If the plexiglass extension of the low wall in front of us had not been there, I might have rolled right over and landed in someone’s lap below. I had a similar feeling once before at my one and only attendance at an Ohio State football game. I was at the top of the stadium, and looking down at the field below, was sure I was going to fall onto its green turf.

Folding our long legs back to fit between the wall and our seats, we settled in. For me that meant meeting the people beside me, exchanging all types of information about ourselves and the band. For my daughter it meant studying the lighting and staging effects with her physicist’s eye and holding her striking presence straight and composed as she waited.

I, on the other hand, was unloading binoculars and a monocluar (which I cheerfully offered to my row mates) and my camera, looping its strap over my wrist lest it fall onto the concrete floor, or worse, over the the wall. I finished my drink, and as the lights dimmed, I leaned forward on my chair, not sure what to expect.

Snippets of Martin Luther King Jr, John F. Kennedy, Churchill, Regan delivering famous speeches played across the LED arrays at the back and in front of the stage “I have a dream.” “Ask not what your country can do for you…” “Tear down this wall…” Lights. Sounds. “Fog” pouring across the stage. A string section from our city’s orchestra sat at the ready. The drummer surrounded by a perfusion of percussion instruments looked small in the middle of them. Two keyboards waited for the musicians who would alternately pound and coax amazing sounds from their keys.

Sound, laser lights, and motion exploded. The TSO concert had begun.

I enjoyed it all, drinking in the energy, the music, the passion. The audience, all 2100 of us, included every age and race and style. Christmas stories were told and carols were sung in a style, while never imagined by their creators, that still spoke to the heart. The first half of the show was all Christmas. The second half was a mix of other themes and songs familiar to TSO fans.

I may write more later, after work, but for now I will say the evening was a success beyond my hopes. Music, sound, and energy filled my body and soul. Joy and just plain fun bathed us all.

As I read today’s morning prayer scripture, I smiled. Isaiah could never have imagined what I say and heard last night, but his words described it well:’

“SIng out, heavens, and rejoice, earth, break forth into song, you mountains, For the Lord comforts his people and shows mercy to his afflicted….”

Today’s headlines include an AP article about the increase of poverty in the US. According to census figures, 1 in 2 people in the US are poor or low income. The figures are not surprising since the economy has been struggling for years, and government programs that act as safety nets have been decreased. My job, fulltime at a large department store, would put me in the low income range even though I work 35-39 hours per week. It does provide good benefits, and many of those who work there are not the sole income earners for themselves or their families. Still, I am blessed to have other sources of revenue to supplement my pay check. All are not so fortunate.

I am well educated and have a wide variety of experience and a strong social network that gives me support. What about those who have less education? Who have young children to support? Who are single parents? Who have been out of work for years? If I had difficulty finding a job, imagine the plight of so many others. As I said, the figures were not surprising.

What bothered me in the article was a comment by Robert Rector, a research fellow at the conservative Heritage Foundation. He questioned whether those classified as poor or low-income in the census report actually suffered material hardship. He thinks the safety-net governmental programs offered to such people have been overdone. His rationale? Some of them have cars, decent sized homes, and widescreen TVs.

Finding a job let alone holding on to one is difficult if one does not have a car. In our country that has for the most part eschewed good public mass transportation, a car is a necessity for most. Many people I have worked with in poverty programs have a car (many did not) but it was not dependable. It broke down often and continually needed repair. Many famiies shared one car, making multiple trips to transport people to work and daycare.

Decent sized housing? What does that mean? That a family has a place to eat, relax, and sleep? Isn’t decent housing a right? Isn’t that what organizations like Habitat for Humanity are trying to provide? Does “decent” include location? Does it make a difference where homes are located? Does the quality of education change depending on where you live? I think we know the answer to that.

Is someone considered “poor” or “low income” only if they have no place for privacy to sleep and live?

And the wide-screen TV. Ah yes. How many times have I heard that poor people have big TV’s or cable or cell phones… (ReadingDr. Ruby Payne’s work may help one understand more about the effects of generational poverty and the different “rule” that apply to those in poverty, middle-class, and wealth.)

If someone lives a life of struggle and battles hopelessness and despair; if someone does not plan ahead because his or her focus is simply surviving day at a time and figuring out ways to respond to crises that come up (broken down car, sick child, heat turned off…) then entertainment is important. It is a way to escape for a few hours the difficulties of day to day life.

I wonder what Mr. Rector does to relax? I imagine he has many options, including bur certainly not limited to a good television.

Do we want to require people to be in abject poverty before we lend a hand? How can people become “self sufficient” without help in areas basic to finding and holding a job? His comments imply that people who are poor or hovering on the edge of poverty don’t go out and look for jobs, preferring instead to live off government programs.

Looking for jobs does not guarantee finding one. Rector speaks as if those needing assistance are not trying: “As we come out of recession, it will be important that these programs promote self-sufficiency rather than dependence and encourage people to look for work.”

Jesus asks in the gospel today: “what did you go out to the desert to see–a reed swayed by the wind? Then what did you go out to see? Someone dressed in fine garments? Those who dress luxuriously and live sumptuously are found in royal palaces. (Might we add Wall Street?) Then what did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet…I tell you, among those born of women, on one is greater than John; yet the least in the Kingdom of God is greater than he.”

Who do we go out to see as we prepare to Christmas? The “least” that Jesus loves. There are plenty of prophets in our midst, people living with hope in conditions that would overwhelm many of us. People suffering with illness and no health care. People whose lives speak to us: “We are God’s children. The Christ lives in us, too.”

Jesus teachings turned the world upside down. Christmas is a time to reverence not only the helpless infant born in Bethlehem, but the prophet/God he revealed as a man. This holy baby grows into the One who challenges us to lives of service.

Who do we see, laying in the manger?

PHOTO: Mary van Balen – vase Paul Distelzweig Last night, after dinner and prayer, my spirituality group blessed my new flat! A beautiful surprise. One arrived with a sprig of green and placed it in a vase on the buffet. When the evening was drawing to a close, Noreen said, “There are six spaces here, and six of us. Each pick a space and bless it, speaking from your heart.”

Dipping the green into a bowl of water, Ann went without hesitation to the kitchen where she sprinkled the counter built by my brother, the stove, sink, and pantry made by my daughter and spoke of the joy of preparing food for self and friends, and hoped I would enjoy this kitchen space as much as she enjoys hers.

Denis took the sprig and blessed the dining area and table where friends and family gather. “May they be filled and satisfied not only with food, but with spirit.”

Lavonne took the sprig. “We’re traveling,” she said and walked to the bathroom where the colorful “map of the world” shower curtain adds brightness to the small space.

“May this place be a place of refreshment and relaxation and the hot waters of showers and baths relieve stress and tension. Besides studying geography (laughter), may you also be renewed.”

We moved to the study where Rick sprinkled water, carefully avoiding the computer, and a prayer was offered for my work and prayer in this space. “May it be a place where you feel at peace, where you continue to use your gifts to write and minister to others as you do. May it be a life-giving place for you.”

We moved to the bedroom, where Max prayed for peaceful slumber and wonderful dreams; a place to renew energy to pursue the great plans God has for you.

Lastly, Noreen blessed the living room. “May all that enter this door come in peace and leave in peace,” she said. Turning from the door, she sprinkled the CD player and television, the chairs and couch, and prayed that the space would be blessed with a circle of friends. As she spoke, she sprinkled each of us, giving Denis a soak (which he loves to do when he celebrates Mass. “Turn about is fair play,” I said.)

I thanked them all and as they left one said, “We left you with a sink full of dishes.”

“No problem. They will take a few minutes to clean up. What you left was Grace and Presence.”

How easy to forget the sacredness of the spaces in which we live. My friends reminded me of the holiness of my little flat and the wonder of Presence which fills it. I remembered my parents and the hospitality and generosity the shared with all who came to their door. They gave the gift of God’s Presence within them. Their home was a space where people loved to come.

Take a few moments and reflect on the rooms in your home or apartment. Think of what happens in them. Remember that you are living in Sacred Spaces, made so by your own self, the work of living that you do there. And reverence the sacredness and Presence brought into it by your family and friends.