We have our first snow-covered morning here in our yard in Portland Maine. In places further from the shore they got several inches, but we had mostly rain until early morning. Now it feels like winter is really here. My internal clock has felt the shift, as the days grow shorter and darker. A few days ago, I started working again on sorting through my old documents–my winter project of the last few winters. This year, most of the documents are digital, though there is at least one box of paper files to go through in the basement. In prior winters, I looked back on all the years before we moved to Maine in 2005. This winter, I am looking through my time as minister of Allen Avenue Unitarian Universalist Church here in Portland, before I retired in 2018.

I started by reading all of the “annual reports” I wrote for the church to summarize the work of that year. It was a simple way to quickly turn the pages of thirteen years of ministry. I was astounded at the sheer number of times I marched in protests, or spoke at vigils in solidarity with issues of justice or worked on legislative change in support of human rights, usually along with other members of my congregation or other ministry colleagues. My life now is so much quieter and less intense, but also less connected. It was good to have that public voice, and to use my voice in service to all that I believe. I feel so far removed from that life and that work.

I suppose in some ways a blog is a kind of public voice, but much quieter and less visible. My life these days is much quieter and less visible. That is chronic illness, compounded by our continued COVID precautions in our household. I can’t put my body out on the line for love and justice. It takes most of my body’s energy just to manage our household tasks. It is like I am looking out a window at all that is happening in our world.

I was surprised to notice that I hadn’t blogged for a few weeks. Lately, all I can think about is Gaza and the way the people there are suffering and dying. In my files I found a sermon I preached in 2014 about Palestine and Israel. In many ways, the issues are all the same. In other ways, everything has gotten worse, much worse. So many deaths, so much destruction. I can’t even imagine the words I could say about it, and then I don’t have words for anything else. My heart is on the ground. My heart is on the ground.

And then, out the window I see a large flock of small birds visiting the hazelnut hedge and the bird feeder. They find their way to our yard each day, traveling together as a group. They usually arrive mid-day, but today they are early. Tufted titmice, chickadees, goldfinches in their winter garb, sparrows, juncos, finches, even a bluebird. (Maybe they come more than once a day, but you have to be looking out a window to see them so I am not sure.) Often a few chickadees even stop at our back porch pecking for stray seeds. It is not so easy to take a photo of a flock of small birds. They scatter themselves across the orchard. They come through and then they are gone again. Traveling all together on their mysterious rounds.

And my heart is lifted just a little, with their flight and their community.