This year, Advent feels different. Last year, I was searching—longing for a space to practice my faith, to reconnect with the season, and to rediscover joy in its quiet anticipation. I felt the need for something personal and grounding, but I didn’t yet know where to find it.

Now, a year later, I have that space. St. John’s has become my spiritual home, a place where faith is practiced in community and joy is shared. This Advent, I’m not only celebrating with my own traditions and reflections but also with the wonderful people I’ve come to know over this past year. There is a deeper joy in entering the season together, in preparing our hearts as one community.

Last year, I was searching for a church that would celebrate Advent in a way that felt both familiar and meaningful. I longed for something reminiscent of my Catholic upbringing—traditional, grounding—but I also knew I wasn’t looking to return to Catholicism.

During the pandemic, I had started listening to a few Episcopal ministers on TikTok, and their teachings resonated with me. Their words aligned with my understanding of Jesus’ teachings and how I wanted to practice my faith. With that in mind, I began looking for an Episcopal church nearby that might offer the kind of Advent celebration I was longing for—one steeped in tradition but open to the journey I was on.

That search led me to St. John’s. It was the closest Episcopal church to our home, and on the first Sunday of Advent last year, Nathan and I decided to try it out. From that first visit, we knew we had found something special. We never looked anywhere else.

This morning, as I sit on the porch with my sweet pups by my side, I find myself surrounded by the beauty of late November. The painted leaves of fall are bathed in sunlight, and there’s a crisp stillness in the air. It’s a moment of calm after what feels like weeks of pain and mental anguish. Reflecting on this period, I recognize the heavy toll it has taken on me—both physically and emotionally. My back injury has left me in constant discomfort, and the chaotic behaviors of a recent hypermanic phase have weighed heavily on my heart. It’s difficult to reconcile my actions during those moments, and even harder to extend myself the grace I know I need.

And yet, amidst it all, gratitude persists. Nathan, my steadfast partner, has been a source of light in the darkness. Over these past weeks, he has supported me with unwavering love and patience, taking care of the house and ensuring I could rest and recover. His quiet diligence and thoughtfulness have reminded me of the depth of his kindness, and for that, I am profoundly thankful.

I’m also grateful for the beauty and rhythm of nature, which always seems to offer a balm for the soul. This season of pruning and letting go feels especially meaningful right now, a reminder that even in moments of struggle, there is preparation for renewal. Through my Episcopalian faith, I’ve found solace and connection to these cycles of nature—a grounding in the sacred rhythms of life. As I move forward, I choose to hold onto the hope and gratitude that have emerged from these challenging weeks. There is so much to let go of, but also so much to look forward to.

Walk in love,
Marita

November 18, 2024