During the Protestant Reformation, the arrival of the printing press brought the oral tradition of many generations into the hands of all. While reforming the Church, the printed word also reformed souls.

My writing is stored electronically. It flows past, but cannot be held. So much of my ministry in the church is formed by words that the Holy Spirit imprints in my soul. It's hard to grasp, even as others hunger for more. In a time of extended Sabbath, I yearn to sit with and re-form my own words.

I've known the deep grief of widowhood throughout my time of ordained ministry. One month after my husband’s death, my two young children and I moved far from friends and family to a rectory behind St. Philip’s Episcopal Church. We began a new life in the midst of a dark fog as my ministry took an unexpected turn. I've pondered this painful transformation through prayer and poetry in an attempt to honor the inexplicable. In the Benedictine tradition of bookbinding as a spiritual practice, I pray to print those words.

My re-formation will flow from three sources: I seek a monastic Benedictine community of bookbinders who will give me safe harbor for a time of centering prayer and deep rest. Also, I will spend time with an elderly uncle who still uses the hand-fed letterset press that my grandfather used in his storefront newspaper office on the Kansas prairie. There are many stories to re-tell to the next generation. Throughout my days I will pray and write into my experience of learning the craft of printing.

Finally, my family must take leave from work for a time of rest. Our home is our church. From the mountains, to the prairie, to the oceans white with foam: a seaside cottage beckons where we can play, hold books, and pray. We'll take extended time to "just be.” Our souls are enriched by the timeless daily rhythm of building sandcastles and accepting that the tide will come in and wash them away.