Saturday we were visiting the Memorial to Women in Military Service at Arlington Cemetery.  I am embarrassed to say, we had been to Arlington several times and never before bothered to step into this memorial.  It is a wonderful tribute to the contributions women have made to our country throughout history.  Very impressive displays, pictures and personal accounts lined the walls.  An artist was painting portraits of women on duty doing the many and varied jobs required of them while in service, from nursing to airplane maintenance; piloting to commanding.  It was most impressive.

But what struck me above all, and what I can’t stop thinking about, are the engraved quotes.  The main lobby of the memorial is an atrium and above, etched in the glass where the sun streams through to the displays below, are engraved quotes of famous women.  They are not noticeable from below . . . it is only when we went outside on the second level terrace that we noticed them.

Engraved on one of the large glass panels are the words of Clara Barton:  “From the storm lashed decks of the Mayflower to the present hour, woman has stood like a rock for the welfare and the glory of the history of the country and one might well add . . . unwritten, unrewarded, and almost unrecognized.” 

It was as if her quote increased the sunlight that filtered through it to the displays below. I had to return to the atrium to see if I could look up and actually see it from below.  Unrecognized, indeed!  What a subtle and beautifully remarkable memorial to Clara Barton, and to every woman who ever contributed anything to the history of this country.

Carrying this image and this experience with me, it is all I can do to remember her quote accurately.  I want to replace the word “country” with the word “church.”  And the message would still be accurate and still be completely true!  Unrecognized, indeed!

It’s time we began to recognize the gifts of women, not only in our country, but also in our church.  So, when you see a woman offering her time, her gifts, her talent, her sacrifice, dedication, inspiration, touch of comfort, compassionate presence, or  – you fill in the blank –  thank her, for she offers a grace that no one else can give.  Through her service  – to our country, our churches, our neighborhoods, our schools, or our families –   the light of the gospel shines brighter and touches each one of us more profoundly.

I don’t know what it is, but recently I’ve noticed – on a number of occasions – how difficult it is for us to admit that we don’t know something.

The most recent experience was this past weekend on our stroll through Arlington National Cemetery.  While there I wanted to collect my National Parks stamps and was in search of one that I had not collected on an earlier visit.  Since I had missed this particular stamp previously, I did some research to try and identify its exact location so that I would know where to find it this time around.

We walked the lovely paths through the cemetery and stopped at the Memorial dedicated to women in military service and then walked on to the top of the hill and Arlington House.  The stamp I was after was supposed to be located in the house.

I found the stamping station and put each stamp into my little book realizing that the particular stamp for the Underground Railroad, which is what I was after, was not among them.  Learning to admit my ignorance, I went in search of a park ranger to ask my question.

He listened to my question and then gave me a long lecture about how there was never a part of the Underground Railroad through Arlington House and they didn’t have a stamp like that.  He went on to inform me that if a stamp like that was to be found it would probably be at some other location.  He continued to explain, however, that that particular location hasn’t been open for years.  Concluding, he was absolutely sure there was not a place where I could get an Underground Railroad stamp from Arlington.

Felling frustrated, I continued my walk and further along the path I realized that there was a small bookstore located behind the main house in one of the old slaves’ quarters.  I went in and sure enough, there was a stamping station and – would you believe it? – a stamp for the Underground Railroad from Arlington.

Satisfied to have accomplished my mission, I began to wonder why the park ranger couldn’t just have told me “I don’t know.”

Why is it so hard for us to admit that we don’t know something?  There are so many things we don’t know! And, certainly, at any given time, we can’t know all there is to know about anything, no matter how much expertise we have.

I’ve concluded that it is difficult to do because it requires humility.  We must be humble enough to come to terms with our own inadequacy and then speak out loud the words of our ignorance.  If we can find the humility to do that, however, the reward is  grace, and a freedom in realizing we were never meant to be responsible for knowing everything.

Last night I think the switch was flipped!  After a beautiful, sunny and hot day on Saturday, and a rainy day on Sunday, I went out on my walk this morning to find hints of an approaching Fall.  Well, Fall according to DC standards, that is!

While still being the temperatures of a summer day in Seattle, it is 25 degrees cooler here today and I began to notice red and yellow colors at the tips of some of the leaves on trees all over the neighborhood.  Yes, I think the switch was flipped!  Fall has been turned on.

As I walked this morning, noticing signs of Fall all around me, I wondered if we can allow ourselves to be switched on as well.  Nothing stays the same, and neither should we. It is a great grace to allow the tides of each day and the movements of the seasons to change us.  Our lives should be a continual birthing to new awareness, new relationships, new adventures, new life – no matter the season.

Let the switch be flipped and turn on the grace!

Continuing our quest of historic sites and discovering the landscape of this part of the country, we made our way, once again, down into St. Mary’s County, Maryland.  It was a beautiful day and we drove to the southern point of the state.  During the Civil War, this was the Southernmost Northern point, and because it was completely surrounded by water, was used as a Northern prisoner of war encampment.

It was hard to imagine what life in a POW camp on this beautiful spot must have been like.  Little replicas and dioramas in the museum showed that they had cabin-like dwellings for the men and there was a large hospital and also a church.  Still, it was a prison camp.  Today it is a State Park.  Imagine camping today where thousands were held prisoner during the Civil War!

It made me think about, although we are certainly free, we are also sometimes victims of our own imprisonment.

I can’t tell you the number of times we share our outings with a local resident who exclaims “I’ve lived here all my life and I never knew that place existed.  Never been there.”  Truly, this is a form of self-inflicted imprisonment.

It takes a conscious effort to break the chains of imprisonment – but we CAN do it.  Think about the things that you have always wanted to do – but have never done.  Think about the places you have always wanted to go – but have never gone.  And, make plans to start slowly and close to home – and do some of them.

Annie Dillard wrote: “Beauty and grace are performed whether or not we will or sense them.  The least we can try to do is be there.”

I remember a story that I read in reading class in second, maybe third, grade.  It was about a farm woman who complained that her house was too small, there wasn’t enough room, and she needed a solution.  So, she went to the village wise-person who gave her a possible remedy.  The wise-person suggested that on returning home she invite in the chickens and let them live in the house with her and her family.  The next day, she was to invite in the ducks and geese.  On the third day, the goats; the fourth day the pigs; and on the fifth day the oxen.  After one week of all of them living in the house, she could then let the farm animals return to their regular habitat and, the wise-person assured her, the house would be much bigger.  And, what a miracle it was!  After all the farm animals went back to the barnyard the house was so much bigger, there was nothing more that needed to be done.

I’m reminded of this because yesterday I got lost and when I found myself again things were much larger.  I had picked up a small piece of fiction and got lost in its pages.  I immersed myself in the time period, the setting, the plot, the characters and their struggles and joys and I totally forgot where I was.  When I finished and put the book down I had a new appreciation for my time and my place; my struggles and my joys.  Life was larger, more beautiful somehow, and totally filled with grace.

The escape into literature can offer us a wonderful nourishment for the soul.  If you haven’t done it for a while, give it a try.  It can be nothing but grace.

Yes, grace abounds!  And the reason I can say this with such assurance is that I found grace in the place where I would least expect to find it . . . the dentist’s office!

After losing a crown over the weekend I was sure that I would meet with great obstacles in finding a dentist that would serve my immediate needs.  You see, dentist’s chairs are not my favorite place and dentists . . . well, you guess the rest.

But, I was hugely surprised to find a dentist who quickly scheduled me, got me into her chair and explained to me all the procedures she was doing as she worked.  She was both personable and competent.  What a surprise!  And while I was in her chair I was able to look out her wall-sized windows into her small urban garden filled with flowers and garden art.  It was a grace beyond anything I expected.  And I walked away with my tooth repaired and my estimation of dentists improved.

Where have you been surprised to find grace today?

Well, yes, just in case you wondered, there is a first time for everything.

Yesterday we were at the site of the first mass celebrated in the new colonies – what is now the state of Maryland – in 1635 on St. Clement’s Island.  It was a beautiful morning and we were up for the adventure.  To find our way there we journeyed down the western / southern part of Maryland and, without ever traveling a straight line, arrived at Colton’s Point which sticks out into the width of the Potomac River where it almost meets the Chesapeake Bay.  From there we took a water taxi over to St. Clement’s Island and proceeded to make the short hike to the lighthouse.

Amid the overgrown beach grass and the choir of cicadas, my husband rejoiced to remember his youth playing in the taller-than-he-was corn growing on the farm where he grew up. Enjoying the views as we walked, we met Monarch butterflies and various birds.  The humans were scarce, until we stumbled on a family swimming in a little cove where they had docked their boat and jumped out for a swim.  I heard the father exclaim to his family, “The water is wonderful!  Come on in.”

Coming to the end of what was a walkable trail, we backtracked and found the real trail to the lighthouse.  Surrounded by beautiful picnic grounds, and a few other visitors, the Lighthouse stands to warn seafarers, while a large white cross commemorates the site of the first Catholic service held in the colonies.

Yes, there is a first time for everything.  I thought about the first time I was on a boat; the first time I was out in the “wilds” without other people around; the first time I played hide and seek in grass taller than I was . . . there are many firsts in our lives, each one of them a grace.  But, hopefully, they are just that – “firsts,” and not “onlys” or “lasts.”

On the way home I experienced another “first,” which I hope will be an “only” and a “last”!  After a lovely lunch, I lost a crown off of a tooth.  So, this morning I am looking for a dentist and looking for the grace in this experience!

So many have asked me over the years how it is possible to find grace when things aren’t going so well for us.

I admit, it is easier to see the grace in every moment when things are lovely and going our way and we have few difficulties.  Yet, grace – God’s own self-communication to us in our day – remains, despite our awareness of what we are feeling or experiencing.

Perhaps St. Elizabeth Ann Seton says it best:  “We know certainly that our God calls us to a holy life.  We know that he gives us every grace, every abundant grace; and though we are so weak of ourselves, this grace is able to carry us through every obstacle and difficulty.” 

How true that is.  We just have to stop asking “What grace?” and accept the grace that resides in the present moment – whatever that moment may be – with faith that it will carry us through every obstacle and difficulty.

Recently I came across two quotes by two giants of history who lived centuries apart, but each thought still holds wisdom for us today.

The first is from St. Ambrose:  “We shall be called to account not only for every idle word but also for every idle silence.”

The second and corresponding quote comes from Martin Luther King, Jr. who said: “There comes a time when silence is betrayal.” 

We are all being called to account for what we believe and what we want to happen in the world.  In order for some of our dreams and our desires to unfold, we first have to articulate them, to speak out about them and not be silent.  Words are a grace and can offer us great inspiration.

What words of grace are we being called to account for?

I have often pondered what we might look like — what the world might look like — if some part of our anatomy were made of stained glass.

The beauty of our interior light would be able to shine forth to the world, and perhaps more importantly, we would be able to see the effects of our own interior beauty.  Most of us are unbelievers when it comes to our own goodness and beauty.  Yet, each of us is created in goodness and beauty and if we could only SEE it . . . perhaps we would believe.

Thomas Merton, following his own spiritual epiphany, once wrote:  There is no way of telling people that they are all walking around shining like the sun.”

Imagine how much light we could see in the world if some part of us was made of stained glass.  Imagine the grace and light that would be dancing and shining from us and from each person we meet . . . shining as brilliantly as the sun.