10.27.2025 | Ordinary Monday

​In the Quiet Mist
“Be still, and know that I am God.” — Psalm 46:10
 
There is a quiet mist in the air this Monday morning in the Carondelet Garden. The weekend brought a gentle, steady rain, a welcome gift as we journey deeper into the golden hush of Autumn. The soil, softened and grateful, receives the moisture like a blessing.
 
It is harvest time in the Garden. The carrots, bold and abundant, grew larger than ever this year, a small miracle beneath the surface, now revealed. Harvest, of course, is about gathering the goodness. But it is also a season of remembering. Of reckoning. Of resting in what has been sown.
 
This is the time of year when the Garden becomes a sanctuary, a place where you can feel the heartbeat of the Creator in every rustling leaf and fading bloom. There’s a sacred hush that settles in, and with it, a sense of belonging. I am getting older. In many ways, I find myself in the Autumn years of my own life. And yet, there is beauty here too.
 
I no longer race the sunset in traffic. I can sit and watch it unfold slowly and splendidly, across the sky. I can be content with where I’ve been, and grateful for what I’ve learned. I’m beginning to understand that today, this very day, is a gift. A chance to do good. To love well. To become more fully who I was always meant to be.
 
Aging, I’m learning, is not about loss. It’s about clarity. It’s about letting go of the need to prove and leaning into the call to be. I used to wonder: Who am I, if I can no longer do what I once did? Does it matter? Do I matter?
 
The answer is yes — but not in the way I once thought. This is the season to look inward. To draw strength not from the flesh, but from the spirit. To trust that the seeds planted long ago are still bearing fruit — in quiet ways, in unseen places.
 
As Paul reminds us in Galatians 6:9:
“Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.”
 
Keep tending. Keep hoping. Keep harvesting.