They rattle. The rosaries that I wear on my right wrist. Most would call them Malas, but I just like the word rosary. Did you know that rosary originally referred to a rose garden? It was later that the word came to mean a series of prayers, a garden of prayers. A garden grown on my wrist and tended to over and over. Sounds funny, but I like it. So I like the word rosary and mine rattle.

I don’t really remember when or where I turned. Where it finally dawned on me the what and the why I effort in the way that I do. There was no magic remembering or shock of realization. No moment when the seas parted and “aha” echoed through the canyon. It was more like sunrise. The pink azure light slowly creeping into the day. The warmth of the sun touching my bones. It’s become clear to me today, my entire spiritual and human practice is turned now towards my household.

Several days ago, my wife Ty asked me to write something for her blog. As a way of lending something of my words to her words, something further. I’ve sat with this idea for these past days not really knowing what I might write. While I write quite a bit in my life, I wasn’t really sure what I might contribute. The more I thought about it the more I thought that what I’d love to have, is a letter. A letter from someone who is thinking of me and might share some small glimpse of what they are going through during these troubled times and what they’re doing to find their way. So here I am writing a letter to all of you.