I’ve been thinking a lot about blessings recently. On our retreat at Cathedral Ridge a few weeks ago we discussed blessings; everything from what a blessing is to who can give blessings. Although many people (in the Episcopal Church and otherwise) argue that lay people cannot give blessings, I argue that it is hard to not give and receive a multitude of blessings everyday when you live a life in Love.

During our formation time on Friday, we had another discussion with Mary on blessings. Specifically, she pressed us to discuss a time in the past week where we blessed creation. Quickly, many of us recognized that it was much easier to remember times where others blessed us, and that it was much harder to recognize those moments in which we blessed others.
Working the job that I am, I have discovered that it is very easy for me to focus on everything that my partner agency does not do, and therefore the limitations of the blessings that I can give others at work. Although it is always important to be critical of the work that I am doing, especially while connecting with communities I am not directly a part of, it will also be crucial for me to recognize the blessings that I do give. I am finding it fulfilling to connect with community members at work with equity, seeing everyone as having different life experiences and needing different types of support.
Although it is easy to count the blessings in my life, I am challenging myself to also recognize the blessings I do for creation. With this said, I’ll leave you with one of the poem’s Mary shared with us and that really resonated with me.
A Blessing
By James Arlington Wright
Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more, they begin munching on the young tufts of spring in the
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl’s wrist.
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.

A New Year, New Experiences, and New Procrastinations


Hello from the new crew of Columba House! I’m Kezia Lozano, a recent University of Virginia graduate that was slightly dismayed to hear that my contract for this year included my regular contribution to a blog; after four years of undergrad and far too many essays, I was ready to be done.

I was supposed to write this post a few days ago, but clearly got sidetracked.  Despite my college flashbacks to one of my campus jobs editing a WordPress for the Dean of Students, the opportunity to collectively chronicle this year with my housemates is exciting, especially as I have always wanted to journal, but never had enough self discipline to.

This year promises to be a time of exponential growth for all five of us, and though the procrastination has already started with this one blog post, I am incredibly humbled and grateful for all the experiences that have and haven’t yet happened, AND for the responsibility of reflection on those experiences on this blog.

Just a quick update about the goings on so far: orientation week was a whirlwind of kind faces and welcoming hugs, retreat was emotionally taxing but extremely helpful in bringing us closer together as a house, and the first week of work proved to be a mixed bag of exhaustion and excitement to a house of four introverts and one extrovert (that’s me)!

We have been met with nothing but warmth and love this week from all facets of the community and it has filled me with overwhelming excitement about the possibilities of this coming year.  As we all go to our placement sites and deal with the difficult realities of inequality, it is incredible to know that we can find strength in the people around us, whether they be in our church, neighborhood, jobs, and home, and for that I extend my gratitude.

In order to spare the blog from an even larger wall of text written by a woman who has always idolized Tolkien’s verbosity yet is incapable of matching his eloquence, I shall end my procrastinated post for the night.  Good bye for now, and be on the lookout for my future work, studded by excessive commas, and hopefully not always, but inevitable missed deadlines.

Thanks so much Colorado, and I am so happy to be here! ❤ Kezia


Mercy: Megan Helbling

Two weekends ago, we went to Basalt, Colorado, a little town outside of Aspen. We attended the X games, and spent time in community praying and playing games. I helped plan one of the prayers, and for this blog post, I thought I’d just share a bit about that.

I came across the Litany of Forgiveness, which is based off of Jesus’ teachings called The Beatitudes, recorded in the Gospel of Matthew. I’ve always found the beatitudes to be incredibly gracious in the way they recognize people who so often in our society are trampled upon, overlooked, or scoffed at. I was especially compelled by the plea for God to have mercy on us when we fall short of who the beatitudes ask us to be: because in asking for mercy, we are also looking forward to a time that eventually we will, however imperfectly, become more and more of the type of person that the beatitudes describe.

Here’s the Litany (tweaked a bit by me). Hope you enjoy!

Lord Jesus Christ, you said:
Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven.
Yet we are preoccupied with money and worldly goods
and put our trust in what we possess
rather than in your care for us.

Have mercy on us,
O Lord, have mercy on us.

Lord Jesus Christ, you said:
Blessed are the gentle,
for they shall inherit the earth.
Yet we are so concerned about our own rights and self-interest
and so little concerned about serving others.

Have mercy on us,
O Lord, have mercy on us.

Lord Jesus Christ, you said:
Blessed are those who mourn,
for they shall be comforted.
Yet we are impatient under our burdens
and unconcerned about the burdens of others.

Have mercy on us,
O Lord, have mercy on us

Lord Jesus Christ, you said:
Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they shall have their fill.
Yet we do not yearn for a world that looks like your Kingdom,

And are too lazy or too tired to work for justice.

Have mercy on us,
O Lord, have mercy on us.

Lord Jesus Christ, you said:
Blessed are the merciful for they shall receive
mercy. Yet we are so quick to condemn, so slow to forgive.

Have mercy on us,
O Lord, have mercy on us.

Lord Jesus Christ, you said:
Blessed are the pure of heart,
for they shall see God.
Yet we regard others with suspicion,

Suspecting the worst intentions and

guarding ourselves from fellow Children of God.

Have mercy on us,
O Lord, have mercy on us.

Lord Jesus Christ, you said:
Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they shall be called the children of God.
Yet we are so often ruthless with each other,
and our homes and our world are full of discord and resentments.

Have mercy on us,
O Lord, have mercy on us.

Lord, Jesus Christ. you said:
Blessed are those who suffer persecution for holiness’ sake,
for the Kingdom of God is theirs.
Yet resistance to the powers of this world is too scary and too painful,
so we remain ignorant to injustice and Complacent with privilege.Have mercy on us,
O Lord, have mercy on us.



Gifts from God from the OT

Recently, I’ve been reading through the Old Testament because other than the Sunday-school basics, I’ve never had much knowledge of much of it. Here I am, someone who tries to live according to the Word of the Lord, never having read a good chunk of it. I figured maybe that should change.

It’s been a long, slow process, and I’m probably not going to finish any time soon, but I’m glad I’m doing it. I’m currently in Isaiah and to be honest, I haven’t had a great understanding of a lot of what I’ve read up to now. I’ve always been intimidated by the OT because I knew I wouldn’t understand a lot of it, but I decided I wanted to read it for knowledge of the content, if nothing else.  Much of it has been pretty over my head, but much of it has also been very illuminating, and God has spoken to me through this confusing, difficult part of the Word that has formerly been all too easy for me to ignore.

This journey began a few years ago when my campus ministry did a semester-long sermon series on Exodus. This opened my eyes to the importance of sacrifice in Old Testament law. It gave me greater understanding and appreciation for the sacrifice of Christ, and why his death and resurrection was the way the Lord chose to save humanity. Similarly, since then, my attempted studying of the OT has increased my appreciation for God’s immeasurable holiness and endless mercy.

Reading of the Israelites forsaking God, coming back, forsaking him, and coming back over and over and over again is exhausting. Chronicles and Kings tell of little else but who was king and if that king worshiped the Lord or led Israel in sin. How this must have broken God’s heart! And yet, because of His incredible, irrevocable love, He always forgave when they cried out to Him with true repentance in their hearts. Not quite so different from my own life. What my OT attempt has taught me so far is a deeper appreciation of the Lord’s mercy. All I can do is marvel in awe and humbly give thanks for what He has done and continues to do for me. It’s a hard thing to explain in words, but the Lord is continuing to draw me nearer to Him through this experience. I’m grateful for that. Though I lack an understanding of many things, God is true to his promise to “draw near to those that draw near to Him.” How blessed are we to serve a God who speaks directly to us and hears when we cry out?

Though I often get bogged down by the hard-to-get-through parts of the OT, I’m looking forward to continuing my “study,” and letting God speak to me regardless of my scholarly iniquities. I encourage anyone intimidated by the Word to trust that God is close to those who seek him, and remember that we are not supposed to know and understand everything. Indeed, He never fails to reveal Himself to those who seek Him.

Rachel Pozzo

The Common Good–Megan Helbling

My favorite thing about Colorado is the warning signs of steep grades on the highways coming in and out of the mountains.




Wouldn’t it be nice if all of life gave us these warnings?




I recently read an article about the common good, the thesis of which was essentially: no one gives a damn about the common good anymore. Yesterday, I stopped to read a note written on a napkin squished against the sidewalk. It read, “THIS WAS A TERRIBLE PARKING JOB. THINK ABOUT OTHERS MORE THE NEXT TIME YOU PARK”. In a world of anonymous individualism, it’s easy to feel like no one cares about anyone they don’t know the name of.

Here’s a poem by Louise Gluck:

You want to know how I spend my time?

I walk the front lawn, pretending

to be weeding. You ought to know

I’m never weeding, on my knees, pulling

clumps of clover from the flower beds: in fact

I’m looking for courage, for some evidence

my life will change, though

it takes forever, checking

each clump for the symbolic

leaf, and soon the summer is ending, already

the leaves turning, always the sick trees

going first, the dying turning

brilliant yellow, while a few dark birds perform

their curfew of music. You want to see my hands?

As empty now as at the first note.

Or was the point always

to continue without a sign?

Maybe the problem with working for the ‘common good’ (whatever the heck that means) is that it takes the innocent, vulnerable, foolish, naive belief that what is common is good, what is communal is good, and that even though she’s mostly failing, the idiot who parked next to you is actually trying to be good. With that kind of soft attitude in this hard world, you’ll be as vulnerable to being plucked off as a dandelion in damp soil.

But weeding is what makes the flowers grow.

New Year, New Hair by Emily Eldridge

I’ve never done much with my hair. I don’t even take a lot of time styling it most days, even though one of the reasons I always say I like having long hair is that you can do fun things with it. I’ve never dyed it, although I did want purple hair as a teenager. It’s never been shorter than my shoulders and I’ve never had any haircuts that needed more maintaining than the occasional trim of the ends – at least not since I had bangs in first grade.

At the start of the program year, some conversation that I don’t even remember made me mention that I liked the look of a side shave haircut (specifically on Natalie Dormer in the last Hunger Games movie), and then the thought stuck in my head, what if I actually got one? I approached the idea in typical “me” fashion, which means that I spent three months thinking about whether I really liked it enough to try, saving pictures on Pinterest, googling how to style and trim and grow out a side shave, and asking people around me what they thought, including making sure my workplace wouldn’t consider it unprofessional. And finally, at the very end of 2018, I did it.

It was a scary prospect, especially because I have social anxiety and don’t like situations like going to a hairstylist and asking for an unusual haircut. I was afraid I would get it done and immediately not like how it looked, but I decided that even if that happened, I wanted to have done it; I wanted to try something new. Hair grows back, after all.

I’m happy to report that I am now “edgy” (according to the woman who cut my hair) for the first time ever and I love it!

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Special thanks to my roommates for encouraging me, my boyfriend for going with me to get it done, and my parents for not freaking out when I surprised them with my new look!

Hope–Megan Helbling

The other night, we sat around the dinner table, which we had cleared of cups and dishes but still had crumbs and smears of gravy, and lit the first advent candle. Hope. The first week of advent we are meant to hold and expect hope.

I don’t feel very hopeful about the state of our world. Our president suppresses the media like the scary fascists I learned about in 10th grade World History, there were more dead pine trees than alive when I drove into the mountains to go skiing last weekend, and I stepped over a sleeping body when I got off my bus today to go to work. I think hope might be a thing that rich people teach their kids while on vacation in Turks and Caicos, like believing in Santa Claus or that things happen for a reason.

But then I feel my heart soften towards someone I wasn’t expecting to forgive, and there’s an unexpected peacefulness in my heart that makes the world feel a little quieter. Or I scroll through my instagram feed and see that one of my preacher friends has crossed into Mexico in order to perform marriages, so that couples have a higher chance of staying together once they begin procedures with ICE. This morning, my bus driver waited for nearly ten minutes for a woman to peel off her gloves, one finger at a time, and, trembling, place her quarters into the meter. The whole bus was still, and the snow outside fell slowly, in clumps, and I watched the woman’s mouth move in a deliberate conversation with the bus driver, whose eyes looked back onto the rest of his passengers, silently asking our permission to continue to offer the dignity of independence to our newest fellow passenger. And we consented.

Wendell Berry writes, “Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias. / Say that your main crop is the forest / that you did not plant, / that you will not live to harvest. / Say that the leaves are harvested / when they have rotted into the mold.” Yesterday, I went on a snowy hike near Mt Evans, and stood on top of a lake that was silent, deep, and stagnant, frozen with the stubbornness of cold –frozen, that is, except for the two feet at the very bottom, where fish and bacteria and the loch ness monster huddle, still, waiting for spring. There, they will cling to half-life, sharing bubbles of oxygen and fin slapping each other awake when one starts to lose sight of the inevitable arrival of warmth and hope. They don’t despair at the sun’s lack of strength, too weak to cut through the ice. The fish just press into the gift of the earth, warming the bottom foot of their lake home from the depths of its core. It’s the rotting mold that warms them, the gift of gifts that aren’t wrapped with bows.

May the gift of earthy hope be abundant this advent season.