One surprisingly warm afternoon in late winter/early spring of 2022, I walked to an ice cream shop with a good friend. Sitting on a curb, eating (I hesitate to say enjoying, because we both laughed over how we did not enjoy the flavors that day!) our ice cream, I teared up over confusing emotions I was going through. She asked me, “Do you feel God in other people?”

I paused. I feel God’s presence in nature, in silence, in movement, and most of all in music. I feel God’s presence in church, on street corners, in the lake. But I had not thought as much of God’s presence coming through others. “I don’t think so,” I responded, with dual sadness and curiosity at what could be missing. I longed to feel God’s presence beyond myself, my emotions, my perception. I longed for an encounter, as Martin Buber writes in I and Thou, of Thou—the Other, through others.

Without my intending or even knowing it, this question simmered beneath the surface of the following months, inviting me into deeper encounters. It wasn’t that I hadn’t experienced rich friendships and relationships before, but a new need was kindled inside of me, a need to survive in, through and with each other.

In no particular order, here are some of the blessings of relationship that 2022 brought (though this is by no means exhaustive!):

• A road trip to Wisconsin with a colleague and dear friend, sharing our life stories all the way
• Three visits from friends abroad, and rich conversations and travels with all of them
• Reconnecting with Holy Wisdom Monastery, and with the beloved church choir I was part of in Little Chute, WI
• Quality time walking and dancing on the beach with cousins on our trip to Maine
• Invitations into gatherings at communities, Catholic, Quaker and Episcopal
• Running into old friends— one from music camp and one from undergrad— and rekindling our friendships
• Spending a week in Bainbridge Island, WA with my dear friends who welcomed a little one into their family in late June
• Relishing a growing sense of community at BU, where we were able to share more meals and spontaneous conversations
• The opportunity to take two classes at Harvard Divinity School and connect with a new place and new friends
• Deepening relationships with the girls I have babysat for almost two years now
• With one year under my belt, settling into my job directing a church choir, and the joy and privilege of getting to know everyone better
• More visits with family who live close to Boston
• My first visit to Walden Pond, where I communed with the spirit of Henry David Thoreau, took a spontaneous swim, chatted with fellow hikers, and made friends with the little frog pictured above

A month ago, while mentally submerged in a paper I was writing on the sacramental, relational dimensions of music, I returned to the home of the girls I babysit after dropping one of them off at gymnastics. The 10-year-old greeted me in the living room, and we got into a conversation about how our days had been. She shared with me about her science project, and I shared with her about my paper. I just kept feeling in my heart: this conversation is making my day.

I had been sitting in the library, writing about the sacramental power of relational connection all day—and here I was, finally getting to live it with someone I care so deeply about. Those 15 minutes of sharing were the highlight; they made it all worth it. Walking home through the comforting familiarity of my neighborhood that night, I felt a deep recognition that we make life worth living for one another.

This year also brought a new relationship to Boston. I got to know the city better (though this doesn’t prevent me from getting lost!), especially as I began bike commuting. This only happened through the support of friends who gave me a helmet, a bike, and much encouragement. Cycling has given me a newfound freedom and perspective. It brings me joy.

In moving from Brookline to Brighton, I am further from campus, but have a back patio, as well as a neighborhood full of kids and cats. I love my new location in that I can easily walk or bike to Brighton Center to buy fresh produce, visit the library, pick up dry cleaning, and yes, get ice cream. I am closer now to the Chestnut Hill Reservoir, where I love to jog.

At this point, I’m not sure who is still reading, but I’m humbled by your companionship, even if we never meet! That was all the important stuff; now I’ll offer some concrete details about where I am and where I’m (possibly?!) headed. I am entering my final semester of the MDiv program at BU School of Theology. This summer, I will do my first unit of CPE at a local hospital. I am also working toward certification as a therapeutic musician, using my voice accompanied by guitar. I have completed the coursework and exam, and plan to start my independent practicum soon. I look forward to the evolving connections between chaplaincy, music and community in the journey ahead.

On the last day of our therapeutic music classroom training this November, I had my first experience of playing in the hospital for patients. As I sang one woman to sleep, I felt love from a source beyond me, flowing through me, into her. I realized I could be a channel. I knew I was where I needed to be. I already felt affirmed by that experience, but to top it all off, as I dropped off a colleague at her place after the training, a woman jumped off the street, wearing a tie-dyed t-shirt and holding a clarinet. “I’m here to play music for you!” she exclaimed. Odd, I thought—those were the exact words we had used in introducing ourselves to the patients earlier. She began spouting off blessings for Divine love, peace and joy, playing her clarinet in between to emphasize and affirm them. It felt like an over-abundant display of God’s love and sense of humor. I was giddy as I stopped by the river on my drive home to watch the sunset and call my mom to relate the whole experience.

I used to think my vocation would snap into place like a blinding light, a big arrow, a clear path. Over the past year, I have felt many puzzle pieces coming together. It is less a “big certainty” and more a quiet knowing in my heart. I try to stay obedient to the music, and to the silence, that calls me. This can be hard with the rush of school and work and engagements. It’s all a balance, and I keep being pulled back to gratitude for it all. Yesterday morning, before I left for choir rehearsal at the retirement community where I work, I felt suddenly drawn to get down on my knees and pray. I had to thank God that I get to make music every day, and even get paid to do so. This is the dream I’ve carried since childhood, and though it’s not coming true in some prestigious way I may have hoped as a teenager, it’s coming true in the important way: making music with others, and learning to use music to help and heal. I am beyond grateful.

I know that social media and other such platforms are critiqued for being places where we share “the best” and leave out “the worst.” And indeed, in this post I have shared about blessings and gratitude rather than the painful experiences of the past year. I don’t mean to imply they did not happen, but in the spirit of this post, in the lens of gratitude, I hold them differently here. One of my biggest ongoing struggles is with anxiety, and through therapy, prayer and friendship, 2022 began to open up a new way to experience my anxiety: as a gift. As a highly sensitive and fairly anxious person, I often experience these limitations as the opposite of a gift. Recently, I have started to recognize that in becoming aware of my anxiety, I have the opportunity to ask for the grace to be returned to trusting in God. My anxiety, in a strange way, nudges me back to attention, back to what’s important. It’s becoming more about awareness and acceptance for me, and that is my prayer for 2023, for myself and others. Maybe the parts of our lives where we most feel the absence of God do not actually point to God’s absence, but can be a point of connection, a place of prayer, with the immanent, transcendent God whose power working in us is greater than we can ask or imagine (Ephesians 3:20).

Here’s to another year of bike rides along the river, choir rehearsals, deep friendships. Thank you, thank you to all who are part of my journey, to all who have spent time with me or offered a prayer. I hope we can connect in 2023, and I wish you blessings, peace, and all good things.