On a recent weekday morning, as I have thousands of times, I take a half-mile walk from my house, to Saint Edward Church. Mass is over so I say my prayers and walk out to the garden to meditate. The spectacular harbor view is obscured by fog rolling inland from the sea. An electronic fog horn sings out it’s warning– a sad rhythmic alto moan. It suits my melancholy mood. My wife and I have sold our family home. We will leave this beautiful hilltop after twenty years. I sit on a bench near the statue of Guadalupe and reflect on the spiritual journey that started for me on this spot, many years ago. In this place, in this church, I have made deep and lasting friendships. My faith has been nurtured by generous peers and mentors. A few of these kind teachers have passed on. Perhaps we will be reunited one day. But I will come home to this hilltop church, every Sunday, by car instead of on foot. Gratitude fills my heart.