A windfall of grace

Two weeks ago, I left the house early and caught a less-crowded-than-usual train, arriving in Harvard Square well before I had to be at work. I walked across Harvard Yard to Memorial Church, which hosts Morning Prayers every weekday during term-time from 8:45 to 9 a.m. (I had been wanting to try it out, but hadn’t yet managed to arrive early enough.)

I stepped inside, almost holding my breath, and slipped into a pew as the strains of the opening hymn rolled around me.

Golden sunlight spilled through the high, clear glass window behind the chapel, paneled in richly carved dark wood, and through the larger windows to my left, falling across the high-walled box pews. I listened as a graduating senior gave a brief, brave speech about navigating an unexpected pregnancy during her time at Harvard, and the ways in which it has made her a stronger, more compassionate person.

I bowed my head and recited the Lord’s Prayer along with the two dozen or so others present, then stood to sing the final hymn (“God Moves in a Mysterious Way”). The minister gave a familiar benediction from Jude, the favorite of a minister friend back in Texas. I watched the choir, fourteen lanky undergraduates in black robes, process out, then made my way to my office, three blocks away.

The whole experience, bathed in light and music, felt like a gift, like a windfall of grace.

In some ways, every workday of the last three months – since I started my new job at the Harvard Graduate School of Education – has felt like that.

I had a nodding acquaintance with Harvard Square (thanks in large part to its lovely cafes and bookstores) before I started work at the Ed School, as it’s known around here. But I did not know it intimately, the way I knew my downtown neighborhood after working there for two years. Three months in, I am still discovering all sorts of new pleasures.

The morning walk to the office from the Red Line, down Church Street (if I want to stop at Starbucks) or down Garden Street by Cambridge Common (if I want to smell the lilacs blooming along the fence). Lunchtime treats from Darwin’s or Crema; occasional trips to Lizzy’s for ice cream. Browsing sessions at the Harvard Book Store or Raven Used Books. Long walks, wherever my feet take me, or quiet moments in the small sunken garden next to my building. The light through the two large windows in our office suite on the “garden level,” and the cheery camaraderie and frequent laughter of my colleagues.

It all feels like a gift, like a windfall of grace.

I have struggled at times to feel at home in Boston, to feel safe, to relax and exhale. But this green, quietly bustling corner of the Harvard campus already feels like a home. Like a place to belong. A community to settle into (especially as we celebrate our graduates this week). It feels like a neighborhood to keep exploring and making my own. And I am so deeply grateful.

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