I can show you a cup of flour, or a pound of sugar, but I am at a loss to quantify how much grief weighs, how long a heart stays broken, how far it is to forgiveness, or the speed of the sound of loneliness -- even as I strain to
On this Sunday of Joy during Advent, our children led us in a Posada, which is a tradition from Mexico and other Latin American countries. We had three “inns” set up around the church and the children traveled, following Mary and Joseph, to each door. They knocked and said, in
I spent the afternoon at a Mushroom Workshop with my friends from Bountiful Backyards and I came home with a couple of shiitake logs and a few words. log work Peace, Milton
This evening we gathered around our dinner table with friends, as is our Friday night custom, and one of them, John, said, “I have a poem to read.” What followed were words full of flavor and sustenance by a poet named Thomas Centolella, who was a new name to me.
We’re beginning to make the turn towards home in To Kill a Mockingbird in my American Lit. class. We had a discussion today about the way in which a crisis exposes both the things that tie us together and the things that tear us apart. Maycomb, the little town
John Lennon was killed thirty years ago today. (I know, I'm not telling you anything you don't already know.) Here is the poem I found digging through his words tonight. words with john Peace, Milton
caught by surprise we say -- like a fly ball or a base runner -- caught, perhaps like a falling heirloom – in the nick of time but not tonight – I was . . . taken by surprise like a hostage or a dog from the shelter -- out of my routine and off to the theater
When we came out of the restaurant, the air was raw – even people who know what real winter is would have shared my weather report. The wind was biting and we all braced ourselves as we walked to the car. We went out on a winter’s night because Reuben,
The first Sunday of the month means we celebrate Communion at our church, as in many Protestant congregations. Of all the things we do together in worship, Communion lands at the top of the list for me: we remember the story that binds us together in word and in action,
the farmers’ market is an act of faith, the sky starting to smell like snow . . . we are all dressed like vegetables are the last things on our minds, yet we are as determined as the kale to make the most of this descending season. one friend finds me in the
Years ago, at a youth camp with my dear friend, John, I watched as he led his group in a visible expression of their connections with one another. One person started with a ball of string and tossed it to another while holding on to the end. Then she told
they catch me coming and going my eyes itch my sinuses clog like an old drain whether the trees are budding or the leaves are taking their parting shot on their way to death how can some thing as simple as coming and going budding and falling cause so much