Shades of September
The leaves are just beginning to turn and descend. I pick up a particular shade of golden and hold it up to the September light. The road between the cemetery a...
Category: hard things
Listening.
When I don’t even know my full place in the problem I hold a space for quiet, humbled listening. I tune my ears to the persecuted poor in spirit and hear the cr...
It’s Friday. Period.
This is for the people who need to embrace the tears of Good Friday. “It’s Friday, but Sunday’s coming,” they say. And I can understand the sentiment. It’s hard...
The Secret of the Buried Seed
The secret of the buried seedis to accept the darkness as a gift,to trust the finger that presses us downinto what we fear will be a grave. We have always feare...
God’s Compost Pile
One day in May, when the apple trees are hinting at pink blossoms, I take my spade and head for the backyard. The smell of fresh green is all around me. The wor...