When COVID took my sense of smell, I was drawn to the Bible’s description of God’s.
The mare pulled the meniscus in her knee. This left my nurse with a tough choice.
We gave our readers a one-word writing prompt: “window.”
Accepting the call to Black motherhood without averting my eyes from the spectacle of Black death
“The coffee is much better now that we attend a Lutheran church,” I told my husband, wailing.
I tried it—and I began to experience God in places other than my head.
Scripture is filled with sexual violence. So, we learned, are our own lives.
It’s difficult to study the phylogenetic tree and still feel lonely.
The Bible provided some healthy agitation as we built coalitions to literally set the captives free.
We gave our readers a one-word writing prompt: “spark.”
What my bad sermons made bland, our sanctuary made sweet.
My feet hurt. To distract myself, I'm recalling my professional failures.
I have the freedom to say yes to things again. And I still have the freedom to say no.
Why does this sound strange to people?
Is V. velella a colony or an individual? When does sharedness dissolve into oneness?