When my church opened its doors to an immigrant family, we had to reimagine the meaning of sacred space.
She died in her nurse’s arms.
We gave our readers a one-word writing prompt: “scar.”
I was diagnosed just after Christmas. It changed my perspective on the incarnation.
When I’m simply present to my own pain, I learn to be present to others’ pain, too.
I’m being tutored in exposure.
It started with a FaceTime call with my grandson.
What would possess me to copy a chapter of the Bible by hand?
My years of experience as an undertaker didn’t make it easier.
I’m the only person he loved the way he loved me.
Last time I woke early, opened the curtains, sat down to pray, and started crying.
What would happen if we listened to each other in love?
I wish we actually valued his dangerous work.
The city felt like it had been sucker punched.
I might or might not be invited back. Either way, there’s no lasting harm.