Living into the sacred space of God's everyday grace
I went to visit Mary Shelley on my lunch hour. She and her brothers Stephen King and R.L. Stine were hiding under their cot in the back of the pen at the Humane Society. I should’ve taken the first clue after learning they’d been named after horror writers. I was led into a small room… Continue reading Whatshisname
For years, I shot up nightly. Didn’t matter where I was, I had a small vial, a hypodermic needle and an alcohol swab. I had to have my “fix” at the same time every day, so if I was at a friend’s for dinner I’d take my stash into the bathroom and do what I… Continue reading Swabbing At Memories
I have some fierce Francis Fever. I recently Tweeted: A spiritual muscle memory flexes, prayers bubble up, and I automatically mumble along with the beautiful rhythms of the liturgy. #popefever Having grown up Catholic, I still love the ceremony and ritual of the High Mass. The intricate vestments, the smoky curls of musky incense that… Continue reading Papa Francisco
Christina Crook is launching a 30-day #thisisreal campaign, wherein we tell the story behind the photos we post. “If it’s beautiful, also share the ugly. If it’s a sink full of dirty dishes, let us have it." Also joining in is Jen Pollock Michel, who challenges us to present "a more honest snapshot of life in the month of… Continue reading #thisisreal
It wasn’t good news; in fact, it was bad news. An out and out rejection, in e-mail form. It was my first and I know it won’t be my last. Rejection is a realistic requirement for what I’m trying to do. I could focus on the fact that it is long overdue but my reaction… Continue reading I Earned My First Badge
Once upon a time – long, long ago – I taught preschool. I absolutely loved it and sometimes think it was my favorite job. Those are the times I conveniently forget about the days when no one wanted anything to do with rest time (except the teachers, of course) or when pinkeye swept through my room like a tornado. Or the day the painting easels fell against one another like dominoes, splattering their contents around the room like a Jackson Pollock painting.
I opened the door. I opened the door to people I trust and care about. I opened the door because I’ve been on this side of it for too long. Now that it’s open, I think, Well now what? I opened the door not only to let others in, but to let/nudge myself out. Out… Continue reading Door’s Open, C’mon In
Rereading an old post, I was caught by a particular phrase that struck me as if I were reading it anew. Time changes our ability to access every single detail. And like waking from a dream, there are moments of being half in one world and half in another. Grief in the rearview mirror is… Continue reading What’s in a name?
Nancy McNally: We've lost contact with the U.S.S. Portland. Leo McGarry: Well, they've gone quiet. They're a submarine. Nancy, hesitating: But they usually call in and say they're going quiet. Leo: I have to tell the President. Nancy: No, not yet. Leo: Why? Nancy: Because I think they’ve gone quiet. Yeah, I’m showing off. Except… Continue reading Gone Quiet
Patricia Alderman 