Billy Collins has a poem about working on a poem and then talking about it before it was finished, only to watch it get up and walk away. I know how he feels. Then there are other times when it helps to get it out in the open like a promise that needs to be…
One of the websites I go to for inspiration and sustenance is called Brain Pickings. It is hard to say what it’s about, other than taking a meaningful look at what it means to be truly human. It is curated by Maria Popova, who has quickly moved up on my list of people I would…
I’m preaching tomorrow at North Madison Congregational Church UCC, a wonderful congregation in the next town over from Guilford. In light of all that has gone on in the past couple of weeks, and also in light of Ginger’s trip to El Paso, I am using Isaiah 58:9-12 rather than the lectionary passage for the…
The first Toni Morrison book I ever read was her first book, The Bluest Eye, which tells the story of Pecola, a young African-American girl growing up in Lorain, Ohio in the 1940s. Because of her mannerisms and her dark skin, she is considered “ugly.” She has a doll that is white. Pecola wishes she…
When we were in Provincetown last weekend to see Julie, our former foster daughter, cross the finish line for the Pan Mass Challenge, I saw a t-shirt in a window that said, “I am silently correcting your grammar.” I almost bought it. The fact that language changes is both exciting and dreadful for someone who…
Teddy Roosevelt said, “Comparison is the thief of joy.” The quote has come to mind this week in an unexpected way because I have watched the way comparison is used to deflect or derail a discussion. One says, “We need to close the detention camps,” and another replies, “Obama built them.” One says, “We need…
I feel stuck today. I have work to do, manuscripts to edit filled with words by authors who have done their best to make meaning out of faith and life in these days, and I feel like I am treading molasses, doing all I can to keep from drowning. Toni Morrison died yesterday. She did…
For many years now, my Facebook post on New Year’s Eve has been a line from a Counting Crows song: long December and there’s reason to believe maybe this year will be better than the last . . . . I began to realize that next year never seemed to come through. It wasn’t better….
I was born two weeks before Jesus. Since I had a December birthday, my mother worked hard to make sure it didn’t get lost in our Christmas celebration. She didn’t put up any decorations until December 13, the day after I was born. My father had some unexplained need for all of the decorations to…
I want to say something before the votes are counted. I want to say out loud that my hope is not defined by those who make the most noise or create the most confusion. I want to share the words of those who are speaking to my despair, who feed my hope, who remind me…