Mihee Kim-Kort

Growing up it was in the kitchen every Sunday where I would witness the most frenetic, clamorous work of our church community.

My friend Laura Kelly Fanucci, a blogger and writer, recently lost her twin baby girls. She wrote a blog post about the experience, and then a follow-up as she continues to process her grief.

When I read this week’s passage from Luke, I take an aerial view. My perspective shifts from the disciples to Jesus, then to Simon the Pharisee, then to the bystanders, and finally to the woman who washes Jesus’ feet.

In Luke’s Gospel, many of Jesus’ encounters with people are described in terms of whether or not they have faith. Yet this week’s story of the widow of Nain stands in contrast: the person in need never asks for help.

It’s a busy street, Walnut Street. I have to cross it to get to the Shalom Community Center.

I hide out in the last room I ever thought I would find refuge in. Growing up I would watch my mother buzz around cutting boards, bowls of chopped up vegetables, pots and pans on the stove, stopping over each one to stir or smell the contents. Was she a busy bee or more of a mad scientist?

A friend of mine lamented that his girlfriend did not know who Emmett Till was when it came up in conversation. Something about TMZ and Lil Wayne. I have no clue. He told me he could barely pick his face up off the floor—much less his jaw—when he tried to explain that the story of this black boy is a huge part of American history, and how could you not know him??? But. Would people say that about Vincent Chin?

It was coffee with a friend.

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She was looking at her fingers. I was zeroed in on my laptop with my own fingers flying over the keys typing an e-mail when I glanced over at my mom sitting next to me on the couch. Her hands. She stretched her fingers out turning them over and back again and again periodically wincing at both the pain and sight. She looked at me and said softly in Korean, “They look strange, don’t they?”