This is my broken body
When illness took over my life, I developed a new understanding of the Eucharist.
The Didache’s ancient wisdom on baptism lands differently in a megadrought
Faith and water conservation in the desert
How I learned to love church coffee
“The coffee is much better now that we attend a Lutheran church,” I told my husband, wailing.
How I learned to love worshiping via video call
I'm immunocompromised. My ability to attend worship has long been determined by the CDC.
A holy, mundane essence: Lessons of confinement
Chronic illness is like Walden: life is pared down to essentials. But unlike Thoreau, I can’t walk away.
A word of courage: Talking with my goddaughters
For some of us, small talk is a land mine. For those of us who are barren, the innocent inquiry, “Do you have children?” is far from small....
Lent's terrible gift: Lessons in dying
Our teacher cautions us that the corpse pose is the most difficult of all yoga postures to master, but after an hour’s exertion in warrior pose, downward-facing dog and cobra, the prospect of relaxing horizontally on one’s yoga mat brings both relief and the impertinent question, “How hard can it be?” Fascinated, I report to my husband, “Every day at the conclusion of yoga class we practice dying.” “That’s interesting,” he says, trying to share my enthusiasm. “It’s kind of like Lent,” I venture. "Lent is when we’re supposed to practice dying, right?”