The picture is everywhere. Pope Francis places his hand on a man’s head and embraces him. The man is horribly disfigured by a terrible disease. One wonders how long it has been since anyone caressed that head – like Pope Francis did. How long has it been since someone reached out to receive this man and pulled him into an embrace of love. How long has it been? And yet, this is beautiful – so beautiful that I just pinned the image to Pinterest, to... Read more
In 1976, while the rest of the U.S. celebrated the Bicentennial, I was enduring The Year of the Tonsils. Those tonsils landed me in the Howard County Hospital twice that year. On the second occasion, the doctor removed the offending tonsils. I only remember two of the nurses who worked the surgical wing, but I remember them as polar opposites. They both belonged to The Sisters of Mercy, who had been petitioned to take over the small Iowa hospital in... Read more
I don’t know html code. I don’t even know if that’s the right way to say I don’t know html code. It’s a good thing that somebody else knows how to program computers and create widgets and plugins for people like me. They have made it all so easy. Theology and morality used to be a lot like html code for me. I thought I needed to figure it all out. I had to be the expert, figuring out what... Read more
Oskar Schindler’s quote in the 1993 film Schindler’s List haunts me. I didn’t do enough. It haunts me, like the story of the rich man who wanted to know what he must do to be saved, and Jesus put it simply. Sell what you have and give it to the poor. It haunts me, like the words of Jesus when He said, depart from me for I did not know you. (more…) Read more
I used to play “Bridge over Troubled Waters” by Simon & Garfunkel for my unborn daughter when I was pregnant. She’s fifteen now. I listened to the song today while running errands. Talk about a song for mothers and their children. Then, I listened to it like Mary was singing it to me. Double dare you to do that. Tears. Read more
I had literally been there, done that, and bought the T-shirt. . . and the coffee mug and calendar and a host of other souvenirs. I’d seen a Beef Eater, Big Ben, and a double-decker bus. I’d walked the halls of Hampton Court Palace and Westminster Abbey. I’d made my purchases at Harrods and walked along Tower Bridge. And I’d done these things alone. As the plane sought higher skies that November morning, I longed for someone who could share... Read more
Have you ever noticed how ugly daffodil bulbs are? I planted some recently. Every single one looked dried out and ready for the trash can. Even the root system looked like something I’d sweep into a dustpan. It’s hard to believe that I will have any green shoots in the spring. It’s even harder to believe that those green shoots will reach up to touch the sunlight of those first warm days of spring and unfold into little yellow cups... Read more
I have wanted to be a writer since I was in 9th grade. That’s when Mr. Canterbury made us write short stories and read them to the class. I shook. I found it hard to swallow. But I fell in love with writing and sharing my words with others. I realized not everyone feels that way about writing when Val asked me to be her ghost writer the next time Mr. Canterbury gave us a short story assignment. (more…) Read more
Crane Creek was the rambling stream that ran behind our house in the heat of summer. It was the swelling water that rushed mightily in the spring and flooded the basements in Saratoga, except ours – thanks to the sump pump the board of trustees included in the building plan of the new parsonage (think Protestant rectory). Crane Creek was the frozen play land where I first learned to keep my ankles firm when they wanted to twist and buckle... Read more
You can chalk it all up to nostalgia. My husband recently purchased a G-Shock watch through Ebay. We stopped to pick up the mail on our way to town. He couldn’t wait to see it – so I opened it while he drove. He spent the next 24 hours obsessing over it. It was just like the one he’d had as a kid. (more…) Read more
Denise Bossert
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