Recent research shows Americans pray in droves! I don’t know about you, but I am surprised and delighted by this. I’m also surprised to find I’m surprised. After all, prayer is almost as old as humanity. Americans do affiliate less with formal religion than in centuries past. But why would I—why would anyone—surmise that they also pray less? And people surveyed pray for the reasons people have always prayed: foremost, to connect with the divine. Secondarily, to lift up those... Read more
She was nose down in dense clover, tail feathers up and wings askew like an ill-fated paper airplane. No movement, and seemingly no way to right her injured self from the expanses of oxalis that had overtaken my late-summer garden. Whenever a bird strikes my front window, my eyes dart in that direction; if I don’t see the bird rebound and fly away, I scan the bed below the window for a sign. After eleven years in this house, I’ve... Read more
On the farm where I live, we have several animals—cows, chickens, turkeys. But foremost in my heart are the cats. We have six housecats and one barn cat, which is to say, a lot of cats. It wasn’t always this way. Two sibling cats were abandoned on the farm during the pandemic, and one of these lasses quickly had kittens—some of whom stayed on. Six is a lot of cats, yet I love each one with focused appreciation; and I... Read more
{For the beginning of this series, click HERE} In a guestroom, I placed a small wooden plaque instructing, “Just live your little life.” I like the admonition. And I need it. Most of us have little lives. Not unimportant or trivial lives, but lives that don’t rock the world. There are the powerful, influential people who usher in movements or manage large organizations or invent cures or other inventions. There are even the select few who are successful and well-known... Read more
On the surface, this week’s gospel reading at the end of John (John 20:19-31) is a story about doubt and belief, and a recounting of an appearance by Jesus before his disciples. But I can’t read it without drawing in biblical studies. Because one of the key aspects of this passage is the statement “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” John was the last of the gospels, written many decades after Jesus’ life. The writer... Read more
{For the beginning of this series, click HERE} Last week clouds parted and heavenly choirs let loose in the Willamette Valley, and I took my first walk in a month. I’m usually a brisk, determined walker. But I walked three blocks in the time I normally walk ten, wearing my cushiest slides for shock absorption. Many daffodils were on display and I shared a stare-down with a squirrel who was apparently unfazed by my presence. That’s how slow I was... Read more
{For the beginning of this series, click HERE} A Buddhist friend once shared a technique she uses to manage stress in difficult circumstances: “walk slowly.” I have tried at times, and it helps. It is also opposite of what until recently I did under stress, when I’d rush around like I’d quickly get to peace-and-quiet if I got things done quickly. In the midst of my current flare-up of chronic illness, I’m walking slowly. It’s fairly easy to remember when... Read more
{Read the beginning of this series HERE} My bed now faces the large window. The large window, now naked of sheers. If I must be in bed to heal—to heed the body’s limitations, I must have the best view from my window. While I’ve had far better views (for almost a year, the Pacific Ocean, for over a decade, wooded hills), I do see sky and the low branches of two large trees. The tree out the large window has bark... Read more
My chronic-illness crash came the day my husband fell. Three days earlier we’d driven to Willamette Falls hospital at five in the morning so a surgeon could repair his epically misshapen spine. Ed’s post-surgery recovery had proven challenging; but on this morning as he shuffled from the bedroom to the bathroom with the help of a walker, I watched as he began to shake. Then as I implored, “Don’t fall. Just don’t fall,” he went ashen and crumbled to his... Read more
There is something archaeological about moving—the artifacts of past lives and forgotten experiences we unearth, the evidence of emotional layers long since covered over. When I moved in 2019, I came across a 4×6” piece of paper on which I’d written in large letters, “God is in the obstacle.” The words were likely written four or five years earlier, tacked to the edge of my bathroom mirror so I could let the meaning sink in. By the time I found... Read more
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