Karen Skalitzky is a speaker, writer, and spiritual director. A former educator, she has over twenty years of experience transforming underperforming schools into the kind of schools all children deserve. She believes we can find the sacred in everything and everyone, in any moment and any place. Her first book, A Recipe for Hope: Stories of Transformation by People Experiencing Homelessness, was featured on WGN-TV. Her essays have appeared in U.S.Catholic, Brain, Child: The Magazine for Thinking Mothers, and Northwestern Magazine. A graduate of Northwestern University, Karen lives in Chicago with her son. Her monthly column, GodisBig Reflections, is read across the country. Read more
“You are an excellent presenter: lively, engaging, gentle and authentic.”Chicago Area Spiritual Directors
Stories are my currency. My flow. My way of bringing the sacred into the light. As a speaker, nothing is more energizing (and awe-inspiring) than talking about how we can find the sacred in our everyday lives. I customize each program to meet the needs of the audience. My most popular topics include:
- God Is Big: How to See the Sacred in All Things
- God Is Big: The Theology of Rest and Self-Care
- Hide and Seek: The Art of Knowing God
- God Is Big: The Art of Letting Go
“You make me laugh out loud, then cry. Your words open my heart.”
“In a desperate bid to catch up on the emails that have been whipping past me all day, I came upon yours—and felt a moment of peace.”
I started walking the Camino de Santiago on New Year’s Day. Known as a pilgrimage across Spain, the Camino dates back to the eighth century. Millions upon millions of people of every faith, hue, and nationality, have hiked the month-long (or longer) trek to the city of Santiago de Compostela where St. James the Apostle is reportedly buried. It is considered a sacred journey in search of meaning and transformation. It could not be more timely on the heels of 2020.
We watched as red and black balloons drifted up slowly into the winter sky and then out of sight. Gone. Like my friend’s husband of 39 years whose memorial my son and I were attending. Gathered in masks on a cold December afternoon, we stood in the quiet of the field, eyes lifted, honoring him. A grandfather, a deacon in the church, a dad. Gone, gone, gone. Late that night, and many others that follow, I lie down on my living room floor. I like to feel the solidness of the hardwood beneath me. It grounds my prayers, especially in this bittersweet holiday season.
Love is spacious. This is what I am learning amid a global pandemic that requires us to keep our distance. Ironic, perhaps. But the wide embrace of God’s love brings me solace.