Circle of Love: How to expand beyond our imagination

silver ring on silver necklace

I dated “Jesus” the summer after I graduated from high school. It was a brief romance. His real name was David. He was the lead (aka Jesus) in my all girls high school production of Godspell. Stocky with wavy hair, “Jesus” made us all swoon. I remember coveting my friend’s role on stage. She got to sing By My Side and look longingly in his direction as he stared out into the audience. “Where are you going? Can you take me with you?”

A Gift from the Divine: Trusting in the good and not-so-good

A gift box wrapped in shiny gold paper

The table is set. Fine china and crystal at all four place settings. I quickly replace my son’s glass with a less-breakable one. My mom, at 84, is bustling around a tiny kitchen. My dad, reading the paper. My eyes scan their new retirement apartment. The china cabinet of my childhood stands firm, unchanged. The buffet table too.

The Power of Forgiveness: Letting your love shine

I am addicted to Snickers bars. It started as a tribute to my aunt. She died not long after Thanksgiving last year. When she was first diagnosed with cancer, the doctors suggested she might have five years. She lived fourteen more. I am still in awe of her fortitude. I envied her sense of place.

Allowing Mystery: How to turn anger into compassion

I believe in mystery, especially the everyday variety that opens our hearts. Right before I went into business for myself, I took a position at an institution of higher learning renowned for its cutting edge research and Nobel laureates. More than a few people suggested that by accepting this job I had somehow reached the pinnacle of my career (at the ripe age of 32).

Making Room for Transcendence: The art of acceptance and letting go

“Poof.” That’s what we call it in our home. My son learned to “poof” when he was five years old. I could see how he was worrying about things that he wished he had not done. I recognized the same in myself. So, I decided that after we talk through and allow our mistakes, as well as make our amends, we put our fingers up to our temples and count: “One, two, three, poof.” Then our jazz hands make it all go away.