I kill plants. I don’t set out to do this. I doubt anyone does. But still they die. To my surprise, this summer my son and I decided to turn a patch of weeds in front of our building into a garden. I let him pick flowers to honor his birth-mama and his birth-papa.
Back to Me: Accepting the invitation to be still
I am running hard down the sidewalk. Street after street after street. Desperately searching for my car so much so that my heart is pounding when I wake up. In my dream, I am running away. From what I do not know. I have a plan, but it gets foiled somehow. I understand, in only…
Fertile Ground: Finding forgiveness in ourselves
Once as I was listening to a homeless woman tell me her story, I felt the walls start to close in on me. We were sitting in a tiny windowless office at the social service agency where I volunteered to serve breakfast. Claire washed dishes for them. She was petite, not more than five feet…
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).
One Day: How our missing pieces find us
I said good-bye to the home I grew up in. I cleaned out every closet. I threw out my high school planners and parted ways with paper after paper from undergrad. I laughed out loud as I read the notes my best friend and I passed back and forth in eighth grade—then I tossed them…
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.
Listening: How stories show us the presence of God
His mom was once homeless, but you would never know. In a blue Superman t-shirt with a tiny red cape Velcro-ed to his shoulders, he races back and forth across the lecture hall, tirelessly, his giggle trailing behind him. The wonder in his two-year old eyes is contagious.
The Gift of Silence: Making room for its healing alchemy
My dream came back, the one where I am drowning. How it happens keeps changing. The first time, I was both on land and in the water (as only in dreams), watching myself sink and disappear out of view. I remember feeling terribly helpless. The next time I went under, I stared out into the…
New Births: Waiting in anticipation
“Wait for it,” was what that voice deep inside of me said. “Just wait for it.” I was sitting with my ten-year old nephew at a Chicago Bulls game some time ago. I’d gotten the tickets for free and was feeling like the super-cool aunt when I offered to take him with me. He was…
We Matter: How to see as the divine sees
“Mama?” my six-year-old son asked, turning toward me. “Why don’t we just give him money to buy a house?” Solid reasoning, I thought, having just tiptoed across a browning lawn to a man who lay bundled in blankets. He was asleep on a large circular air vent in the shadows of one of the most prestigious universities in the nation. My son did not want to wake him. Neither did I.