Perhaps the kindest—and most instructive—comment I’ve ever received from a reviewer came from Mary Rose O’Reilly, author of The Barn at the End of the World: “I can imagine that [Elizabeth] has spent many hours staring out the window until she arrives at a lived-synthesis of what the great religions and irreligions have to tell …
Biking still evokes this lingering suspicion that I’m really a kid pretending to be an adult. Maybe it’s because I look so goofy. Maybe it’s because I’m having more fun than those gas-pedal-pushing professionals. Or maybe I’m back in that childish—or is it faithful?—place of participating fully in this glorious turning world.
Here’s the scene that comes to me: Hannah, fairly new in her midwifery apprenticeship, making a mess of her first attempt to draw blood. She’s hesitant to poke the needle deep enough to catch a vein, so blood spurts everywhere and the man who has offered his arm is hurt, albeit not much. Hannah develops a full-fledged terror of drawing blood. She’s sure that by inserting herself into others’ lives, she’ll hurt them.
In case you’re wondering, I’m writing this (at least the first draft) by hand, in a spiral notebook with a fountain pen. My laptop makes a great lap desk. I like the new paper against the back of my hand and the ink easing from my pen tip. Writing can be a calming, sensory delight. …
I’ve been mulling over a Zen story about a farmer whose horse ran away. “Such bad luck!” his neighbors said. “Maybe,” the farmer replied. Then the horse returned, accompanied by two wild horses. “So fortunate!” the neighbors said. “Maybe,” said the farmer. Later, the farmer’s son tried to ride a wild horse, was thrown off, …
Sorry, folks. I’m too busy to write a Faith Finder article this month. I could give you all sorts of explanations—the 8 a.m. phone call with Gwyn’s teacher, the hassle of bundling her off to school, the disaster I’m ignoring in the kitchen, my crazy to-do list—but ultimately the problem is internal. Jangled nerves. Thoughts …
It’s gone out of fashion. Even in Christian circles we associate humility with the mothballed faith of our grandmothers. These days we have more hip spiritual practices, like living in the present moment and doing yoga and advocating for GLBTQA rights. Why bother groveling? With anything that might undermine our pride? Spirituality’s supposed to make …
Arnold Lobol writes a cautionary tale about a housefly who one day wakes up to see all the dirt in his house. He diligently begins sweeping. When he pushes the pile over the threshold, he notices the dirt on his front path, and then on the road. He’s a good way down the road when …