He's a good, good father.
Photo by Sally Yu It all started with the hot dogs in a box. That’s when I knew. It was a charmingly dreary, rainy day and we had just...
Joyful, joyful
I wrote this over my last breakfast in Poland. It’s unpolished and true. I sat in the square, watching horse-drawn carriages roll slowly...
The Sorrowful Mysteries of the Holocaust
Photo by Yongmi Jo When I look at the cross, I see hope. I see the joy of redemption, the power of love over death, and the gravity of...
On endless zippers
Photo by Clare Lee This time last year, I wrote of my suitcase heart. My seemingly boundless capacity to grow in such affection for more...
On becoming a dreamer again
I used to be a dreamer. When I was a little girl, I wrote the names of my five future children on a notepad. The only one I remember is...
The victor of my troubled heart
Do not let your hearts be troubled. It’s an interesting thing, that. Do not let your hearts be troubled. As if they’re prone to that...
Confessions of a Lenten failure
Lent was always my favorite time of year. Always, that is, until this year. I’ve been a complete and utter failure this Lent. And it’s...
On hungry prayer
My goal this week is to be hungry. That may sound strange, I know, but there it is. Hunger indicates a yearning, a desire, a longing. It...
My fig tree year
Sometimes, I think I’ve forgotten how to live in the present. Memory and imagination, nostalgia and wistfulness, the past and the...
For her.
She’s not just my mother; she’s my friend. And today is her birthday. It seems only right to honor her here, for she has been such an...
