Walking into the room, I saw a 3-year-old with a cast on his leg sitting in his hospital bed surrounded by plush Hulk, Captain America and Spider-Man toys. Sitting next to the bed was a weary-looking mom, who welcomed me…
Beneath the intensity of the fluorescent lights, the pediatric intensive care unit felt even more garish at 3 a.m. as I stood in the hallway with a patient’s dad who was tearful and afraid. His daughter’s nurse had called me…
Outside my window, green shoots peek from the ground that was frozen just a couple of weeks ago. Warm air greets me like an old friend, and tree buds are biding their time until they explode open in pops of…
Here’s the thing: The parents are not all right.
We’ve been at this unprecedented pandemic-parenting for more than five months, and there is no visible nightlight at the end of this dark and uncertain tunnel.
To limit our intake of books, podcasts, movies, TV shows, sermons and articles to those produced by white men is the equivalent of limiting our understanding of God.
Beneath this star-spangled net of red, white and blue, we are trapped by hate and violence – and entitlement to our weapons.
This Sunday, as women around the country are celebrated for their motherhood amidst family and friends, what is the role of the church?
Good Friday isn’t just a set-up for Easter Sunday and the ham and new shoes that accompany that day. Good Friday is about grief. It’s about death and dying, pain and loss, emptiness and hopelessness. To beam the light in too quickly will render us unable to see.
Looking at the devastation wreaked by fire on the Notre Dame cathedral, it’s easy to get lost in all that is gone. But within the structure that remains is the hope of the millions who have gone before us, reminding us that hope is stubborn and connection runs deep.