Students found the idea of a week in silence more alarming than a week detoxing from substance abuse, but as full time high school English teachers, my husband and I treasured the time in silence and prayer.
“Grandma, where’s your mean picture?” asks my seven-year old grandson.“Mean” picture? Our house is full of family photos, paintings, icons – but I can’t think of any “mean” pictures.
At the local library yesterday, my four-year-old granddaughter listened to stories about stars, and about how everything on earth – including the Earth itself — is made from the debris of exploding stars, known as supernovas.
Jesus with gray hair? That’s not an image I’d ever imagined, not until my six-year-old granddaughter created one.
Not long ago, as I waited to use the restroom at Friendly Toast in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, I became intensely aware of the sign on the door
“Resurrection comes amid the deep loss that plunges us into darkness, when life hurts and makes no sense.” Br. Luke Ditewig, SSJE The day after […]
Editor’s Note: This post has been adapted from Mary Lee’s original post for The New Northeast, a online community for the Episcopal Diocese of Maine. […]
These days my prayers are an admission that I’m not the one in control.
Talking with unchurched grandchildren about matters of faith involves a dance whose steps I’m still learning.
The creation of these prayers nearly always binds a group together in profound ways.