A friend, recently and tragically bereaved, wrote me of the tears that came upon her during a chapel service at her daughter’s scho

My husband was to fly in that night. No problem. I’d gladly meet him after a week’s separation.

The office in my high school was on the first floor, in the center of the building.

This Easter, as they have for nearly 2,000 years, Christians will celebrate Jesus’ resurrection from the tomb.

I’m visiting a dank, dusty hallway in the basement of our house. I don’t go there often, and the lighting is poor.

Dear friends, I’ve found something important that I believe we need to approach with careful pastoral discernment.

I can feel January coming —feel it in my soul.

A few years ago I was driving along, daydreaming and only half listening to Garrison Keillor’s “Writer’s Almanac”

C. S. Lewis taught many people many things, but he couldn’t teach his own dog to fetch a bone.

An astute third-grader once asked me, “Do you ever wonder if life is real?

Have you ever written a spiritual autobiography? You know, a story about your own faith journey.

Body and soul stretching,
creating space,
groaning,
tearing.
Life from life,
breaking free.

I’ve been following the process of Mother Teresa’s journey to official sainthood with interest.

The most refreshing change I’ve made in my Bible reading has been to learn how to pray Scripture contemplatively.

When people have prayed in a place continually for a thousand years, the place itself takes on the spirit of prayer,” the guide tol

It feels good to sit and relax after a busy day or after the kids have left for school.

HEALTH ALERT: Your physical and emotional well-being—and maybe even your very survival—depends on your obedience to the nat

One of my great joys of the Advent season is to bring up my large box of Christmas decorations from the basement.