This is my favorite thing about seaweed: it feels so much like my neurodiverse brain.

Spirits of winter, I celebrate you!

I encouraged my students to question authority, especially my authority, because only rarely can we recognize our biases without help.

We are the hands and feet of love. And sometimes its fingernails, too.

May we remember the belonging that is ours simply because we were born.

Little changes can snowball into massive impacts.

I choose to believe in the God who makes me kinder.

My dreams matter, as they are connected to the dreams of my ancestors.

Water sustains, gives, and yields to / Life.

We are living today with time to do good for ourselves and for each other.

we are here, and flowing, in and of, made of, because of You

My inner compass reminds me of the power we’ve been given to create a new future.

The wilderness alongside every moment, sprawling in each direction, holds more than the silence that theologians imagine of God.

At the core of American racism is the belief that the things we the Blacks desire, the fact that we the Blacks desire, are perversions.

It often feels like we’re shouting into the void. It was a gift to be reminded that sometimes someone is listening.

I hope that this Great Silence, which has come alongside the suffering, holds the beginnings of our healing.

In my chapel, redwing blackbird unravels her liquid song in the cattails.

This recipe has been tweaked over time, so adjust as necessary. Sometimes it yields more servings than anticipated. Sometimes it needs a bit more of this ingredient or that. It comes from generations who have gone before me, and I've added my own flavor along the way. A Recipe for Resilience One...

We live on a fragile island of life, in a universe of possibilities. For many millennia, humans have been on a journey to find answers, answers to questions about naturalism and transcendence, about who we are and why we are, and of course, who else might be out there. Is it really just us?...

I call the tall bush on my back patio “Burning Bush” because in autumn its leaves are a fiery red. All winter long I overlooked three uninhabited nests inside of it. For months and months I could have perceived—but didn’t—what was in plain sight. ...