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.

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.

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.

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. ...

Surrender is the last thing, often the only thing, available. And so we give ourselves to it. We fear it is our end. Sometimes—with grace or luck—we find it is our liberation.

It is my only memory of a lesson from Kindergarten Sunday School class. Maybe it’s the only one that counts.

"The soul is made of love and must ever strive to return to love. Therefore, it can never find rest nor happiness in other things. It must lose itself in love. By its very nature, it must seek God, who is love." —Mechthild of Magdeburg, 13th century Germany For twelve years, Daisy has been the...