Can we strive to have the grace to back away when our presence doesn’t feel like safety?

We can be cheerleaders for simple joys (even when we don't share them) and compassionate about the fact that we’re all just trying to survive.

Sometimes grief sends notice ahead of time; sometimes, it shows up as an unwelcome, uninvited guest.

There is relief and remorse equally in my heart as the growing season comes to a close.

This is the beauty and sparkle of spiritual communities: needs arise and beloveds appear to ask, “How can I help?” There’s no fixed timeline, just the spiritual practices of generosity and stewardship.

Coming out to my family was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do. I realized that my choice was one of life and death, and I needed to let my secret out in order to continue living, and to do so authentically.

What I do know for sure is that hope matters. One of the best things we can do is to hold hope for someone when that person cannot hold it for themselves.

May I always remember that Tango, like life, is a dance of the people. It’s meant to be shared, not practiced in isolation.

There are so many spiritual lessons from the natural world and—in a season filled with Ingatherings and Water Communions—this is one for me: oxbow lakes as a beautiful combination of resiliency, strength, and flexibility.

It was my inadvertent letting go that made this wild, interdependent beauty possible. And at that very moment, I knew I didn’t need that sort of control anymore.

"We are the people who return to love like a North Star and to the truth that we are greater together than we are alone." —Rev. Theresa Soto, in "We Hold Hope Close" I spend a lot of my Saturday evenings feeling awkward at wedding receptions, because most guests don’t want to talk to The...

As a hospital chaplain, I often listen to painful stories. We call it compassionate presence, but I may be crying inside. When words fail, I pray and sing.

If justice is to be realized, our voices must speak loudly—even boisterously—of love.

People of color—and other marginalized people—can’t just want things to be different. It has to be everyone wanting things to be different for everyone.

The stone soup story isn’t about selfish people. It’s about people who thought they were powerless.

When we can gently hold things steady, change comes from within; that’s where the real growth happens.

Who are you going to be, today? And tomorrow? Who are we all becoming, together?

It's hard to feel gratitude for something when you're focusing on what’s wrong with it.

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. ...

We can’t always predict which choices will wind up having a huge impact on us, whether it's bringing home a stuffed animal or taking a particular train to Oxford Circus.