On sabbatical in East Africa, I heard a story of a people who believe that we are each created with our own song. Their tradition as a community is to honor that song by singing it as welcome when a child is born, as comfort when the child is ill, in celebration when the child marries, and in...

Most of us look for love in only the most obvious places, and as a result, most of us come away disappointed. Its as if we are still grade school kids, counting valentines as a measure of what matters. The love that matters is not typically the subject of sonnets or love songs....

Come down off the ladder. Wash out that paintbrush. Shake the sand out of your shoes. Get up off your muddy knees, and give the garden a morning off. Fold up the newspaper. Turn off the coffeepot. Close up your calendar, already filled with dates, and times, and people, and places that claim you.