The people of God in Isaiah’s day had starved their imagination by looking on the face of idols, and Isaiah made them look up at the heavens; that is, he made them begin to use their imagination aright. Nature to a saint is sacramental. If we are children of God, we have a tremendous treasure…

“The smell of bruised apples reaches me of a sudden. And in that moment I am back in Miss Eliza's kitchen, rich with cooking odors: the nutty smell of roasting coffee berries, the syrupy scent of fruit upon the stove, the pierce of a fresh-cut lemon, the sweet warmth of a split vanilla pod, the…

Gethsemane The grass never sleeps. Or the roses. Nor does the lily have a secret eye that shuts until morning. Jesus said, wait with me. But the disciples slept. The cricket has such splendid fringe on its feet, and it sings, have you noticed, with its whole body, and heaven knows if it ever sleeps.…

You can tell someone you love 'em From the bottom of your heart And believe that it's the truest thing you've known And even if you never break the promises you make The river's gonna keep on rollin' on And if you haven't got a dollar Not a penny to your name Somebody's gonna miss…

When first I met Dr. H he was walking toward me across the small parking lot from his office in Boise, ID. I was early for my appointment, so my husband and I had sat in the truck to wait a bit. I still couldn't drive. He must have seen us. As I climbed out…

It’s Birthday week at our house for my guy . . . Dad, Pops, Grampa. We'll be gathering to celebrate with a meat and potatoes dinner, his grandaughter's homemade bread, and daughter's Pecan Cheesecake. His kind of feast. If you ask him what he might like as a gift, he’ll say the same thing every…

Already I have shed the leaves of youth, stripped by the wind of time down to the truth of winter branches. Linear and alone I stand, a lens for lives beyond my own, a frame through which another's fire may glow, a harp on which another's passion, blow. The pattern of my boughs, an open…

I sit by the window with my morning coffee. It is quiet except for the hum of the fan in the old wood stove. The sun brightens the pages in my lap, Madeleine L’Engle’s Glimpses of Grace. The shadow of a bare Virginia Creeper branch moves back and forth across the page. I wonder if…

Going to Walden by Mary Oliver It isn’t very far as highways lie. I might be back by nightfall, having seen The rough pines, and the stones, and the clear water. Friends argue that I might be wiser for it. They do not hear that far-off Yankee whisper: How dull we grow from hurrying here…

Through the heads of the passengers milling around the train station, he saw her . . . dark brown hair, full lips, and those legs! He made his way toward her, emboldened by the uniform he wore. She saw him coming towards her. He looked like movie star Van Johnson . . . tall, thin,…