I share this story because in it, I experienced something true.

In our grief we become cartographers, locating our dead beloveds – however mysteriously – on a map.

What if our varying experiences of grief are not progressive points along a line of time but places to which we travel and in which

There are many kinds of darkness, aren’t there? And still yet, many more ways of experiencing and perceiving the different kinds of darkness.

In writing for the Reformed Journal, many of my caves have become tunnels. As I read your stories and you read mine, I can breathe

I had loved the flower virtually for years, connecting it to my faith and my vocation. And here it was in real life. It was

Today I share some of my favorite photos from our walk to Santiago de Compostela, clustered around the words of the 23rd psalm.

My hand on my heart is a sign I make in honor of those who died in those places. To remind myself that they were

Sometimes we need to leave the broken pieces behind.