My theories can stand up to your theories, boxing gloves raised. Or I can feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, take in the stranger, clothe the naked, help the ill, visit those in prison. Maybe your path is to educate about poverty, explain how folks arrived there, describe the terrible difficulty in getting out. Maybe my path lies in...

Here’s the truth: I am afraid. All the time, I fear . . . constantly. In circumstances without justification, I tremble. That’s who I am. I used to deny this about myself. I pretended it wasn’t true. Buck up, I ordered my quaking self. Get over it. Tossing my head, I stomped down the hallway, refusing to acknowledge that this FRIGHTENED me....

“Do Not Be Afraid” That’s my sister’s theme for Christmas. She picks a theme every year and, at Christmas dinner, we each talk about our thoughts on the theme. This year, I’ve brought Piglet as a theme visual aide. (A stuffed Piglet, Pooh Bear’s most faithful friend.) I love Piglet, he is the most nervous thing....

Why would we create a season of joy then scowl and purse our lips when those not “us” partake? “Happy Holidays!” “Merry Christmas!” The “reason for the season” is Jesus’s love. Given to us freely, yet we can’t share? The flash of a delighted child’s eye. An early Christmas morn...

A friend who’d read my blog entry about my book asked: “So, what did you decide – the check or the email?” It reminded me of when someone is telling a story to make a point and I’m listening not to the message but to the plot and they get to the end and I ask, “So . . . what happened to the chicken?” My friend was responding to the...

I have trouble staying in relationship with needy people. I’m not talking about female friends who’ve just broken up with the man of their dreams. I’m talking about people who need a ride to the Social Security Office. Those who need someone to visit them in jail. Those who ask if maybe they could stay in my spare bedroom. Those who telephone...

I didn’t know what cool was until my stepsister Elise came into my life. Christmas of my eighth grade, I weighed eighty pounds. I know this because my new school required a photo id, and the plastic-encased id included my weight. My new father had moved us to a new city, and I’d fallen into a group of friends, but I don’t remember ever starting...

Yesterday, I was sent two things in connection with my book, “Making Crosses: A Creative Connection to God.” One, a heartfelt “Thank you!” for writing a book that spoke directly to a reader who’d been twirling around the cross for a while, wondering why it called to her. The other was a check. A big check. Which...

When all of my friends and loved ones exuberated at the birth of my grandbaby, I saved their words and found a poem. The words are now tucked in a handmade book to be delivered tomorrow. Here they are: Thomas Aubrey Hill Prewitt: A Found Poem Babies take their own time coming into our world wander around New Orleans, people pretend not to notice holding...

Bigmama was there, because I used the dessert plates she gave me. Washing up afterwards, I turned them over and there on the tape on the back was her cursive: “Ellen.” Hers, too, were the ice cream dishes that held cranberry sauce, pickles, and jam; we had jam because Bigmama always had jelly or jam for any formal meal. My younger...