Liturgy has become a steady companion in my faith, giving me words when I have none and reminding me that I don’t walk this path of faith alone.

I may be living at a slower pace out of necessity, but that doesn’t mean my life is on hold. It just means I'm adjusting to a slower rhythm.

If we aren’t intentional about tending to our souls, we run the risk of being subjected to a pace of life that distracts us and a depth that doesn’t feel satisfying.

Twenty years ago, I made a list of 100 life-enriching little nuances. As I scanned the list recently, I was surprised to see how many of them still feel, well … life-enriching.

Our original Friday group. Mike is in the front on the left.

Dormancy isn't just rest, but quiet renewal, letting life slow down long enough to rediscover what makes it sweet.

In a world that feels noisy and cramped, muddy pumpkin fields, fire pits, and chairs in the woods remind us we were made for more. They aren’t luxuries – they’re life’s gentle necessities.

The nurses in the infusion center reminded me that even small acts — a warm blanket, a simple meal, or a few kind words — can nudge the world in the right direction, one hurting soul at a time.

In a world that often nudges us toward isolation, we need reminders about how we can draw strength from one another to overcome spiritual dryness.

Sometimes, it's in the quiet exchange of ideas and the mutual respect for each other's growth that we find our most profound connections.

On some level, we’re all freaks. Acknowledging that might help us to cut our fellow freaks a little slack once in a while.

Our legacy isn't just in the big moments, but in the small, intentional acts of connection.

In a world that seems to spin faster each day, I can't help but think that a return to the dinner table is worth savoring.

I’m learning to create and cherish spiritual pauses – knowing that in those moments, clarity often follows.

A heartfelt recollection of a first childhood crush, and the innocent, all-consuming feelings that came with that early experience.

Mo matter how much time passes, I can still see Biscoe on the porch, flipping the pages of his newspaper and Sadie with her iced tea, offering me a sense of home and belonging.

I wonder if our collective return to the tangible is a search for something more than just nostalgia.

Memorize a joke or two and use it as salve on somebody who is hurting.