I was sitting in the parking lot of the cemetery when my niece called to discuss her wedding which is this weekend.

It was almost nine pm when I dropped off a friend at the church parking lot and noticed a car in the driveway. Initially alarmed, I quickly noticed a person behind the shrubs weeding and pruning the flower beds around the chapel.

This week our brothers and sisters in Christ who are Southern Baptist debated yet again if women would be called as pastors and elders.

At the last minute, a friend invited me to the Kauffman Center to hear the famous cellist Yo Yo Ma in a “community conversation.”

This morning some are rejoicing, and some are lamenting a jury’s verdict. But on Sunday we gather at a table with those who disagree with us to break bread together.

When I arrived at Yale Divinity School the famous author and Catholic priest Henri Nouwen had retired from teaching and moved north to a different ministry context. However one of the staff members at the Divinity School still managed Father Nouwen’s finances.

A return to the rhythm of the ordinary sometimes feels sacred. Whether the extraordinary event feels joyful like a wedding or burdensome like a pandemic, our energy shifts to accomplishing this feat.

The word “Bread” appears in the Bible 325 times. Wine, 303 times. When I decided to preach on “Sharing Bread and Wine” I was surprised by the plethora of choices from Genesis to Revelation.

We checked in to KU hospital early in the morning where my husband Dave was scheduled for surgery. One of the pastors from our church stopped by to pray with us in the waiting room.

As I depart the church one evening, I notice the dappled hues of crimson, indigo, and emerald dancing on the stone floor.