As long as I have lived here, almost 30 years now, a mockingbird has arrived every spring and stayed until the approach of winter.

Without the weeks I spent easing back into prayer, I would not be alive today.

The more I learned about C.L.C., the more on fire I felt.

Sometimes they would rustle and fidget impatiently in the pews and fiddle with missals and fold the parish newsletter into ships and trumpets.

Mary is always shining in her window, watching over the street below. I have grown grateful for this rarefied presence, respectful and inclined toward pious feelings when I pass.

Prisons don't solve problems. They create problems.