Most writers walk a fine line between stealing from life and exploiting life.

Just as I took care to exercise physically for the endurance of my heart, I needed to break a spiritual sweat for the good of my soul.

We women do not want to make waves; we do not want to upset people. But the moment for all of us to act is decidedly now.

I think of mentors and helpers, men and women of kindness and compassion, heroes who listen to their better angels, as triggers for good.

Do not ever let anyone say that sobriety is easy on a family: The return of a prodigal can spark consuming fires.

We do not anticipate young mothers dying at a moment devoted to birth, and yet we know it happens. We know about death, and yet we are caught unawares by it.

Since retiring from my job, my husband has found me irritating. We had a talk (after fighting), and he is right: I am mothering him. Smothering him. “I have a mother,” he said. “I want a wife, a partner, a best friend.”

The most compelling reason not to execute the convicted is an existential one: We humans are not God.

Like the men of Galilee present at the ascension of Jesus, we search the skies for unclouded meaning.

The church needs our young people. But we elders cannot nurture them in the faith if we repel them.