Friends of the Blind Man at Bethsaida – Mark 8: 22-26

Josiah’s been my best friend since birth, or so our mothers say. I don’t remember us crawling in the dust together or toddling among the olive grove as our mothers gathered olives. What I do remember is how he loved trees, climbing them, even when we were so very...
Touching the Hem of His Garment

Touching the Hem of His Garment

Desperate. Shunned. Lonely. Long, long, long suffering.  I vacillate between seeking healing one more time and believing that I shall never be healed.  Why try? Why not try? Why try? Why not try?  I’ve been dismissed. I’ve been given hope. I’ve grown sicker, not more...
The Stations of the Cross

The Stations of the Cross

A Valley and a Hill One Good Friday holy habit is to meander slowly by The Stations of the Cross which depict Jesus’ last hours.   In the center of San Luis, Colorado’s oldest town, a mesa rises above the vast valley, offering a poignant climb to Calvary.  ...
Answering the Question

Answering the Question

  Squirming came easy. Whether I was squished between my two younger sisters in the middle seat or stretched out on top of lumpy suitcases lining the rear compartment of the wood-paneled station wagon, finding a comfortable position required squirming creativity....

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