The first time I ate a fresh ripe fig, I was 28 years old and worked for a Manhattan financial service firm. One of my coworkers lived in Elmhurst, Queens, and he brought in fresh, ripe green figs, a variety called Italian Honey. Thus began my lifelong fascination with this ancient, keystone fruit.

Our breath spangled the frosty December evening as we waved goodbye. My dog, Zeke, dropped, exhausted, to his mat in the living room to dream of chasing tennis balls and his best friend, our neighbors’ boxer dog, Cinder. We’d spent a good two hours watching the dogs zoom like maniacs across the lawn chasing balls and each other. The men wandered to the back for target practice while my neighbor and I leaned on the deck rail, petting Zeke and sharing stories about horses we had known and loved. It was a perfect Sunday afternoon. Sundays were once like this, a day of presence, first with God in church, then…

My husband held the bird’s nest out to me. “Feel the inside.” I reached out and touched the tiny nest gingerly. “It’s soft.” “The inside is lined in some soft moss,” he said. “And the outside is woven of coarse pine needles.” I marveled at the perfect construction of the little bird’s nest. We’d watched the sparrows build their nest among the boughs of the nectarine tree in the orchard. Our seven cats miraculously ignored the plain little birds flitting back and forth to the low-hanging branch as the sparrows wove the sturdy little nest. The mother sparrow snuggled tightly against her two little eggs while papa kept an eye…

Our spiritual growth requires abundant springs of living water. What should we do when the well runs dry?   As a transplant myself, I appreciate how hard it is to take root and grow in new soil. I should have recognized the signs of transplant shock in the redbud tree – and offered some salve, some support as it struggled to take root. We moved the young sapling in the cool of an early June morning. We watered it for a while, lavishing care and attention on it in its new location. By July, the leaves turned brown and crispy. They fluttered to the ground. “It’s dead,” we thought. We…

Families with children diagnosed with autism, learning disabilities, and intellectual disabilities need their church families. But churches are ill-equipped to welcome them.

Miracles are all around us if we just slow down enough to stop, look, and listen. Most of us are rushing so much we’re trapped in our own thoughts. We barely get out of our own way long enough to recognize something beautiful. To recognize a God-moment in our lives takes practice but once you begin recognizing all the little miracle moments, you realize that God is as close as your heart. This morning, my God breeze – a little whisper from God – came in the form of a bird. My husband and I live on a 17-acre farm. We love to observe the wildlife around us. I’ve noticed…

I stepped back, studying the lattice of branches arcing overhead.  My husband stood across from me and a few feet away, studying the apple tree in our orchard. “Here?” I asked, using the long-handled pruners to tap on the offending branch. “That one,” he nodded. It took every bit of strength in my upper arms to close the pruners over the thick branch, squeezing until it finally fell, crashing, to the orchard ground. My trapezius muscles ached, a deep, satisfying pain that meant we had finished pruning eight apple trees in one afternoon. A good day’s work for late winter. We collected the branches, living and dead wood, that we…

“Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.” It’s a commandment. Not a suggestion.

We are living in an age when calumny is king. It is becoming difficult to live as a flesh and blood being in a virtual world.