Every Little Thing Wants To Be Loved.

I Watched Him, Filled With Tenderness And Ache, Wondering What It Was That Connected Us. Was It The Wounded Places Down Inside People That Sought Each Other Out, That Bred A Kind Of Love Between Them?

My Children Have Always Existed At The Deepest Center Of Me, Right There In The Heart/hearth, But I Struggled With The Powerful Demands Of Motherhood, Chafing Sometimes At The Way They Pulled Me Away From My Separate Life, Not Knowing How To Balance Them With My Unwieldy Need For Solitude And Creative Expression.

When It Comes To Religion Today, We Tend To Be Long On Butterflies And Short On Cocoons. Somehow We're Going To Have To Relearn That The Deep Things Of God Don't Come Suddenly.

I Felt Amazed At The Choosing One Had To Do, Over And Over A Million Times Daily--choosing Love, Then Choosing It Again...how Loving And Being In Love Could Be So Different.

What Has Happened To Our Ability To Dwell In The Unknowing, To Live Inside A Question And Coexist With The Tensions Of Uncertainty? Where Is Our Willingness To Incubate Pain And Let It Birth Something New? What Has Happened To Patient Unfolding, To Endurance? These Things Are What Form The Ground Of Waiting.