Each year, as November becomes December, I remember how my mother decorated early and beautifully for Christmas. Colored lights were hung on the house, and a giant wreath could be seen from the street. A pine tree stood as tall as the living room ceiling with ornaments, lights, and silver tinsel icicles.  The “Christmas lamp,” a porcelain angel holding a lighted candle, stood in a cloud of white angel hair. A creche of plaster figures with paint loved off edges and faces sat

One of my friends was a chaplain at University Hospital during the first year of the pandemic. He told me that during that time his...

There is something to be said for the Spirit of peace and concord, the Spirit who smooths ruffled feathers and soothes our souls. She’s...

One time someone called to make a reservation at the convent for a Lenten retreat. A little later, she called back and asked us whether...