War. Death.Volcanic eruptions.Tsunamis.Destruction. It’s been a year. I didn’t grow up in a faith tradition that even acknowledged Ash Wednesday. (That was for those “liberal” mainline churches.) When my husband began pastoring, he began adding select services from the liturgical calendar to our church’s calendar. But even when we held an Ash Wednesday service, it
I’m No Superstar
I’m No Superstar is a blog for people like me who want to make a difference in the world but know they aren’t activists. Each post contains a social action idea that most of us could do, a book that’s worth reading, or a link to a website that offers other ideas. Oh, and it’s all introduced by a sometimes quirky story from my life.
2020 was going to be a hard-charging year. A brave year. I blogged about it in January, putting it out in the world. We all know what happened. Life was interrupted in a humungous, global, full-stop. This week, as I listened to the fabulous “Hello Goodbye 2020–2021” podcast and used its accompanying workbook, I had
I love Christmas lights. I’m thrilled when people want to decorate their homes like the Griswolds’ in Christmas Vacation. One of my favorite “dates” with Les at this time of year is scoping out well-lit neighborhoods. You know what it takes to run Christmas lights? Electricity. And Americans are facing a crisis over electricity. 17%—that’s
Owen isn’t Owen anymore. Once he arrives at his new school, he’s determined to be Rocky. No more being called “Owen the Owl.” No more fourth-grade bullies picking on him for having glasses or being smart. Rocky will be his new-and-improved self. I don’t know how things will turn out for Owen/Rocky and his reinvention;
The world has a thousand voices . . . listen to Holy Spirit.Lynelle Trigalet We are preparing for a move. I’ve always been a sentimental sort. So over my multiple decades, I’d packed six of these giant Rubbermaid totes of memorabilia. Over the winter, I’ve worked my way through them, looking to condense six decades
When Les and I got married, he was still a college student, working as the unglamorous “chicken boy” at a high-end meat store. I was working at Wanamaker’s department store as a mininum-wage saleswoman (probably salesgirl in those days—both age-wise and cultural-language-wise). We had no money. As we sped away for our honeymoon, I sat