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.
I’ve written about refugees before (for example, A Little Child Shall Lead Them and Inviting Jesus In). I’ve had my friend and fellow writer Lisa Bartelt guest blog about it. But it’s not time to stop. My heart is broken today. This was the headline that caused it: Here’s the explanation from Church World Service (CWS):
Over a year ago I wrote a blog post that still gets attention. Just yesterday a woman thanked me for writing it and expressing her thoughts so well. That post, On Being (and Voting) Fully Pro-Life, still expresses my commitments and how I vote, how I advocate with elected officials and how I choose which
Many years ago, the adults in our extended family decided we would only buy presents for the kids. Life would be easier, and the Christmas budgets less stressed, if we didn’t buy for the grownups, we all agreed. And then on Christmas Eve, as we opened our presents, there were gifts for all the adults
Women and war. A violent mix. Women suffer most severely the effects of war. Rape. Mutilation. Watching family be murdered. Dying themselves. Someone needs to speak for the women who suffer. That’s where One Million Thumbprints comes in. This women-led organization asks us to join them in pushing the U.N. and other organizations to fulfill their
It’s crunch time! Do you still have people to buy Christmas presents for? Likely they are people who “already have everything” or “really don’t want anything.” I’ve got the perfect solution. Give them something heartwarming that they don’t have to store, use, clean or display. Give them an alternative gift. Give a woman in Burundi fabric
I was sitting at the table the other morning, bemoaning the fact that I had eaten too much the night before and the bathroom scale had reflected it. It wasn’t stopping me from eating breakfast, though. (Not much does; “most important meal of the day,” and all that.) I turned the page of the newspaper