Sue Monk Kidd jumped out at me this afternoon. I was sitting quietly, listening for . . . well, I guess for a kick start to my purpose, some renewed clarity in today’s writing. Anyway, her book caught my eye. It lay buried in a pile of other titles. I pulled it out from under the others; somehow I felt one of her most personal works, “When the Heart Waits,” was going to speak to me. I opened the book, turned only a few pages and found these words by T.S. Eliot: “I said to my

The dark winter, our months-long tunnel, stretches out, still dark, still full of potholes and closed-off places, but I sense a quickening as I continue through it. Pinpoints just ahead and around grow even larger, rounder, brighter, and as I turn my attention to them, I notice it . . . Light. We all pretty much have our own definition of what a dark winter might mean. During this time of year, especially in 2020, darkness is a well-used metaphor for all kinds of emotions and

I’m still waking up in an uncertain, fast-spinning world. A few days ago, the planet’s latest spin landed squarely on my birth date. And though the world’s whims often feel well beyond my control, I want to declare that there will always be things I still have a say in, personal decisions I can choose, manage and be proud of making. Individual actions help change the world. At least that’s what I said to myself when I awoke to one more year behind me. “So, what might I concen