May we forever perceive the ways we can empower others.

This is a "love saves" story.

When I internalize cultural messages about the definitions of success or failure—or anything, really—I undermine my own sense of self-worth.

If a friend were in my situation, I would have seen their failings as human. So why hold someone to an unforgiving standard just because that someone is me?

I’d gotten in the habit of keeping my head down and hardly noticing where I was or who was around me. On this day, I decided to greet the world differently.

My oldest child was confused: why would no one stop and help us? Even though people weren’t stopping to help us, my son said, he wanted to be more like me and stop to help someone anyway.

In his autobiography, Theodore Parker relates that as a child, four or five years old, living on a farm in Roxbury, he was walking through the fields one day absent-mindedly swinging a stick through the tall grass. This was many years ago, in the days before the Civil War. It was summertime. He...

This piece can be read as a meditation, or used as a litany, in which the congregation responds to each line (in unison), "We ask a blessing on this day." In one way or another, each of you was born of a mother. Because we are human, it's likely that your relationship with that mother is, was, or...

Sisters, I stand before you without homily or lecture or opinion. I stand here naked on the page. I stand here with my hands extended in helpless prayer. I will never know your pain. I will never know your agony of spirit. I will never know the dark nights of your souls. I will never know the...

Original version in English by Tracy Bleakney, traducción en español por Theresa Soto A child journeys far from home Fearful and brave, in need of safe harbor. Guided by this chalice, may we seek to understand the causes of flight. Like the comfort of a candle flickering in a window of darkness,...

As I ride through Kandahar City’s Sub-District 9, I see a naked dust-covered kid playing along the road. That is not the strangest thing. But when he picks up a large rock and hurls it at the truck, I wonder aloud, “What the hell? Who lets their kid run around naked throwing rocks? What kind of...

I want to tell you a story about being new—and how sometimes it’s fun and sometimes it isn’t. Once there was a second grader named Paul. In September, he moved to a new town, had a new teacher and a new class and a brand-new desk. There was a boy sitting across from him with bright red hair,...