a prophetic voice-

I have long been a fan of the Olympics and so I watched some of the TV broadcast from London last evening: beach volleyball, some gymastics and swimming, but between the all-too-frequent commercials and the incessant, annoyingly-noisy severe thunderstorm alerts being issued by the National Weather Service, I finally turned of the TV to head upstairs to read. As I was lying in bed, reflecting on the Games, I recalled a column I had written about the XXIII Olympic Games in 1984, about a particularly hard-to-watch incident which had happened and was televised live (as most of the games were back then) for all the world to see. I share it with you as a reflection upon the dichotomy between the drive to win and the need for compassion. Perhaps some of you will remember this, too... Glory- At What Price? (August 1984)           Though not a particularly great fan of television, I have found myself seated in front of the tube every evening for the past week, reveling in the spectacle of

Today, we remember two remarkable women, women who were among the pioneers of their respective generations: Amelia Earhart and Sally Ride. Earhart was a childhood hero of mine- bold, confident, daring to go where other women had not gone before. Today is the 115th anniversary of her birth. And on this day in 2012, we mourn the death of Sally Ride, also a pioneer among the women of our day- bold, confident, daring to go where other women had not gone before. Both were drawn to the skies, Earhart to flight within our atmosphere, probably not even able to imagine flight which would go beyond the bounds of space; Ride to space flight far beyond the limits of gravity, into places and spaces perhaps only dreamed of by the earlier aviators. What amazing women! What incredible role models! Two women who dared beyond daring, who stepped out- or up- into the reaches of the beckoning skies, who spread their wings and soared. Wherever you are, dear Amelia, dear Sally, I am remembering you w

                                           I must acknowledge that I have been on a TV news fast for some time... months, actually. I struggle with the dichotomy of feeling the need to be informed about what's happening in this world of which I am a part and the feeling of helplessness and anger which fills me when I actually view almost any TV news program. I find all the negativity and nastiness pervading the realms of politics and news reporting energetically draining, sapping me of any sense of goodwill and compassion toward those with whom I share space on this seemingly-shrinking planet of ours. Perhaps I have reached a state of "compassion fatigue", my heart and mind no longer able to accomodate the overwhelming but very real needs of people in every corner of the world. Perhaps I have come to a place of intolerance for the many ways in which we human creatures denigrate and destroy one another and the natural world around us. Perhaps I have become tired of the

Nick is on the left... My grandson, Nikki, recently turned nine (though he now wants to be called Nick, just as his older brother, Jamie, wants to be called Jim- lots of adjustments for this grandmother, but then change is the story of life, isn't it?) I have been thinking about him a lot in the past several days, recalling the sweet-faced, wise-eyed baby and toddler he was, the still sweet-faced boy he has become- with his love of Grandma Linny's homemade applesauce and the readiness of his welcoming hug whenever we see each other. And as I was thinking about my Nikki (forgive me, Nick, but in my heart you will forever be Nikki), I recalled another Nicky who came into my life briefly many, many years ago when I was a young nursing student on Staten Island, NY. The impact he had on me has remained to this day and so I share his story with you, dear friends, from my January 1985 "Made for Living" column, in the hope that it will stir in you some recollection of t

Though there is little I miss about living in Florida those long years ago, I do miss the easy access to the beach, a short drive of fifteen or twenty minutes to my favorite spot where I could find rest and renewal with my feet trailing in the water and the ocean breeze soothing my face. Water has always been a healing, renewing source for me and it is no surprise that in the various religions of the world, it plays a significant role, reminding us of cleansing, rebirth, new beginnings. Perhaps that is what I most miss...that sense of the past being washed away and the present being the only true reality, with the future filled with endless possibilities. I really need to go to the beach! Renewal from the Sea (From Made for Living, 1981)           I went to the beach today. It is a place of such miracles, such beauty, such total restfulness, and yet such power. The perpetual murmur of the waves creates a symphonic background for the other beachside sounds, the crying of the gul

With my new haircut thrusting my eyes into prominence, I have been told more than once in the past week that I have beautiful eyes. It seems that with no distractions, people are seeing that one feature of min far more clearly...making me ever more aware of how I am looking AT others. What are my eyes conveying about what is in my heart and mind? What are they saying about the kind of person I am, about the measure of compassion and respect and care I have for each one I encounter? It was as I reflected on this that I recalled an experience I had years ago in a supermarket in South Florida, one I wrote about in my Made for Living Column. Going in search of it, I found myself smiing as I re-read it and recalled the incident with a great deal of pleasure as, even all these years later, I remember what an impact it made on my day, on my week. And so, dear friends, I share it with you today in the hope that it will be a reminder of the effect our words and actions make upon others...

A holy Sabbath, one and all. Though Sunday has, in this modern age, lost much of its cachet as a "day of rest" or even a day of worship, for those of us who grew up in a quieter, simpler time, it is still most often a day when the pace of life slows and thoughts can turn to matters of faith and our spiritual journey, our relationship with the Divine. For me, "faith" has become synonymous with trust...the belief in something beyond myself...the belief in a connectedness with the Holy that I can neither explain nor prove, but which I simply find deeply, intuitively real and true. Over the years, this journey of mine has taken me on a variety of pathways, some far more complex than others, some going far-afleid from the faith tradition in which I was raised; but always, I have found, these paths converged with and complemented one another, deeply enriching the ways in which I view what is sacred, what is holy, what is divine. And as I am a storyteller, I have collect

  This is day three of my new "do", the chemo cut I got on Tuesday in support of my dear sister, Kathy, who is the one receiving chemo in what she has dubbed "the greatest challenge of my life." It has taken a bit of getting used to, but now I only occasionally start upon seeing myself in a mirror or my reflection in a window. For the most part, I am truly enjoying the freedom of being basically without hair. It's interesting how quickly I can get ready to leave for work in the morning- a shower and a towel rubbed over my head and I'm good to go (after donning clothing, of course). The only people to really stare have been a few children...looking back over their shoulders as they pass me by and receiving from me a big, warm smile. And the people at work have been great, including the residents. Yesterday, one of the women, a black woman who has been a long-time resident, with the diagnosis of schizephrenia and one of my absolute favorites, laughe

It is HOT here in Carolina, as it is on most of the East coast. We are sweltering with the 90+ temperatures, 100+ some days, which have continued for more than a week. After a beautifully wet and verdant late May and early June, which had created a green and blooming world, the extreme temperatures are parching the land, in spite of occasional thunderstorms, and all around me, the natural world is taking on a yearning, thirsty look...including the human inhabitants. But I remember another summer, years and miles away, when my family had gone to the Dominican Republic with a mission project called Project Serve. And I recall the heat and the hardship...the whole thing, as we- a crew composed mostly of teenagers from Alabama and south Florida, with adult support helpers (I was the team nurse), were constructing a small church on a mountainside outside Santiago. Everything had to be carried in each day...all work was done by hand...and the combination of altitude and sub-tropical heat o