frayed hems and fringes (on lament)
on the thick, angry sadness in the air and in our bodies, our deep longing for renewal, the questions that feel too honest to ask, an invitation to step into our own story, and the spiritual practice of lament
unforced rhythms of grace
The sun was setting as I waited in my car in the parking lot of my friend’s apartment complex, jotting down some ideas for a poem in my journal. I looked up as two boys, probably about ten years old, came racing down to the dumpsters, laughing, hauling their massive bags of trash above their heads and hurling them into