Death is a regular part of my job, which makes small talk weird for me at parties.

When we become fully aware of our limited time on earth we can still leave behind flowers and songs.

How much notice would I want ahead of time before I die?

My vet said, “She's telling you thank you for letting her go.”

Dying is scary, but we are brave, and we can talk about it together.

Memorial Day is not to be celebrated. It is to be observed, scrutinized, and witnessed on behalf of the true witnesses of our human failure to love our neighbor as ourselves.

A triumph of love over death is the core of the Easter message.

Impermanence, mortality, ashes, dust: this is the truth of being human.

The wilderness alongside every moment, sprawling in each direction, holds more than the silence that theologians imagine of God.

Before I birthed my baby, he was a possibility, a kick against my insides. With that first cry, first breath, he became a person in the world.

In my small-town congregation, our beloved dead seem to linger with us for a little while.

What had to die was my shame: my belief that I was not worthy of such love. I discovered a greater love within myself as a creation of God, worthy of these gifts.

Life is full of seesaws: it offers us moments of extreme wonder and moments of fear. Sometimes you have to live through the fear for the wonder to arrive.

Remembering is the art of holding a memory and sharing it; it’s drawing upon that memory so it can help us to grow into people who live lives of meaning and service. As a practice, remembering connects us deeply to each other and to the love that sustains us.