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Guest Author: 
Lauren Carlson

In a small town twenty-minutes from my home, craftsman Andy Kahmann runs a letterpress print shop in an old diner on Main Street. Andy and I are working on a project together. He is helping me print illustrated booklets of my poems. Andy has kindly offered to allow me to hand set the printing press. He warns, some people enjoy it—some don’t. “It’s not anything like typing on a computer, or using Photoshop,” he explains; “You have to learn to read upside down and backwards.”

Guest Author: 
Kimberly Borin

The seven-week series I was leading on a contemplative prayer program entitled Nourishing Peace had just started. My goal in teaching the series was to offer people a place to rest, to be still, and to be nourished in prayer. I also wanted to share techniques for breathing, sitting in silence, mindful movement, creativity, and self-reflection. Each lesson was carefully crafted with structure, materials, technique, and the hope that God’s grace would work beyond the lessons and techniques.

Guest Author: 
Stephen Grindle

As spiritual directors, we are charged with a great responsibility: to experientially understand the nature of the transformative process and to walk with others along that journey. We seek to become a transformed people, a community of the new. As I contemplate this, two questions emerge:

Guest Author: 
Bernadette Graves

I am intrigued by the dictionary definition of the word, “pause.” It can be used as a verb: to stop or suspend an action; or as a noun: a hiatus in activity for a calculated purpose or temporary respite. It seems to me that is a fitting way to describe spiritual direction.  As a verb, spiritual direction is to pause and be still; to step away from the busyness of daily life and to listen to that wise inner whisper. As a noun, spiritual direction is a graced invitation, an intentional interruption, a divine appointment.

Guest Author: 
Lauren Carlson

If asked, I assume many people would say that words are the most important part of a poem. However, careful readers and poets themselves would probably insist that pauses, or the endings and beginnings of lines, are just as important as the words of a poem itself; perhaps even more so. Like careful readers of poetry, we must consider more than our actions. We should scan our lives not only for words, but also for pauses.

Guest Author: 
Terri Pahucki

The harsh self-critic is an old acquaintance. She shows up all too often in my life, and in the lives of those I companion. I’ve heard his voice in the stories of men and women struggling with their personal worth. I’ve seen her judging eye looking back at me in the mirror when I’ve failed to live up to my own expectations.

In the mind of the self-critic, life is a scoreboard. Accomplishments and errors are tallied, and we look out upon the crowd to see how high—or low—we’ve ranked. While self-judgment is prevalent in many lives, it is an obstacle to becoming fully who we are.

On the journey to wholeness, the spiritual practice of humility might offer some guidance. By humility, I mean simply the work of finding and knowing our place, and living our shared humanity. 

Guest Author: 
Janice Lynne Lundy

You have to sniff out joy. 
Keep your nose to the joy trail. 
—Buffy Saint-Marie

I find that, on any given day, I may have to sniff out joy. To look deeply, really take note of things. Even reframe my life. I love the notion of living every day with more joy but sometimes we do need to attune our awareness to it. But where is joy to be found, really? And how do you experience more of it?

Guest Author: 
Katie Sturm

“Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness.”
                                                     —Desmond Tutu

There are numerous opportunities in today’s world to see darkness and despair. Whether news about crises in the Middle East, natural disasters, or polarizing shifts in our cultures, the shadows often seem to creep into our daily lives. It can even seem, at times, as if we are living in a perpetual twilight—there’s just enough light to see by, but not nearly enough to celebrate. Living in the Pacific Northwest of the United States, we see that phenomenon in the winter season, as the days grow shorter and the light seems so small in comparison to the long nights.

Guest Author: 
Terri Pahucki

This winter marks ten years since my father died. My journey through grief has taught me to nurture new growth in space that appears desolate and empty. In yearly ritual, I mark this time with nature walks to seek and notice signs of spring.  When my children were young, this was a full-blown affair that involved joining other local parents on the first mild-weathered day in late February for a guided trek through nearby wetlands at a place called Goose Pond. Our naturalist guides—two moms with babes in strollers—led us on our pilgrim way.

Guest Author: 
Therese Taylor-Stinson

Mae Street Kidd
8 February 1904–20 October 1999

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