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My garden looks bare. It is so bare that it is slightly depressing. What ended last season as a lush and beautiful area is now scraggly; the proportions are all completely off. Why? Because I just split up the plants. The hostas. My family spent th…
If you’ve stood outside St. Paul and looked up, you’ve seen it: the sanctuary tower, rising above the roofline, capped with a large cross. It’s easy to take for granted. It was designed that way. But for years, water has been finding its way inside —…
The seasons of the church year shape our rhythms, marking moments of reflection and growth. We know what to expect when Advent approaches and again when Lent rolls around. These seasons come with practices, themes, and invitations we anticipate each…
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I ‘ve spent a lot of time walking down memory lane recently. As many of you know, this is the second time I’ve called Iowa home, the first being during my years at Wartburg College. Those memories are resurfacing and one in particular has stayed with…
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There are all sorts of places we might call home — apartments, houses, townhomes, RVs. And each home is, of course, unique to those who live there. Just think about the variety of houses you’ve spent time in. Some are organized, while others are a bi…
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I recently had my blood drawn in preparation for my annual physical. I used to be nervous about the poke, but now I’m less anxious about being punctured and more frantic about the test results. I think as we age things can go haywire, causing me to b…
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When I was in middle school, I got a TV in my room. Of course, since I was born in the 1900s, a TV in your room didn’t mean much if you didn’t have cable or a VCR (neither of which I had). Some nights, when the clouds were few and the wind was jus…
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St. Paul member Anna Villareal has built a career placing art where people need it most—and she’s bringing that work home to share with the St. Paul community later this month. Anna grew up moving. Wisconsin. North Carolina. Different cities, differe…
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Almost 20 years ago, the poet Mary Oliver wrote this poem, called Iraq. I want to sing a song for a body I saw crumpled and without a name but clearly someone young who had not yet lived his life and never would. How shall I do this? What kind of…
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Most Monday mornings when I get into the office, one of the first things I do to start my week is make a to-do list. I think about the tasks I need to get done, or I try to map out what my week might look like (knowing full well that my best-laid pla…
In this season of Lent, as we’re called to slow down, to change our pace and reconnect with what matters most, two St. Paul people have found something profound: the ministry of presence. Jan Muhs walks hospital corridors offering prayer cards and li…
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Last Tuesday morning began with a small moment that has stayed with me. I was out running on the Duck Creek path, completely in my own head — thinking about upcoming rehearsals and performances, entertaining the illusion that I resembled Giselle rath…