The world is on fire. How are we going to respond? In the past week, my attention and all my news and social feeds were riveted to the protests in more than 140 cities in the US and globally, over…
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I spent the summer of 1990 in Birmingham, Alabama. Like most summers in the deep South, it was hot, sweltering and sticky that summer. I had completed my first semester of seminary, and wanted to get some “field work” under my belt. So I applied to be an editorial assistant at Woman’s Missionary Union. I’d grown up on a steady diet of missions literature and practice which came out of Birmingham, so this was a bit like going to the holy city for me. Like most pilgrimages it had its moments of awe and its moments of disillusionment. It also held moments of learning and friendship, which have deepened across the years.
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Learning to Cook: Last night I attended a cooking class at the Chef’s Gallery in Stillwater, Minnesota. And as classes go it was fun, entertaining, informative and useful.
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Three days in a row I found myself sitting with three different circles of women. We gathered around food, friendship, stories, laughter, tears, outrage, and promise. The occasion and purpose for each circle was different, yet they shared some things in common. Conversations took turns through work, love, grief, friendship and gratitude.
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