I could barely wait to tear into the fat envelope. As I pulled out the letter, my eyes spotted the photos of two grinning girls with dark eyes. Come and see our children! I called out to my husband. To be precise, they are not really ours. They are two little girls in Ethiopia whom I am sponsoring t

I am sitting at my desk near the library’s back door when I notice a hat on the floor. Evidently one of the many theology students rushing to class dropped it. I notice that it is a fine hat, made of wool and clearly hand-knit, so I trust its owner will return shortly. If not, I remind myself,

In the black-and-white photo, my sister and I stand side by side, looking tanned from the Miami sun. We are decked out in crisp Easter finery, complete with straw hats. We are bursting with pride, because in our hands we are cradling something that for us represented the essence of Easter joy: two v

The screen door flew open and in they stampeded: my sister, my brother-in-law, my grown niece and her husband, and their three boysone only six months old. And don’t forget the dog. Suddenly our house had shrunk in size. There were bags everywhere, plus cameras, baby equipment, toys and diaper

I am cutting circles out of bright orange construction paper and turning them into jack-o’-lanterns. As the pile of scraps grows higher, I find myself thoroughly enjoying the unusual challenge of using magic markers to make scary-looking teeth. A few months ago, I volunteered to take over bull

"How’s it going?" I ask the college student passing my desk at the library. "Same old, same old," she sighs, then pauses. "But that can be a good thing." What a joy to see such wisdom in a young person, I think to myself. It took me so long to realize the blessing

It is the first rehearsal for the Emory University Chorus, and I am sitting in a seat in a huge classroom next to a college student who beams me a shy grin and tells me her name is Jeanna. My husband and I have been singing in our tiny church choir for years, but we have been eager to stretch our wi

I am in the kitchen, whipping up a batch of fig cake, and as I sort through the handwritten recipes in my collection, I recall the two grandmothers who were related to me not by blood but by love. In 1988 my husband, his sister and I traveled to Brandon, Miss., to visit their grandmother, Sadie, who

It is Saturday morning, and I am standing in front of the open refrigerator, surveying the contents, while my mind hurtles into a familiar routine. I had fried fish for lunch yesterday, I reflect, and a sundae after dinner. The conclusion is swift and ruthless. Instead of French toast or a bagel wit

My dad was a gambler. One of my earliest memories is seeing him checking the racing results in the newspaper and circling likely prospects for the next day’s betting. My father’s habit wouldn’t have been a problem had we been a rich family, but we weren’t. When he and my mom