Voices
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Valerie Schultz is a freelance writer, a columnist for The Bakersfield Californian and the author of A Hill of Beans: The Grace of Everyday Troubles. She lives on the Oregon Coast.
Columns
When I was home with my four baby birds, I used to say, When I go back to work, I want a cleaning service. Just one day a week. Let someone else scrub the shower and wipe the dog’s nose prints from its glass door. I will pay handsomely. I hated housework. Somehow during our nesting years, it b
Faith in Focus
Kathleen and I make all the arrangements mothers have to make to spend a day away from their childrenbefore-school care, after-school care, instructions and emergency information. Everything is in order for us to be gone from early morning to late afternoon. We have 100 miles to go each way. She ins
Columns
I was worried about associating with the Catholics, confides a woman at our monthly community meal. But this pasta is good! She asks me to wrap up a plate to go, for her friend next door. She leaves with a box of groceries, two blankets and a stylish red winter jacket.We are here each month to offer
Columns
From the daily barrage of news, certain stories stick with me. When my daughters were small, the reports of children abducted from campgrounds or snatched on their way to school haunted me. As they grow older, accounts of teenage drivers wrapped around trees or spread on freeways resonate. But for s
Columns
Our Renew 2000 group met yesterday. The seven of us talked about the Eucharist: its implication in our daily lives, as well as its liturgical meaning and beauty. Then we went to work at the parish food pantry. We are between seasons of Renew, which is a small-group, faith-sharing program in which ma
At age nine, I had an epiphany. I was watching my parents holding hands as we walked across a parking lot after a football game. It was late afternoon, and they were in front of me, their silhouettes tilted toward each other intimately. It was a jolt: the first time I perceived them as something sep
Faith in Focus
The girl who plows into my 13-year-old daughter as we stroll through the park at the annual Mountain Festival is solid. She is pierced with studs in odd places. Her tank top just covers her adolescent breasts. The force of her forward-pumping legs nearly knocks my daughter off her feet, and she stag