The gravel crunched underneath my feet rhythmically as I trudged one step farther with my toddlers. Aadvik, Anaira, and Adhrit held each other’s hands, three dark-skinned forces of nature dragging me along on their daily walk. With their determination, it was difficult remembering who was in charge. Their incessant cries of “Akah, Akah!”—the Indian Telegu word for “older

“When I’m in nature, that’s god to me!” The man looks at me and grins widely, displaying teeth a hygienist would envy. A river breeze ripples through his long, wavy brown hair. He would make a great shepherd in a Christmas play. Wait, my brain catches up. He believes that nature is god? Really?! Hmm. There’s a

On the screened-in porch of the red cottage, we all slid back our empty plates and waited for the thunderstorm to pass over Lake Pushaw, Maine. By the dock, the sailboat my grandpa had built at age ninety tilted back and forth on the swells. The sound of rain on the water was merely a soft backdrop as my mother

Frank didn’t say a word on the drive back from the doctor’s office. From the corner of his eye, he watched Francie stare silently out the window as the houses and businesses spread farther and farther apart, bleeding into the countryside. When he finally pulled into their driveway and turned off the car, neither made a move to

“Mommy, Mommy!” Anne ran out the front door crying, blonde strands of hair sprouting like dandelion pappi from her once tightly woven pigtail braids. Tiny fists wiped away the tears from her crystal blue eyes, then reached up to be held. “Honey, what’s wrong?” asked Mrs. Smith. She leaned beyond the swinging porch bench she sat on to pick

Life will not be crushed. I feel it rippling beneath pavement, tree roots forging cracks in blacktop, carving a washboard under my wheels, rattling my very bones as I ride. On my left over the long swath of green, weeds strain to root deeper, push skyward, persistent after the mower’s raze, clawing at headstones, obscuring engraved names. I pump

I know I spoke very directly to him, Very much like a lioness Might snap a zebra’s skull in her jaws. I thought to myself, “I’m not waiting.” I’m not waiting for the green Shoot of leadership to spring From the thin and silty soil of his Shoulders; I’m not waiting for The sweat of humility,

Lord! The battle goes on, And the end is far from near; Duty is harsh, and pleasures are dear! The days are so dark that the night’s a relief. Please, hear me, O Lord, and answer My plea! My heart fails in strength As the battle goes on, Unchanging, unceasing in gray dusk and dawn. Hear me, dear Lord,

Pencils scratch and scribble Like dozens of mice scurrying Across a table— The teacher paces purposefully, Watching her pupils’ work, Waiting for the lightbulb— That spark of comprehension. Patient as a farmer watching His crops grow, she guides— Cultivating understanding. From the classroom to the home, You’re still the same in patience and purpose— You protect like a hen

All my thoughts need correction, For before, in my meekness, My own so-thought perfection Always became my weakness. I found in my defiance Anxieties each hour In my misplaced reliance. Instead, I need God’s power. “And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I

I used to think of growth like a ladder. Rung by rung, I climbed. I couldn’t see The ground, nor could I see the peak. If it’s lonely at the top, what was I feeling? My arms and legs grew tired. The pressure Formed blisters on my hands, unable to bear The surmounting weight of all that I