Take, Lord, receive . . . my memory. —Ignatius of Loyola As kids—up to seven of us sharing two bedrooms—we were each Mother-apportioned one cardboard carton in...
Author - Evelyn Bence
You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle.—Psalm 56:8 I’m driving a neighbor teen, I’ll call her Nina, to a scheduled appointment, when...
The collection and hoarding of bits and pieces is basic to all animals, from the squirrel with his nuts . . . to the anthologist with his oddments stored up in...
If I give you a rose, you will not doubt God. —St. Clement of Alexandria A decade before he died, in my front yard my dad and I planted one deep red tea rose...
Forty years ago, my mother gave me a ragged patch-work quilt made of earth-toned wools—warm except where it was moth-eaten or worn through. I first used it as...
“Give us bread and give us roses.” —Slogan of female mill workers during what became known as the Bread and Roses Strike, Lawrence, Massachusetts, January 1912...
“What is your favorite Jesus story? And why?” A dozen women gave quick answers. I said, “Jesus grilling breakfast for the disciples. ‘Come and dine.’ It...
“What does popular mean?” The question came from an adolescent neighbor girl with special needs. She’s in my home a lot, like a granddaughter. I’ll call her...
I stared at a bus schedule. To visit a friend out of town in New York, I’d usually ride the 7:30 and arrive early afternoon, in time for us to walk through the...
